#limousine set aside

[carlyraejepsans]

I was wondering if you had any thoughts about the car magazined Sans reads out at his station? It just won't leave my brain.

:''']

[myloveforhergoeson]

That's All She Wrote - Chapter 31

Chapter Index

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Chapter 31: The Music Or The Misery ~ 15k

“Mr. Rocque, Kelly, please,” Roxanne pleaded, shaking fingers threaded, palms pressed together. She would’ve gotten down on her knees to beg if she, the band, and their two bosses weren’t already in the back of the limousine headed to Brand New Day’s album release party. “The Big Time Rush booking fee is for interviews and photoshoots, and- and millionaire’s birthday parties. Not for an advertising campaign for a band no one has ever heard of!” 

Though she winced at her desperate tone of voice, she hoped one final appeal would make the two adults change their minds. Despite spending the last 24 hours making similar statements since Gustavo’s call at the movie theater, neither of them had budged in their decision for the band to attend the party. She’d even taken the fight all the way to Griffin’s office, sitting atop the Rocque Records building and adorned in the strangest taxidermy the assistant had ever seen, hoping that even he would think it an odd request. 

Turns out that had been a mistake; Roxy had severely underestimated how much Griffin seemed to like her. America’s fourth most powerful CEO was no better than his money-hungry adversaries and deep down she knew that… She just wanted someone other than her friends to take her feelings into account just this once. 

With Griffin’s word as law, and whatever Gustavo was afraid of in Obdul’s briefcase when the tall man tapped on it, the band was set to attend the gathering and adhere to Brand New Day’s request. 

When Kelly sighed, shifting her gaze from the soft glow of her BlackBerry in the back of the dark limo to the writer, she just slowly shook her head. “You heard Griffin earlier, Roxy. They’re paying customers and Rocque Records has a contract to fulfil. As much as you dislike these boys-”

“These two,” The assistant automatically corrected, feeling James’ hand slide onto her shoulder as the limo turned a corner. “These two,” Kelly continued after a brief pause, “There’s a lot of money at stake here.”

That was the same answer the talent scout had given her all day - the same corporate talk about contract fulfillment, legal obligation, and reputation. Bullshit. 

 “Griffin said we have to,” Gustavo added in a flat tone, red glasses matching the tint of a neon sign zooming by outside the window behind him, suggesting that he wasn’t all too thrilled with the night before them either. “So we have to. Set aside whatever crap has you all up in a twist about this party! It’s only a few hours, okay?” 

With a huff, Roxy crossed her arms and pushed back into her seat, watching the endless stream of cars out the tinted window beside the man’s head. Most of the time she and Gustavo were on the same page, especially when it came to breaking down emotional barriers in the writer’s room. If he was able to help her draw out the words to place on the page when she was struggling in the past, why was he so incapable of seeing her irritation now? 

“We’ll be okay, Rox!” From across the way, Carlos reached out to pat her knee, welcome warm contact on skin that felt as cold as ice. The charm from the bracelet she’d made him for Christmas jingled around his wrist. “The night will be over before you know it!”

Carlos’ optimism never ceased to amaze Roxy; She wished she could feel even a small portion of it at the present, but her confusing amalgamation of fear and anger had been busy building up in her system all day. Too much time had already been wasted worrying about Mag and Dani since they’d moved to Hollywood. Past memories playing in her head like a bad movie plagued her dreams, causing her to reach out for James in the darkness of her bedroom, only for the emptiness to creep in when she remembered a few walls separated them in 2-H and 2-J. Horrible flashes of whatever may transpire tonight took hold of her imagination when she was awake, only fueling the fire of emotions rooted in her belly. 

And even that felt ridiculous because Mag and Dani were just people she used to be friends with, not the supervillains of epic proportions her mind was making them out to be. The hurt and confusion then mingled with shame for expecting the worst from them, dragging up situations in which they’d looked out for her at local gigs or sat up and listened to her complain on the phone all hours of the night while she tried to work out a new tune or melody. All the fun they’d had playing together, advertising for their band wherever they could, and drawing up big plans to hit the big time together.

Then, the cycle of emotions started anew, because if they were such great people, how could they so easily take her work and pass it off as their own? How could they be Brand New Day without her?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Roxy tilted her head back into the hard headrest, focusing on the hum of the limo’s engine since she’d been too fatigued to pick a radio station, and took a deep breath in an attempt to stave off the emotional overload.

Beside Carlos, messing with the material of his lap belt, Kendall nodded at his friend’s words. “Just a few photos for the news outlets and some social media posts saying how much we love the new album, then we’re so far out of here everyone will forget about Brand New Day in a week.”

Though both of them knew that the last part probably wouldn't be true, Roxy wanted to believe it anyway. Internally, she cursed her past self for all the time and effort she’d put into promoting Brand New Day to friends, strangers, and whoever would listen, wishing she could take back all the wishes on shooting stars in clear Minnesota skies that one day they’d blow up and get to move out of their nothing town. 

Too little, too late, the girl thought, feeling the unpleasant sting of her nails cutting into her palm as they balled into tight fists in her lap. At least we all got what we wanted in the end.

James must have noticed her discomfort; The hand on her shoulder trailed down her arm to unwind the mess she might have made of her palm with her fresh manicure. 

“You also… Don’t have to come…” Logan tried to add but quickly winced when Roxy countered his comment with a nasty glare. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m the only one who knows what those two are like! This is all part of their plan-” 

“Roxanne.” Gustavo cut her off with a grating exhale of her name, which was probably a good thing, because as far as she knew, there was no plan. For a few seconds, the humming of the engine was the only sound heard between the seven. “Being in the entertainment industry means sometimes you have to do things you don’t like to do. Do you think I enjoy playing babysitter for the five of you? No! But if I want to stay Hollywood’s number one producer, that’s what I have to do!”

“Oh, stop it Gustavo, you flatter us too much!” Kendall gasped with a sarcastic smile in a clear attempt to ease some of the tension radiating off of his boss and assistant, which calmed Roxy only slightly. At least one of them was able to keep a level head at the present. “We all know you love us too much but simply can’t admit it - out loud or otherwise.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Gustavo turned to look at Kelly’s BlackBerry, signifying Kendall had won that part of the conversation for now. 

The frontman looked over to her too, for approval or something else she wasn’t sure, but she did catch the upward quirk of his lips. Momentarily, some of the tension left her body and she finally let her head rest on her boyfriend’s shoulder. If there was one thing she could count on tonight, it was her four friends. 

Like it or not, this was happening, so she might as well suck it up and be the bigger person. In public at least; The big tub of chocolate chip ice cream in her freezer and the floor of her kitchen were already calling her name no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. 

Even if it wasn’t his intention, Roxy found comfort in Kendall’s subtle smirk. As good as friends Mag and Dani had been to her in the past, their bond didn’t even come close to the one she shared with the Big Time Rush boys and her new friends at the Palm Woods. So, she took it as a sign. One that screamed “We’ve got your back, Roxy! Always!” in bright, flashy colors, big enough to rival the magnitude of the Hollywood sign looking out over the city they so loved. 

Maybe James had noticed it too, his hand tightening in hers before pressing a light kiss into her hair. The two savored the last bit of physical contact they’d have before the prying eyes of everyone at the party because neither of them needed to add a potential relationship exposé to the list of things that might happen that evening. “Everything will be alright, baby. I promise.”

***

Bright, blinding flashes of light escaped the cameras of the photographers lined up in front of the party venue, giving Roxy the perfect opportunity to slip out of the limousine’s right door while her friends took up the attention from the left. 

Whoever had arranged this album release had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure there was mass media coverage, so the assistant figured she might as well use that fact to her advantage. No one cared about the people behind the scenes as long as celebrities were present. 

The chill of the Los Angeles winter air didn’t bite as much as it did back in Minnesota and Roxy’s nose wrinkled at the bitter scent of gasoline as the limo pulled away from the curb. Folding her arms over one another did little to curb the goosebumps forming over her skin; The temperature and her onslaught of unpleasant emotions were working in tandem to make her as uncomfortable as possible. 

While the boys took their time walking down the black carpet rolled outside the venue doors, it gave the writer some time to scope the place out before entering. From the outside, the building appeared somewhat run-down - chipping white paint revealing dark brown metal underneath, lights on the outer walls flickering, cracks in the sidewalk - but based on the other buildings around which were styled with the impeccable glamor of Hollywood, she figured it must have been made to give off the air of abandonment. 

People from Los Angeles are so weird…

However, the venue called back memories of the ancient dives and abandoned warehouses the punks of Duluth would take over for nights at a time, constructing makeshift stages in rooms covered baseboard to ceiling in graffiti to play shows. She, Mag, and Dani had only been to a handful of gigs like that, mostly preferring to stick to the basement and small local music venue circuits, but warehouse shows had been something they’d talked about doing more before the band’s untimely breakup. 

Brand New Day was already one album in and still getting to accomplish even more of the goals they’d made ages ago. 

Kelly and Gustavo trailed a few feet behind the boys, showing the invitation they’d received at Rocque Records last night to the doormen, and Roxy a few feet behind them, presenting her own hand-delivered invitation. The processes seemed far too formal for her taste, considering the three of them used to crash house shows uninvited all the time.  

The inside of the venue wasn’t starkly different from the outside, it still had the same general theming but was paid far more attention to. While not as large as a commercial building, it was slightly larger than the two dance studios of Rocque Records put together; There was a moderate amount of guests present. Around her, the white walls practically shone, as though they’d been scrubbed twenty times over, the wooden floor was waxed to perfection, and the high ceilings made it perfect for the chatter of the party patrons to carry appropriately while not making the space seem too packed. 

If she had to wager, she’d bet Mag and Dani weren’t given creative control, like Big Time Rush wasn’t at their first album release party, and their producer had likely taken that duty on to impress investors, Galactic Records employees, and even fans.

Fans, Roxy’s mind echoed, causing an unpleasant lump to lodge itself in her throat. Eyes sweeping over the floor allowed her to spot a table filled to the brim with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, likely her next stop, a makeshift stage in the back of the venue with a dance floor cordoned off, an area with tables and chairs, and a section where a long line of teens who didn’t look much older than her and her friends were lined up. In front of the line, a small plastic table, piled high with CD jewel cases, and, of course, Mag and Dani, chatting with attendees, signing autographs, and taking pictures with each and every person in line.  

It probably would have been a good idea to listen to the album before attending the party, just to know which of her private thoughts were currently being aired out in the world in the form of music, but when she’d opened up SnoobTube and saw “Heartswell Summer” on the home page, she’d slammed the device shut so fast she feared she may have shattered the screen. 

When it came to Big Time Rush and their musical accolades, Roxy tended to ignore what she could. She had no idea how many of their songs had been promoted by SnoobTube, the number of streams their songs had earned, the types of rankings on Billboard charts - Except for “Til I Forget About You” which James told her almost entered the Hot 100 - or the fan favorites. Music taste was so personal and subjective, she didn’t want to learn how the public felt about her own favorite Big Time Rush songs or which ones were more popular than others. 

If she were to start caring about meaningless numbers and public perception, she feared she would lose sight of the real reason she wrote songs and forgo personal art and expression for the sake of others. At their audition, she’d promised Gustavo she wasn’t interested in working for him for money or fame; That was a vow she intended to keep. 

Mag and Dani on the other hand, seemed to have lost sight of that already, basking in the attention their fans were giving them at the signing table as she glanced over one final time before making her way to the refreshments. 

The band and their bosses were somewhere on the other side of the venue curating the social media posts they’d been contracted to make, leaving the assistant to her own devices. Everything would be fine if her friends stayed on the opposite side and the other two stayed at the table until the performance Mag had mentioned at her door the other night. 

Whatever it took for this night to end, she’d be happy with. 

At the very least, whoever was catering the event had a wonderful array of delicious-looking foods on display. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweets curled around the assistant’s nose - so aromatic she envisioned herself floating over to the table like a character in a Sunday morning cartoon. Though attempting to enjoy herself this evening felt like a long shot, this was a good place to start. 

From the white tablecloth, Roxy took a small plate and piled it high with as many sweet things as she could find. Even if she and her old friends didn’t have too much in common anymore, it seemed as though she’d be able to rely on their superior taste in deserts for just one night. 

With a comical amount of food stacked up - Roxy told herself it was all to share with the boys because that’s what a good assistant would do - when she got to the end of the gorgeous display, she spied a brownie that she absolutely needed to have and reached for it. 

“Roxanne?” someone asked from behind her, and the writer slowly around, feeling like she’d been caught in the middle of something she shouldn’t have been doing. “I see you haven’t changed one bit!”

Eyes landing on the teenager in front of her, the fake smile Roxy’d been forcing all night slowly loosened into a real one. “Sydnee?”

The bright purple blush on Sydnee’s cheeks stood out against the brown rose of her cheeks, just as colorful as the rest of her outfit. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

Neither was Roxy, admittedly, but why wouldn’t Dani’s girlfriend fly out for her partner’s album release party? 

Though the chuckle she let out was humorless, the assistant set her plate down and wrapped the far taller girl into a hug. Despite her issues with her old band, that was no reason to hold a grudge against those who had fallen out of her life because of it. She just wished she’d realized she might have to see others from her past at the party before running into them. “I was in the area. And the band I work for got an invite, so…”

Sydnee squeezed her back with such intensity Roxy feared one of her ribs might crack. “Now that I think about it, Dani mentioned you were staying in the same hotel! So, what? Got your big break after leaving the band? Have I heard any of your stuff on the radio?”

The question wasn’t meant to be condescending, and nothing in Sydnee’s tone made it sound that way, but Roxy was just the right mix of anxious and stressed to take it as such. Thanking the musical gods Sydnee didn’t ask her why she left the band, she took a breath and answered. 

“Not on any of the stations you listen to,” Smile faltering, she referred to Sydnee’s love of reggaeton. “Daddy Yankee and I don’t run in the same circles.” 

As if it were the funniest joke in the world, the other girl tilted her beautiful features back, a handful of long, lilac-beaded braids falling over her shoulders as they shook. “Come on! You know I’m all about Today’s Top 40 when those two fools aren’t around.” 

Thumb jerking in the direction of the signing table, the euphoria of seeing an old friend was virtually eliminated when Roxy remembered the real reason she was there. The both of them still had a huge line of fans to get through; Currently engaged with a pair of teenage girls at the signing table. 

“My fools are over there,” She shared, pointing in the opposite direction of the party space, where James, Kendall, Carlos, and Logan were all posing for a photo Kelly was taking, each one of them holding a copy of the album Barely Hanging On.

Even the title of the album had been ripped right from the pages of her book. 

Stone brown eyes following her finger, Sydnee’s eyes widened.

Inadvertently, Roxy held her breath, waiting for the usual reaction she’d get when offhandedly mentioning she worked for Big Time Rush to the new, young Palm Woods residents, but it never came. 

“No way! A three-piece band to a five-piece? You must finally have a bass player!”

More than once, Sydnee had made fun of her partner and friends back in Minnesota for their startling lack of a bassist. The jokes about them “almost being a real band” used to bother Roxy quite a bit, but these days, it certainly didn’t matter to her anymore.

Hands drawing around her waist, Roxy found herself looking down at the linoleum tile. “It’s just the four of them, actually. Having a girl around kind of defeats the entire purpose of a boy band. My role is more behind the scenes, writing, producing, assisting… But I’m part of the touring band!”

“Oh… A boy band? Wow…” Sydnee’s eyes flickered, dimples disappearing momentarily before she drew up another smile just as quickly. “That must be fun. I’m happy for you, Roxy.”

Just as the girl opened her mouth to thank her friend, she continued. 

“It’s just disappointing knowing I won’t see you, Mag, and Dani rocking out like I used to. Hard to believe you’d give up your own band for some assistant job.” 

A slap to the face might have been nicer than the insinuation that Roxy was a sell-out. The look on her face must have communicated her emotions, despite the daze swirling around her brain, as Sydnee’s brows shot up, hands flying out in front of her and waving wildly as she cried, “Sorry! I didn’t mean that in a bad way!”

I knew coming to this thing was a bad idea.

Sour taste entering her mouth, the assistant nearly gagged on her own spit as she tried to come up with something to say back - an excuse to end the conversation, some fake pleasantries, a question about the weather, anything - until Logan called her name from behind her. 

In an instant, the boys who had been busy creating their contracted advertisement swarmed around her; Carlos picking up the plate she’d left on the table and munching on one of the gigantic chocolate cookies she’d been stacking up before getting roped into the conversation with Sydnee.

Their first meeting had been at a party too, Roxy recalled, back during their freshman year. While Mag and Dani weren’t party people, the third of their trio was, and she’d been invited by one of the junior varsity cheerleaders in her English class to a kickback after the first football game of the season. Too afraid to go alone, she asked the other two to come as well. 

Mag had agreed to attend at Roxy’s promise it would be good to scope out which of the people at their high school might be interested in coming to one of their shows and Dani had agreed if they could bring their partner. So, introduced for the first time in the cheerleader’s crowded living room, the two girls danced the night away while the other two kept to themselves in the kitchen. 

While they certainly weren’t best friends, they were always friendly with each other, or so Roxy had thought, until Sydnee’s backhanded statement moments ago. 

“Hey!” Carlos greeted, sweet as ever, while some crumbs trailed down his front. Turning to his assistant, he questioned, “Who’s this?” 

Now outnumbered, Sydnee shot Roxy a sympathetic smile, sorry for how her words had come out. Regardless, Roxy brushed it off like usual, but the comment only added to her emotional pile-up. Tonight wasn’t about starting fights; Big Time Rush was collecting a check and getting out as quickly and painlessly as they could. 

“Boys, this is Sydnee Vélez, an old friend,” Pausing for emphasis on that last word, Roxy smiled so hard her cheeks began to ache. “She and Dani have been together, for, like, ever. Isn’t it sweet she flew all the way from Duluth to support them tonight?” 

One by one, they introduced themselves to the newcomer, more than happy to make a new acquaintance. 

From there, the boys were able to carry on the conversation as they moved to the seating area, and Roxy was able to zone out and take stock of the venue now that the party guests were starting to settle in. The line at the signing table had finally died down, Mag and Dani still sitting behind the black tablecloth as they talked about whatever, laughter carrying across the hall. Most of the fans were lingering around the roped-off dance floor in front of the stage, hoping to be as close to the barricade as possible for Brand New Day’s first performance post-album release. 

Gustavo and Kelly were socializing over at the tables set up by the refreshments, presumably networking with Galactic Record’s finest songwriters and producers though Roxy knew that they’d likely never speak again after this party ended… 

A pair of adult men who looked suspiciously like the Madden brothers walked in front of her, blocking her view of her bosses.

Ugh…

A bit beyond them, she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Huron, sitting together at one of the smaller tables, beaming with pride. Dani’s features looked almost exactly like their parents; Sharing the same long, straight brown hair, brilliant green eyes, and ochre complexion. The two of them were locked in conversation with Ms. McAllister, who wore a similar expression on her pale, sunken face. Unlike the Hurons, Mag and his mother were almost physical polar opposites, her wavy, straw-blonde hair didn’t come close to matching Dani’s midnight black curls, nor did his round cheeks compare to the hollowness of his mother’s. 

Between the two women, Mr. Huron was doing his best to translate their conversation into sign language for his wife and spoken word for Ms. McAllister.

Though none of the three adults had been thrilled at the band’s beginning, apparently it had finally paid off enough for them to show some support for their children’s careers. Roxy remembered long conversations with her friends, the two of them complaining about how their parents had forced them to aim for “realistic” aspirations, like Mag’s mother signing him up for an internship at the healthcare company she worked for, or how the Hurons had practically forbade Dani from playing shows toward the beginning of the band’s timeline. 

All things that, to the writer, seemed entirely ridiculous. Why allow your child to cultivate such an impressive musical skill and then try to clip their wings the moment they decide to pursue that instead of something conventional? 

That’s exactly what her grandparents had done to her father; There’s a reason he hadn’t spoken to either of them in seventeen years.

As much as Roxy couldn’t stand the two, no one could deny that Dani was an incredible, dedicated musician. There was hardly a time they were seen without drumsticks in their hands. They used to drive teachers crazy with their relentless tapping on desks while they lectured. 

Mag’s effortless skill on the guitar while wowing the crowd with his fine-tuned and captivating voice was no small feat either. Like the boys in Big Time Rush, he was a natural-born performer, craving the spotlight more than anything else in the world. 

The two of them were beyond talented; While they were all still friends it was hard to stand by and watch their parents try to convince them otherwise. 

Should I go say hi? The girl contemplated, turning to see her friends laughing at something Sydnee had said, before remembering the last time she’d seen the Hurons they’d busted the three of them for having a gig in their basement when they thought they’d be going away for the weekend. Ms. McAllister wasn’t her biggest fan either; Roxy had driven one too many needles into her son’s ears, lips, and nose to think she was a good influence on her “sweet boy.” 

Absentmindedly, her fingers rose to fiddle with her earrings, thinking of the piercings he’d given her in return. Then, she wondered if Mag or Dani had thought to send her father an invite to the party. 

Of all their parents, he’d been the one to foster their creative talent - Driving them to shows, helping them load and unload gear, and giving his input when necessary. Should there be anyone Brand New Day needed to thank for getting off the ground and breaking into the industry, it was Declan Somerset. 

Roxy blinked, figuring she should call her dad and tell him how much she loved him when this whole ordeal was over. 

“Psst,” Someone whispered from behind her, saving her from a stroll farther down memory lane. God forbid she start to remember the good times she’d had with her old friends. 

When she turned, Roxy found herself face to face with Carlos, still holding the plate he’d picked up from her earlier. Contagious grin reaching out to her, he shared, “One video of the live performance and a video with the band afterward and we’re out of here.”

“Oddly specific contract requirements but, that’s good.” The girl wasn’t able to say much beyond what she needed to. “Hopefully they’ll finish the…”

Line of sight reaching the signing table, the writer noticed the line had dissipated and Mag and Dani were nowhere to be seen. All of the fans were beginning to crowd around the stage now that they were allowed on the dance floor, pushing and shoving at one another to try and be on the barricade line and have the best view of Brand New Day’s performance of their first album.

Carlos followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah! Sydnee said they’re going to start up soon - Apparently, Dani is very good on the drums. She’s excited to see the energy they’ll bring tonight.”

“They’re one of the best…” Roxy swallowed the rest of her compliment.

“Why don’t you come and join us until then?” He suggested, pushing the plate in the direction of the rest of the band; Logan appeared to be in the middle of recounting a story, arms waving wildly as he spoke. In return, Sydnee gasped, covering her mouth with her palm. That was when James and Kendall jumped in, attempting to speak over each other to recount the next part of their tale. “When they’re done she said she’d tell us all about you before we met!”

Internally, the assistant cringed, wanting to cause any sort of distraction to keep that from happening. Maybe I’m strong enough to pull the tablecloth out from under the food…?

Instead, Roxy just shook her head at his comment, racking her brain for any kind of excuse to get her out of talking to Sydnee again. “I think I’m going to use the restroom actually… Look out for James for me, would you?” 

Taking a bite of one of the iced brownies, the boy in front of her nodded, “Sure thing, Rox. Holler if you need anything.”

Just as she went to turn away from him, she noticed James trying to get her attention from where he stood a few feet away. 

Hi! His wave indicated, before he tried to beckon her back over with the curling of few fingers.

No thanks! She willed back, taking a slow blink before pointing her thumb to the side, attempting to share, Be right back. 

Chin jutting out, she watched as his eyes flickered back to Sydnee, still showing interest in their conversation, before he placed his palm to his mouth and blew his girlfriend a kiss. See you soon.

Of course you will, I can’t stay away from you. Roxy thought, unsure of how to convey that beyond pretending to catch the imaginary kiss and place it on her cheek. 

Now flushed pink, she planted herself on the edge wall of the venue and followed it until she came upon a small hallway with the icon of a man and a woman hanging from a sign above the entry and decided that was good enough. 

As long as she could hang out away from the crowd for a little while, she figured she’d be able to coast through the rest of the night incident-free. No Sydnee, no Mag and Dani, no parents - Just her and her head, racing at approximately a thousand miles per minute. 

Maybe Logan was right, she silently concluded, finding herself in front of the washroom mirror. Dark bags were setting in under her eyes. A cooling splash of water from the sink to her face would’ve done wonders to calm her down, but it would come with the price of ruining the makeup she’d spent an hour trying to perfect. I don’t need to be here.

Too much time had been spent worrying about others in the hours leading up to this party; Just the thought of the boys and Brand New Day interacting tonight was able to launch her into a tailspin. In all that time, she hadn’t even thought to step back and judge how her attendance would take a toll on her as well. 

But the night’s almost over, she reminded herself, and on the way home, you can convince James to call out of work tomorrow and go on an adventure.

Yeah. That sounded nice. Deserved.

And that was enough to calm her pounding heart, watching her chest start to rise and fall normally under the burnt sienna of her halter top in the reflection. 

You will get through this. You always do.

Roxy ran a few fingers through her hair, smoothing it down at the part before taking both her hands and poofing it up, running her nails lightly back and forth across her scalp - Shaking out the negative thoughts and feelings stirring around up there. 

Now, her goal as she made her way out of the restroom and back over to her friends was to avoid anything else that might ruin her newfound good mood, as she pulled out her phone and googled “Most romantic things to do in Los Angeles” to pitch some ideas to James.

If she’d waited even a second longer before burying her nose and weaving through the mass of people in front of her, she would’ve caught sight of the untapped cable that had been laid to the stage directly in the middle of her path back to her friends. 

Without warning, the toe of her ankle boots slipped under the thick wire and as she mindlessly scrolled the webpage she found it caught. Cable growing taught, it completely restricted her movement.

Stomach lurching as she began to hurtle forward, Roxy let out an involuntary yelp, one hand clutching her phone while the other flailed helplessly as she went down, down, down… Right into the chest of the person standing on the path in front of her. 

Calloused fingers dug into her upper arm to steady her while her cheek landed on the leather lapel of a jacket adorned with dozens of buttons and pins. 

PROUDLY SERVING MY CORPORATE MASTERS read the white text on a blue background, encased in a small circular button right in her line of sight and Roxy let out a string of curses, scrambling to pick herself up and shove the person off her as quickly as possible. 

When she’d found that button at a thrift store in Duluth, she’d thought it a funny gift, but now, pinned to Mag’s jacket at his first album release party under one of America’s largest record labels, she felt as though the satirical element might have been lost on him. 

“Wow, now that’s one way to say ‘thank you,’” The boy joked, cracking an award-winning smile down at his former bandmate. “But I’m glad we ran into each other, actually-”

“I was just leaving,” Roxy cut him off, pointing vaguely at the space behind him. Eyes trailing to the side of him, she couldn’t even bear to look up at the singer as they spoke. “My friends are back there, somewhere.”

The sooner this conversation was over, the better.

Shaking out his fingers before crossing his arms, Mag let out a small hum barely discernable over the chatter of the crowd surrounding them. “Glad they got our invitation too! Of course, it wasn’t quite like yours… But it’s nice to see all of you showing up to support us. Did you get a chance to pick up a copy of the album yet?” 

“No sense in wasting twenty bucks on a CD I won’t use.” Channeling her best inner Dani impression, she let out what she hoped came off as an unbothered scoff.

As the girl took a step forward, trying to signal the end of the conversation, Mag took a step back. “Just hang on a second! I’ve got one here…” His hands fell from his chest and patted down his pockets with a few soft thuds. “Somewhere…”

Out of his inner jacket pocket, he produced the jewel case containing Barely Hanging On and extended it out to her. The cover featured a photoshopped image of the two of them, cartoonish expressions of horror on their faces as they pretended to hold onto the top of the H in the Hollywood sign. 

As he requested, Roxy reluctantly took the CD, hoping he couldn’t see the way her hands had worked up a slight tremor. Assuming that was all, she once more tried to continue on her way. 

“Hang on! Check the booklet, Rox. I left a little surprise for you in there.” 

The use of her nickname sent a sheen of sweat unpleasantly rolling down her back; He’d lost the right to call her that long ago and no matter how many times she kept reminding him, he just couldn’t seem to remember. That in combination with whatever he thought to point out as surprise-worthy and the girl was beginning to grow queasy as well. “I’ll find out later. Excuse me.”

 On her third attempt to maneuver around the boy in front of her, she made the mistake of glancing his way and finding the unyielding attention of his bright blue eyes, vast and endless. The kind of fixating gaze someone would love to get lost in.  

I can’t believe that used to work on me, she chastised her past self, cringing at how she’d misinterpreted their friendship and built it up to be far more inside her head. A year and a half ago, she’d be clamoring for any crumb of attention he could give her, and now it was as easy blowing him off as it was to breathe. Life’s funny like that…

“Please?” Mag inquired, a few of his black curls sweeping over his eyes as he tapped on the case with a black painted nail. “Think of it as a peace offering if nothing else.”

“A peace offering?” 

Immediately, not knowing what took control of her hands, Roxy popped the case open and slid out the insert, the picture of Mag and Dani staring back at her as she tucked the plastic under her arm and flipped through the small book. Going along with the theme of the cover image, the pages containing the lyrics, acknowledgments, and legal elements were stylized to look like a map of the Hollywood Hills. Mixed in along the way were photos, some she recognized from their early days as a band and others that appeared to have been taken throughout their journey in L.A. 

Nothing in particular stood out to her, so she kept her place using her thumb and used the paper to smack Mag on the shoulder. “Dude, whatever-”

That felt more casual than she’d liked, but she didn’t spend too much time dwelling on the action before he spoke again. “The credits?”

Roxy blinked up at him, mind going blank. 

Opening the booklet again, she could hardly get her vision to focus as she followed the line of text down the first page for the opening song, from the title to the lyrics to the compositional credits. It was there, in shiny black bold letters.

Lyrics and guitar composed by Roxanne Somerset.

Line of sight jumping over to the next page for the second song, there it was again, and on the third, the fourth, all the way through the complete tracklist. 

It must have been nearly impossible for her to contain the shock on her face, and judging by the cheery laugh escaping Mag’s lips, he found the way she tore through the book to look at every song to find her name underneath entirely amusing. 

“I just wanted to apologize,” He shared, “What happened the day you left the band was entirely my fault… You’d still be here with us if I hadn’t been such a complete ass. So, this is a thank you, an apology, and hopefully, a way to start making up as well - Our manager said she’d talk with your boss tonight and make sure all the writing copyright and royalties and whatever else goes to you.”

“Mag, I…” Roxy was at a complete loss. Ever since Brand New Day had unexpectedly moved to the Palm Woods she’d been worried about the two of them passing off her work as their own, skyrocketing to the top of the pop rock charts without so much as a thought about how it might have affected her. “You still took my songs. I wasn’t there for recording or mixing or-”

“I know. We fucked up, Rox, big time, but you know how badly we needed out of Duluth.” He looked up to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “All three of us were bigger than that stupid, stifling town.”

Taking the case from where she tucked it under her arm, Roxy popped it back open and slid the insert back inside. “That doesn’t make it okay. Not in the slightest.”

When her voice broke on the last word, Mag’s head snapped back down, brow softening as he pulled one of his lip rings between his teeth. “Every song was done by the notes in your book - I swear. Just give the album a listen before you judge.”

“I don’t own a CD player,” She fought back. Sweaty fists balling up into her skirt, the writer breathed, “Anything worth listening to can be recorded onto a tape.”

At her words, Mag smiled, reaching back into the pocket of his jacket. A few of the pins could be heard clanking together. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten too much about you, Roxy. I know mixtapes are one of your favorite forms of communication and this is likely the most important one I’ve ever made.”

A black and white tape was pressed into her hands and Mag finally moved out of her way. Black and red flannel wrapped around his waist swaying with each step, he paused when they were shoulder to shoulder, dropping his mouth to her ear and murmuring, “Accept my apology or don’t. I just want my friend back.”

Roxy twirled the cassette in her hands. “Start with telling everyone here you didn’t write these songs and I’ll think about thinking about it.”

***

In the twenty minutes between meeting up with her friends and the house lights going down to signal Brand New Day’s show was about to start, Roxy had fumbled her way through conversations, not registering much of what was going on around her.

The day had already been too much. Fighting with Gustavo and Griffin, not to mention the disaster of a limo ride where the producer had all but yelled at her for voicing this party was a bad idea, and now, she had Mag’s so-called apology to consider. The cassette he’d given her was burning a hole in her mini backpack, one she could feel on the small of her back as she and the boys made their way over to the V.I.P. viewing area. 

To top it all off, she couldn’t even find comfort in her boyfriend until the party was over, despite walking right next to him, in case any of the news outlets attending the party caught sight of the two of them. With everything going on right now, that was only an added stress flowing through Roxy’s head. 

Slowly, as she, the band, and their bosses took their place at the set of circular standing tables beside the stage, she could practically feel the hemispheres of her brain pull apart from each other, resulting in one of the most splitting headaches she’d ever had. It was only added to once the Hurons and Ms. McAllister arrived at the tables in front of them. 

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Kendall whispered behind her, effectively pulling her out of the heavy daze she’d found herself swimming in. “Logan, you disrupt the fog machine and set it to produce as much fog as possible; If no one can see the band, they can’t play. Carlos, the stairs to the mezzanine are to the left, make sure the spotlights are out, okay? James, the audio control booth is being set up in the middle of the room. I took a peek earlier and it’s exactly like Gustavo’s - If you can mess with the microphone sound, I’ll take care of the instrument sound. And Rox…” The boy pushed a bottle of Peppy Cola her way, glass screeching unpleasantly across the table. “You just sit here and enjoy Brand New Day’s downfall. Everyone got it?” 

With three of the boys letting out an emphatic, “Yes!” it was quite hard to hear Roxy whisper, “No.”

From her right side, Carlos bumped elbows with her. “If you don’t want to stand around, you can come with me to the mezzanine! There’s probably a bunch of lights we can mess with.”

Enthused giggle leaving his lips, he linked his arm through hers and made a move in the direction Kendall had pointed out earlier. Though it jostled her a bit due to his hockey player strength, Roxy managed to hold her ground, feeling both of her hands fly up to the black tabletop, nails attempting to dig into the solid surface. 

When Carlos’ brow furrowed, he stopped trying to pull her along but kept their arms linked together. “Maybe you’d feel more comfortable at the audio booth?”

Roxy’s mouth opened to respond, but no sound came out. 

“I could use a hand with the fog machine, if I’m being honest,” Logan tried, tossing a weak smile in his assistant’s direction. Both of them knew he didn’t, he was just doing his best to include her in their plan to sabotage Brand New Day’s show. “If one of us follows the chord to whatever power source it’s hooked up to, we could manage to increase the electrical current flowing to the-”

“Guys, just stop for a second.” The cautious words from James caused the girl to increase her grip on the table as he cut Logan off. It was almost as if he were upset about something, though she wasn’t sure if he had some reason to be. 

Did something happen while I was away?

“Roxy? You don’t want us to do anything, do you?” He asked, plain as day. For a boy who was often quite lacking in situational awareness, he’d zoomed into her problem far quicker than any of their friends. 

Had they not been in a crowded room, she’d reach up, knot her fingers in his t-shirt, and pull him down into an earth-shattering kiss. 

When she shook her head, she was finally able to release her fingers from the table, though they soon resumed keeping busy as she began to pick at her cuticles. Now that they’d gotten to the root of the problem, she wasn’t sure she wanted to explain to them why she felt that way. 

Should she clue them into her conversation with Mag? It wasn’t any of their business, but they were her best friends. Maybe they’d understand where she was coming from, why she wanted to believe he was truly apologetic for his actions. But on the other hand, what if they didn’t comprehend why she was considering what they’d talked about? Any criticism hurtling her way would probably break her, let alone statements about her ability to judge character. 

There had been a reason she’d been pulled into Mag and Dani’s world their freshman year. The two of them had been good friends. Her best friends.  They’d given her a space to express her feelings judgment-free and had taken a chance on the least punk-presenting person in all of Duluth to help give rise to the band they’d built together. 

She didn’t want to forget the long nights they’d spent together, handing out fliers outside of record stores, hanging out in the radio station during her overnight shifts, or the shows they’d handcrafted, piecing the setlists together as though their lives depended on it. Even outside of their band, they’d been the first two to explore their hometown with her, they’d gotten through Mag’s father's passing together, and survived the horrors of American public schooling by each other's sides. 

Those were the people she remembered them to be; Those were the people she still wanted them to be. Was it so wrong to want her friends back too?

The pit in her stomach certainly told her it was.

Even if she wasn’t entirely sure she was still willing to forgive them for what they’d done, if Mag truly meant what he had said earlier, this might be the performance he makes it right, and Roxy wasn’t interested in sabotaging that in any way… Selfish as that might be. 

“No,” she confirmed, daring to pull her nails from the bloody mess she’d eventually make if she kept pulling at her skin and reaching down to her side to lock pinkies with her boyfriend. Though that wasn’t the physical comfort she sought at the moment, it would have to do for now. “If something goes wrong and it’s traced back to the four of you, Gustavo’d throw a fit. He’s already on edge…”

Looking around the table, she took note of nodding heads, until Kendall slammed one hand down on the table, causing her to flinch at the sound, practically shouting, “Rox, who gives a fuck? These two completely screwed you over!”

Kendall yelling at her? That was certainly a new experience - One she didn’t take well to at all. 

“Still! That’s my music they’re about to play up there!” She roared back, feeling the line that had been tightening all night finally snap, goosebumps prickling down her arms at the tone he’d taken with her. “That’s serious shit, Kendall! That’s personal. My heart is up there on that stage with every word, every strum of a guitar chord… Credited to my name or not, if the four of you hatch some stupid, wacky plan and ruin that, you’d be screwing me over, too!”

“Don’t you understand? People like Mag and Dani need to be taught a lesson! Or they’ll just keep getting what they want over, and over! Those two did some damage, Roxy, we see it whenever you try to keep an unfinished song from us or carry your problems alone-”

Chest constricting, Roxy didn’t bother to quell her words. Whatever was getting Kendall so worked up, letting him think it was fine to raise his voice at her affected her tenfold. “There’s nothing of mine left for them to take! It seems you’ve forgotten that’s your job now!”

Silence. 

James let his hand fall from hers. 

By the way her friends gaped at her declaration, she had been right to hold back the contents of her conversation with Mag. 

Finally, she found where they differ; Big Time Rush wanted revenge for what had been done to their assistant. Roxy wanted, needed, recompense. 

Carlos glanced somewhere behind Roxy before his line of sight made it down to the black tablecloth. “You think our plans are stupid?”

“Is… writing for us not fun anymore?” Across the table, Logan’s question further twisted Carlos’ knife.

And all at once, the conversation that was meant to bring the five of them together that night left the writer feeling fully isolated. Her heart throbbed, unpleasantly mixing in with the beginnings of a bass drum beat blaring through the stage speakers, blood pouring into her ears as the pangs of anger prickled her brow. Beginnings of anything she could possibly say next were swallowed up by the crowd’s ovation as the lights went up and Brand New Day took the stage - That was probably a good thing, too, because if Kendall wanted a yelling match, Roxy was just bothered enough to give him one. 

Of all the things she had to be right about that night, her statement about her heart being on stage rattled around her head as she recognized the opening riff to the first song, “Into the Night.” Based on the night of Brand New Day’s first show, an evening blazed into Roxy’s memory from the pure emotional overload, Mag began to sing the lyrics. His unrefined, raw, voice stood out from music perfectly, sounding like the punk singers he’d spent so much time learning vocals from on old CD tracks in his bedroom.

Goddamn it, the girl thought, taking everything in, it does sound just like I imagined it would.

As the song went on, she tried to reach out to James, only to find his arms crossed against his chest, watching Mag very intently as he jumped around the stage while he played. When she attempted to place a hand on his arm, he shrugged her off, not even bothering to look over in her direction. 

“Babe,” She called, almost directly into his ear, but the sound coming from the speakers was far too loud, drowning out any possibility of her soft tone reaching his ears. 

That, or more likely, he was pretending like he couldn’t hear anything but the music.

***

“Heartswell Summer” was the last song and lead single off Barely Hanging On. 

A song Roxy had written after Mag had gotten his driver’s license, when the two of them had taken his mom’s car keys and joyrode around Duluth the summer of their sophomore year. Taking on surface streets and highways together, daring to head down little one-way mountain roads, and overall, just enjoying the company of a friend.

Something had been… freeing about the entire interaction; The idea that someone she knew besides her father was able to drive her places was a major plus, but also, the ability to potentially play shows outside of their hometown. That excited the two of them more than anything. 

Originally, Dani was set to come with them on their drive to nowhere, wasting as much gas as they could before they would inevitably have to come back home and beg Ms. McAllister to refill the tank - none of them had ever pumped gas before - but they had to pass. Sydnee’s family’s upholstery store needed someone to cover the register while her sister had her tonsils out and they were more than happy to step up to the plate. 

Looking back, had Dani been there, Roxy wasn’t sure she’d have been able to come up with the song in the first place. There’s no way they’d let them listen to Mag’s Saves The Day CD or park the car at the cliffs of the North Shore, staring out the front windshield and admiring the beauty of the lake scene in front of them. 

The two of them weren’t talking about anything important, in fact, as she tried to search the recesses of her memory to try and take a guess as to what it was, she couldn’t even come up with anything. At one point, he’d turned to her as they spoke and his unwavering attention caused her mouth to go dry. 

Then, her heartbeat a little faster. Palms grew sweaty as she held tightly to the soda cup they’d gotten at the Bun In A Million drive-thru. When she laughed at whatever jokes he made, there was a little something extra behind it. 

Sure, she’d been on a date before, kissed a guy even, but none of the new feelings she’d encountered that day even came close to what she was experiencing in the passenger seat of Mag’s car. 

On the way home, they’d sung along to his CD until their voices were gone and the minute she got home, she locked herself in her bedroom and wrote “Heartswell Summer.”

A few months later, that song had been the catalyst for her humiliating departure from Brand New Day. 

Now, hearing the final chorus escape Mag’s lips, Dani, sweaty, but still expertly pounding away at their drum kit to round the song out, Roxy decided for the first time in ages, she was glad to have written it, even in the wake of the pain it had caused her. Without it, she’d have never considered signing up for Gustavo’s talent auditions, never leading her to meet Big Time Rush, never have allowed her to travel the United States playing her songs for crowds of thousands and thousands. 

The applause the duo had garnered was well deserved, no denying those two put on an excellent show. It was also evident Brand New Day had no place for her any longer, even if a small part of her had thought that there was the slightest possibility, and admittedly, that realization didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. 

Roxy’s place was with Big Time Rush - A fact she’d overlooked tonight for the sake of the past and people she used to love. But that didn’t change the fact she wanted to get in Kendall’s face and scream, show him how upset his tone had made her, how he made it sound like she wasn’t able to solve her problems on her own.

Control freak… 

It had been a good while since she’d been this agitated, there was a reason she’d been drawn the punk music after all, feeling the need to get it out all at one person. She hadn’t allowed herself to yell at Dak after their break up or at Camille when she’d kissed James, because she thought herself better than that. Now, she was pretty sure if that blond boy got anywhere in her vicinity she’d explode.

The worst part? Though anger like this was healthy every once and a while, Roxy was usually able to channel it into something good, like a song, but her mind was just drawing blank after blank. A kid with a white crayon scribbling and wondering why nothing was showing up on the page. 

With no outlet like that, she knew she’d better keep her mouth shut before their fight evolved into something bigger than it already was. At some point, she’d have to apologize, especially for dragging the other three into it unprompted, but that was the farthest thing from her mind right now as Mag and Dani took their bows, stepping up to the microphone to say their thank you’s to the crowd. 

With the sound of clapping slowly starting to dissipate, Mag strummed a few chords on the baby blue guitar over his shoulder - The one that had inspired Roxy to write the track “Baby Blue” - before stepping up, joking, “That’s enough of that! Stop it!” before placing his hands over his heart. 

“Plenty of people in our lives deserve the applause far more than we do,” Dani followed, pulling out a sheet of paper from their back pocket. Sound of crinkling paper coming through the mic, they spoke in their usual nonchalant manner. “Even though you get to see the two of us up here, Brand New Day is far more than Mag and I.”

“First off, we’d like to thank our parents… Not very punk, we know, but we really wouldn’t be here without their constant and unwavering support!” 

Dani waved his hand up and down, prompting the crowd to cheer louder and louder, as one of the spotlights found its way to the table where the Hurons and Ms. McAllister were sat. An odd first choice to the girl, considering she could remember plenty of times they hadn’t been supportive. Considering she hadn’t been around them for a little over a year, what did she know about their current parental relationships?

Another lazy riff and Mag let it ring through the speakers before taking the mic again, “And of course, none of this would be possible if the lovely and talented producer, Chelsea Northrop, hadn’t taken a chance on our little band…”

The light found a middle-aged woman in the crowd, bright red hair contrasting greatly with the black of her power suit, and she politely waved. No trace of a smile on her face despite the band receiving so much positive feedback from fans in real-time. 

Running their hand down the written list in their hands, Dani smiled before crumpling up the paper and throwing it behind their back. They leaned into Mag’s grip on the mic. “One more person…” 

Roxy’s heart skipped. 

“...Well, more like a group of people: The fans! Thank you all so much for always showing up for us, buying our music, hyping us up online… The growth of Brand New Day can’t be attributed to anyone else. We can’t wait to keep making music you all love!” With a flip of their long hair over their shoulder, the house lights illuminated the crowd, and it appeared as though Dani was reaching down to the front of the stage to pull one of the setlists off and hand it to someone in the front when Mag drew his pick up and down the strings again.

With a few clicks of his tongue and a wry smile, the black-haired boy waggled his finger toward the audience. “Speaking of fans… Were any of you lucky enough to see us when we were a shitty little cover band back in our hometown?” 

One person in the audience cheered, “Hell yeah!” with an emphatic fist pump, inspiring Roxy to let out a “Whoo!” of her own from the sidelines, clapping her hands together as loud as she could just so the big room wasn’t so quiet. 

“Well then, you might have noticed we downsized from a trio to a duo - Fear not, our best friend Roxanne Somerset is still with us behind the scenes. Not only did she write every song we played up here tonight, and the entire album if I’m being honest. She also helped arrange all of the covers we played back home. Dani and I don’t think her nearly enough, so Rox, if you’re out there, what do you say to playing one more song with us?”

Dani froze, looking at the singer with wide eyes. 

Recompense. Just like she’d wanted. Only now she was learning she’d bit off far more than she was willing to chew when the same annoying spotlight Carlos had promised to bust found her on the sidelines, nearly blinding her. It took all she had not to bring her hands up to her face to block the light, and the crowd’s chant of, “One more song! One more song!” didn’t leave her much choice. 

Caught in a catch-22, Roxy didn’t have much time to mull over her decision. Play the song or don’t. Piss off Big Time Rush or piss off Brand New Day.

Accept my apology or don’t.

 Turning the offer down would just be downright embarrassing, especially in front of so many people, and when her eyes finally adjusted to the light, she could see her friends in the V.I.P. section staring straight back at her, trying to determine her choice. 

When Kendall slowly shook his head in her direction, Roxy just about lost it. 

She ran up to the stage, making sure to go out of her way to pass by the table the boys were standing at, because what did they know about her time in Brand New Day? How dare Kendall act as if he were the end-all, be-all of her life’s decisions? Playing in her own band, getting to own the whole stage, and interacting with the other two, was far more a rewarding feeling than being boxed in stage right at a Big Time Rush show. Not that Kendall would understand. He’d never even know the difference. 

Who cared if she played one more song with them? It was a good send-off, especially after Mag had admitted to a room full of people neither he nor Dani had written their own music - The first step in what she was now happy to consider a healing friendship. The boys would just have to get over it eventually. 

When she approached the band, Roxy didn’t think twice before throwing her arms around each of their shoulders, pulling them down into the huddle position they’d always do to debrief before their shows. Paying no mind to the crowd in front of them, Roxy took her time savoring the moment. 

“Thank you, both of you, for admitting that. Being so honest with everyone was pretty… Unexpected, but appreciated” She beamed, hair falling into her face, wrestling them a bit tighter. “And congratulations on the album.”

Mag was the first to fire back, “Thank you, Roxy. Seriously, I mean-”

“What song are we playing?” Dani cut him off, rolling their drumsticks between their palms. Small, lined intents covered the thick wood from top to bottom, a testament to how hard Dani went on their kit during the performance. “‘The Anthem?’”

“Oh, God, no. Not while the Maddens are here.” Cheek scrunching in disgust, Roxy couldn’t stand the thought of playing a Good Charlotte song while two of its founding members were somewhere in the audience. “The Replacements, maybe? ‘Bastards of Young?’”

“That song is ancient,” Mag laughed, light and airy, “I was thinking something more suited to Roxy’s taste… Not exactly punk, but how about ‘Bring It On Down?’”

The gasp that escaped Roxy’s lips might have been heard by the entire crowd, “You’re serious? I had to beg both of you to learn that one…”

“Sure. That one. Whatever.” Dani grunted, gently moving out of the writer’s grasp and jerking a thumb in her direction. “Just one problem, she can’t play any of the guitars here.”

“Think again, Dani!” 

Now that the huddle was broken, Mag slid a few steps side stage and pulled out his first electric guitar; The black, sleek instrument Roxy would always have to borrow for their more important shows instead of playing her shitty acoustic/electric.

Roxy childishly snatched it out of his hands, pulling the neck into her chest and rocking side to side, “I can’t believe you kept it strung like this!” 

In a flash the black strap was around her shoulder, adjusted as though he hadn’t played it once since she last touched it, and she reached out to his mic stand to take a pick. 

“I had hope we might play together someday… Call me sentimental…” He took a step closer to her and reached out a hand. Without thinking, she leaned back, eyes widening.

“Hey-”

If they noticed this interaction at all, they didn’t let it show. Dani struck their drumsticks together to signal the beginning of the song. If Roxy had any hope of getting through the song without messing up, she’d have to pay incredibly close attention to the time Dani was keeping on the drums.

Once more, Mag held out his hand, palm facing her this time in some sort of peace gesture before he went for her shoulder, adjusting the strap so it was smooth on her skin instead of the twisted mess she’d made of it when she slung it on the first time. 

Roxy had to look down at the instrument below her, not because she needed to see the strings to play, but to ignore the way his eyes shone under the bright stage lights. 

That, coupled with the fact “Bring It On Down” was one of her favorite Oasis songs had her thinking for just a split second that maybe it was a bad idea she’d chosen to join them… But when it came her time to strike the lead chord, hear it resonate out to the crowd as everyone began to move to the beat, that thought quickly left her mind. 

With a glance to the table with her friends, she tried to send a silent message to James that she wished it was him up there with her, but he was too busy speaking with Kendall, Logan, and Carlos - quite furiously by the quickness of his hand gestures -  to notice any of the fun she was having. 

***

Just as she left the stage after a final bow, placing Mag’s guitar back into its case on the side, she turned to look for Brand New Day, only to find the red-haired woman from earlier, standing right behind her. 

“Hey, Ms. Northrop, right?” She greeted, attempting to mask the small gasp of surprise that left her lips. Blood still pumping from the adrenaline rush of performing, the girl wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. “They should put a bell on you… or something. Uh... Thanks for letting me play with those two again-” Stepping forward, Chelsea’s heeled boot smacked the wood of the stage as she extended a hand, and Roxy flinched, making it hard for her to return the woman’s handshake. 

“I’m going to cut to the chase.” Chelsea cut her off, very effective in doing exactly what she had said. “Do you like it at Rocque Records?”

Roxy wasn’t sure if the continued hammering in her chest was due to the performance anymore. “I do-”

“Gustavo Rocque is an unpleasant man,” the woman spoke over the rest of what Roxy was trying to say. 

If she’s trying to sell herself as more pleasant… It’s not looking that way…

“He has his moments, sure-”

“I have a contract here offering you your same assistant songwriter position under me and all four of the bands I manage.” From her large black purse hanging at her side, Chelsea opened a professional-looking ledger and produced just that; A thick, bound leather folder was thrust into the assistant’s hands before she had the chance to protest.

Immediately, Roxy pushed it back toward her as though the object was cursed, “Look, you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not-”

“Open to the second page. Section 12-B. Line four.”

“No. I’m not going to do that, Chelsea. How about you let me finish what I’m saying?” The fury she’d felt toward Kendall earlier was starting to bubble up again, and though she had done her best to be cordial with this woman, getting spoken over was just degrading. “I’m not looking to switch jobs and I’m not looking to work with Brand New Day again, that performance was just for fun, okay? There’s nothing in the world that could make me-”

“Roxanne, I’m willing to offer you three times your current salary to come work for me at Galactic Records.” 

The next words that came out of Roxy’s mouth were a garbled mess of sounds dying halfway from her throat to her tongue. “Wha?”

“You’ve got forty-eight hours to let me know your decision. Please make the right one.”

Only at the sound of her heels smacking on the wood did the writer realize Chelsea was walking away. Click, click, click…

All the writer could do was stand there, dumbstruck at the offer, running the producer's words over and over in her head as she tried to make sense of all that had just occurred. The leather folder in her hands had held the key that would unlock the door to more industry opportunity, which, honestly, didn’t matter to Roxy in the slightest, but to walk away from triple the salary she made at Rocque Records…

From the boost in royalties this new album under her name would provide, she had figured, at least, she might be able to pay for her father to come visit, but with three times her current salary?

Screw Dad coming to visit… Dad could move here. We could live together again and see all the things we talked about seeing if we could afford it…

From somewhere in the crowd, Roxy heard Mag’s laugh ring out, clear and true.

Was this all a ploy to get my writing back in Brand New Day?

Even without confirmation, the thought of getting played by Mag McAllister again had Roxy’s eyes watering faster than the end of Titanic. Half-way a call for help, half-way a prayer, she shakily whispered her boyfriend’s name, “James… I need to find James…” before a few lyrics wedged their way into her brain.

The only issue? Her songbook and pen were in her backpack at the table and there was no way she was letting the other three see her like this right now. Frantically, her eyes scanned the side stage area, hoping for a pen, paper, anything that could help her get the lyrics down on paper before she forgot them, but her search yielded no results. 

Without thinking, she practically tore her phone out of her back pocket and opened her texting app to the first conversation, typing out. 

R: I walk offstage because this whole play is more than I can take 

Once that was out of mind, Roxy heard another line begin to play, but it was too loud to decipher over the chatter from the venue’s patrons. She needed to get out of there, now, somewhere quiet where she could get the lyric out before losing it. 

Good thing the ramp leading to the stage let out close to a hallway marked with a glowing red exit sign. 

R: I was one foot out the door, I couldn’t play that part no more

This new lyric finally erupted as the cool air of the Los Angeles night set in, lining the girl’s skin, a new tremor racking through her already shaking hands as her fingers typed out one last line.

R: The chemistry just wasn't there, I couldn't act like I didn't care, when I do, I do

How annoying. Roxy threw her head back, greedily gulping down the smoggy breeze in the alley outside of the venue. Still writing stupid songs about him to this day-

“Don’t tell me you came out here to complain about Mag. That’s your ‘I-Want-To-Complain-About-Mag’ face.”

“Jesus, Dani!” For the second time in as many minutes, Roxy jumped at an unexpected presence, this time coming from the stairs to the venue’s second floor, where Dani sat about halfway up, a lit cigarette between their pointer and middle fingers. “I’m going to put a fucking bell on you too, I swear to God…”

“O-kay,” Dragged out the drummer, making sure to pull the cigarette for a few beats too long before blowing the smoke out in Roxy’s direction. “Whatever that means…”

But, they scooted over, patting the rotting iron step beside them.

Bundling into her bare arms as they crossed over her chest, Roxy gave a grateful nod and descended a few steps to reach them. The last time they’d sat outside and spoken like this had to have been her last winter in Minnesota, right before the band broke up. Roxy couldn’t remember if it had been on her back porch or Dani’s, but either way, the gorgeous Duluth sky had left them ample opportunity to stargaze and talk about whatever came to mind. 

When she finally sat, the smoke’s earthy scent enveloped her nostrils, curling down into her mouth and making her crave the taste on her tongue. 

Maybe Dani noticed, or maybe they were just being polite, but they held the cigarette in her direction. 

Roxy just shook her head, “Not tonight, thanks… It’d ruin my ability to complain about Mag, don’t you think?”

The snort coming out of Dani’s nose had a little bit of smoke behind it. 

“For the record, I’m pissed at him too. I had no idea those songs were yours, Rox, not until I held the final copy of our record in my hands. There’s no way I’d agree to play them if I’d known.” For a brief moment, they flicked the ash down onto the ground below. Dani Huron was many things; a great drummer, a grassroots activist, a Good Charlotte fan. The one thing Dani Huron was not, was a liar. “Hmm… Doesn’t seem to affect my complaining at all...”

After the most emotionally tumultuous hour of her life, Roxy let out a small sigh, daring to lay her head down onto the soft t-shirt sleeve covering Dani’s shoulder, just like she would when they were smoking back home. 

Earlier in the day she’d never have dreamed of speaking to Dani like this ever again, but now, she just needed someone to talk to and it seemed as though they were more than willing to listen. Though it was a nasty habit, smoking always helped calm them down, cracking through their hard shell and allowing them to open up far more than in casual conversation.

“Dani, I am so sorry for thinking you had a part in that all this time,” Even the sigh at the drummer’s quip wasn’t enough to help swallow the crack in her voice. Of course, Roxy wanted to say it was okay, but at this point, her mind was so twisted, she had no idea who to believe. “Mag apologized for taking them earlier, actually, and I asked him to tell everyone it was my music. Then he did. So, I thought it would be cool to play with you again… For the sake of… A new friendship, maybe? But then that witch Chelsea offered me a job at Galactic the moment I got off stage. Three times my current salary. And now I have no clue what to make of everything… Am I crazy to feel like he’s just playing me again?”

“What makes you think I’d tell you if I knew?”

“Best friend code?”

“That’d normally work if we’d spoken any time in the last… twelve months, I think. Or you’d left Duluth with a goodbye.” They turned their face to the side, casting a glance over the alleyway below. “I called you, like, a million times when Project Pop canceled your show ‘for the foreseeable future’ because you’d ‘moved to the land of the stars.’”.

Screwing her eyes shut, Roxy dug the heels of her palms into her eyelids. “Again… Thought you were in on the whole song-stealing thing…”

Taking another drag, Dani let out a silent bout of laughter, shoulders shaking and sending their friend’s head bobbing up and down. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm began to go off, interrupting the surprising silence of the big city at night. 

“Seriously, though, I want this band built off of talent, not lies. If Mag has anything cooked up, I swear on Bear he didn’t say a word to me.”

Visions of Dani’s enormous goldendoodle ran through Roxy’s mind. “Thanks, Dee… Out of everything that’s happened tonight you wouldn’t believe how refreshing this normal conversation is..”

“Oh?” More smoke curled out of their mouth as they breathed out the word, scratching at the black, metal ring stuck in their nose. “You’re always in the middle of the weirdest drama - and I mean that affectionately.”

“That trait 100% followed me to Los Angeles… You should meet the guys I work for,” The writer huffed as the corners of her mouth turned up, “I royally fucked things up with them earlier, too… Ugh, that apology is going to be so humiliating-”

The door the the venue slammed open below them. “Roxanne?” 

James said her name with a sense of urgency, one she’d never heard out of him before. 

“And that’s my cue… Catch you later,” Dani whispered, bumping shoulders with their friend before sliding down the stairs and back into the venue.

“Up here, babe!” His assistant called, shooting to her feet almost as quickly as Dani had, and taking a few steps to the ground. As James turned to the sound of her voice, she couldn’t help but throw herself into him, arms scrunching around his torso, “I’m so sorry about earlier, what I said was…”

When she pressed her ear to his chest, she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. Then, his arms were on her shoulders, physically putting her at an arm's length away. A cursory glance up and down his tall frame immediately told her something was wrong. Not only was his perfectly set hair uncharacteristically disheveled, but his stunning hazel eyes were puffed red under the halogen lamp hanging above the door, foot anxiously tapping on the ground as he pulled one hand off of her and reached into his front pocket.

Phone screen flicking on, almost as bright as that spotlight earlier, his fingers dug into her shoulder as he held it up to her, “What the hell is this?” 

Three white text bubbles filled her vision; The song lyrics she’d been unable to write down earlier had been sent in rapid succession. No wonder he looked so panicked… Receiving those three lines in a row would certainly freak anyone out. 

Intestines twisted, and the girl shook her head. Why hadn’t I thought of that before I hit the send button?

Her hand shot up to meet his, curling around the fingers that held his phone and lowering the device out of her face. If he could feel the claminess setting into her palms, he didn’t mention it.

As difficult as looking him in his bloodshot eyes was, Roxy assured him, “Lyrics! Song lyrics, James, nothing else. My journal was too far-”

“Lyrics? To a breakup song?” Though a chuckle left his lips, it was anything but gleeful. “Something inspired you to write that tonight?”

“It’s a bit early to call it a breakup song… It’s just three lines. They came to me when I hopped off stage, that’s all.”

 Sucking in a breath, James shook her hand off of his. The boy in front of her was physically shaking and it certainly wasn’t due to the low temperature outside. “Playing with Mag caused you to write this?”

Of course, that’s what she had said, opposite from what she’d meant. 

“The words are about him, baby, not you!” Reaching out for him again, she tried to place her palm on his cheek, but he recoiled from her touch, shying away from her like a vampire in the sunlight. For a second, Roxy had to swallow down some bile rising in her throat. “I think we need to go home and talk, okay? We’re not breaking up; It’s just a poorly timed text message.”

When his eyes glazed over, Roxy knew she had lost him. His utterance of “We… need to talk?” suggested he hadn’t heard anything beyond the first part of her statement. 

“Breathe, James, please. You’re going to pass out.” 

Like he had before, he only continued hearing what he wanted to, saying whatever he could to fit the narrative he’d constructed about the messages he’d received. Labored, but collected enough, he pushed out, “We do need to talk, actually. About you writing love songs about other guys!”

The lamp above the doorway flickered, and Roxy’s vision began to blur. A nasty flashback of Dak chewing her out in her apartment about hanging out with the band flashed behind her eyes. 

“How come it was a breakup song when you thought it was about you, and a love song now that you know it’s about Mag?” 

Asking that question through shakey breaths likely ruined how important it was to her to hear his explanation. 

Mouth flapping open and closed like a fish, James finally found his words as he read over the text messages again. “I couldn’t act like I care, when I do.”

Roxy ran one finger over her top lip to stave off the running she could feel starting in her nostrils. All her brain told her was that she needed to crash into him, squeeze him to death, run her hands through his hair as they spoke and maybe, maybe, he’d be ready to listen to her, but if she reached out to him one more time and he refuted it, she’d break down far sooner than she was on track to. “He just said some things to me earlier about my songs and I asked him to admit they weren’t his to everyone tonight. It’s just a little confusing where we stand now-”

“Who cares where you stand? You have me!’

“Will you stop implying I’m into him? I can’t think of any other way to say it, James! It’s just a stupid fucking song I was dumb enough to write down outside of my songbook and share with the world before it was done!” The writer cried. “And Kendall wonders why I keep that shit to myself… I’ve done my best to share my songs with you before they’re finished recently, but right now you’re just proving why I shouldn’t!”

“Right,” Huffed the boy in front of her. “Because communication is only a two-way street when it comes to anyone but you.”

Jaw falling slack, Roxy’s entire body grew numb. Out of everyone in her life, he was the person she’d been the most vulnerable with. Allowing herself to take the plunge into romantic entanglement together, both emotional and physical. Their entire relationship was built on placing trust in the other person. Just the hint of the idea James didn’t trust her anymore sent the tears Roxy had been holding back spilling out onto her cheeks. “This conversation is over, James. I can’t-I can’t do this right now. This night has already been so hard for me.”

Making way for the door behind James, she rammed her shoulder into his arm. He allowed himself to be knocked to the side. “Sure didn’t seem that way when you were rocking out with your lying, stealing, jerks of ex-band mates.”

Catching the heavy, metal door before it closed, Roxy stood halfway into the building, tossing her head over her shoulder to give her boyfriend one final glance before escaping to the crowd inside. “Sure beats the hell out of a jealous, combative, asshole of a boyfriend.”

She didn’t stop moving, not as she weaved through the tables by the stage to get her bag, or around the people getting down on the dance floor, when Gustavo called her name, or when her sock slid down her heel, digging into the bottom of her foot as she stomped to the front of the venue. 

Thanks to the large number of attendees to the album release party, nearly a dozen taxis were waiting out front to pick up anyone who hadn’t been lucky enough to arrange a ride beforehand. Around her, a handful of adults staggered on the sidewalk, who had taken advantage of the open bar, while others her age went this way and that with their CDs and other Brand New Day merch in hand. 

When she came across the first empty cab, she took a fifty out of her wallet and threw it in the window. “The Palm Woods hotel, as fast as possible.”

The cabbie didn’t need to be asked twice, and the minute the door to the backseat closed, they peeled away from the curb so quickly Roxy feared her head might spin off. 

Now that the party was in the rearview mirror, the girl was oddly relieved, though that didn’t stop the rush of emotions still completely overwhelming her. She was pretty sure she’d been crying for the last several minutes, if evidenced by the tear stains on the blank notebook pages in her lap, and the numbness from James’ words earlier still stuck around. 

How she managed to piss off all of her friends in one night might be some kind of new fucked up world record… One that would make the work day tomorrow anything but normal.

--

hi, lots to say about this one, but mostly that i'm sorry lol this did hurt very much to write!

roxy's lyrics come from an unreleased btr song called intermission if anyone was wondering.

i imagine brand new day sounds a lot like yellowcard (minus the violin) (that's a surprise tool that will help us later) and "heartswell summer" is heavily based if not lifted entirely from their song "with you around"

and as always, thank you for reading! be sure to let me know what you think <3 ily <3

[minawritesfanfic]

Bruce Wayne x Reader

Kiss me and tell me you love me

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: Being the sugar baby of the infamous Gotham socialite was great, but the mixed signals were going to drive you insane

SMUT

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

 

 

Sleeping with the richest man in the city had many perks: never having to drive anywhere, designer clothes I’ve only dreamed of, an all-expensive paid suite on the most expensive side of town with the prettiest view, and amazing sex and aftercare from the most eligible bachelor in town.

 

There’s little room or cause to complain, but still, I want more. Who cares about all the clothes, the suite, and free rides when you can’t even be loved by the man you’ve fallen helplessly in love with?

 

I’m pulled from my thoughts as Bruce bites down on the nape of my neck making a more prevalent mark on top of the many others he’s imbedded into the skin of my shoulder. He thrusts himself deeper into me quickening his pace as grew closer to his release, he gripped roughly onto my hips pulling me down further onto him.

 

I let out a strained moan as I ground my hips down onto his trying to meet his pace, my body still trembled from my earlier orgasm and the continuous stimulation from his thrusts brought me closer to orgasming once again.

 

I let out a cry as Bruce buried himself deeper inside me as he came, his load spilling into the condom he wore. He let out a long sigh as he relaxed his grip on me and pulled me closer to him, he placed gentle kisses over the darkening hickeys and bite marks along my shoulders and neck.

 

“I’m sorry my love, I hope I wasn’t too rough, are you okay?” He asked cupping my face in his hands, he ran his fingers gently over my cheeks.

 

“I’m okay, just maybe could you be a bit gentler? I do need the ability to walk, it’ll be a struggle getting to bed after this.” I said with a laugh as I brushed my hair out of my face and slid you out of me, my body felt empty without you but I could finally relax as the tension in my lower body dissipated.

 

“Is that all? I don’t mind carrying you all the way to your bed if that’s your only gripe.” He teased as he started to clean himself up and toss aside his condom before wiping the residue of the condom's lube from between my legs.

 

I rolled my eyes and shook my head with a smile, Bruce handed me my pants and tossed my ripped underwear aside with the condom. He pulled up his pants and redid his belt before telling the driver to take us to my building complex, I let out a worn sigh relaxing into the soft leather of the limousine seats. Bruce pulled me gently into his lap again letting me rest against him instead as we took the short drive to my complex, he was warm and his cologne was a pleasant and soothing scent. I laid my head on his shoulder and he softly kissed the side of my head, then placed an even softer kiss over the bite marks and hickeys littering my neck. He stopped as he felt me flinch from his kisses apologizing softly again in my ear, the car came to a stop as we had finally made it to my building.

 

I started to sit up but Bruce pulled me back into him and carried me out of the car, I wrapped my arms around his neck surprised but I welcomed the gesture. I just laid there quietly as he greeted the doorman and liftman, the short elevator ride was awkward and I was a bit embarrassed being carried like this but it spread a warm feeling throughout my body. Eventually, we made it to my door but Bruce still wouldn’t let me down despite my attempts.

 

He only set me down once he’d made it all the way to my bedroom and was able to set me down on the edge of the bed with a rather proud smirk, I couldn’t help but laugh at how childish he could be sometimes but in moments like these I didn’t mind it. It felt like we were in some cheesy romcom, it felt like we were actually lovers.

 

He pulled me in by my cheek kissing me directly on the lips as he cupped my cheek gently, caressing it softly with his thumb. I tensed for a moment from the kiss but relaxed into it but he pulled away far too quickly for me to enjoy it.

 

“It was nice seeing you tonight, sorry I’ve been away so often. Business has not been as easy as it used to be.” He said standing up as though he was getting ready to leave like he always did.

 

“Yeah I get it, you’re a busy man and all. I’m glad I got to see you too, are you leaving already though?”

 

“Yeah, it’s probably best I don’t stay.” I sat up bracing myself on my elbow trying not to show my disappointment.

 

“Is it really for the best, I mean it’s just that isn’t this place is closer to your office.”

 

“It is yeah, but I shouldn’t bother you. This is your place and I don’t want to intrude any more than I have.”

 

“You aren’t I don’t mind at all, it’s kind of lonely in a big place like this anyway.” I sat up some more letting the blanket fall to my waist.

 

“I’m you feel lonely in here little dove, maybe we could get you a cat or a dog? That might’ve lightened up the place a bit yeah?” He stepped up and cupped my face again caressing my cheeks, and placed a kiss on my forehead. I decided not to push it any further but the kiss sent me.

 

“Yeah, a cat sounds nice. A cute orange one, and I could get a cat tree too I guess.”

 

“Yes, just let me know and I’ll have Alfred take you to get one. I’ll text you once things are set up, goodnight my dove.” He kissed me more intimately this time, his lips lingering on mine longer this time.

 

I leaned into it and savored the kiss but he pulled away, he placed two more kisses on my cheek and forehead. As he turned away and walked towards the door I felt my heart weigh down heavily in my chest, tears welling in my eyes as I adjusted myself and leaned back against the headboard of my bed. I sniffed my tears back and mumbled under my breath, which didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce.

 

“What was that dove?” He turned as he stood in the doorway, I froze and debated if I should repeat my words but they were already rolling off my tongue before I could decide against it.

 

“Why do you always do that?”

 

“Do what, , I’m sorry have I done something to make you uncomfortable?” He turned around and to face me his head tilted to the side in confusion like he always does.

 

“Kissing me like that! You can’t- you can’t do that to me…”

 

“What? What do you mean, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to? I’m not really getting what I’m doing wrong.” I groaned standing up and approaching him.

 

“You need to stop kissing me like you mean it! I’m going to start reading into things and end up breaking my own damn heart.” I said shaking my hands into the air turning away and running them through my hair as the tears finally rolled down my cheeks.

 

“That’s because I do! I mean it every single time, you’ve just been too dense to realize..” He said grabbing onto my shoulders from behind, he kissed the top of my head as he wrapped his arms around me.

 

“Why would I ever realize? You’re you, and I’m just me. I was just lucky you hadn’t tossed me aside months ago, it felt selfish to ask for all that and your heart.” I said wiping my eyes and pulling away hugging myself tightly.

 

“Please, please! Be selfish, you could ask for the world and I’d give it to you. I’d give up everything for you, you are my everything. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that, I-I love you.” He said turning me around and cupping my face, his thumbs carefully wiping my tears.

 

“Woah woah woah, you… you what?”

 

“I love you, and I have for a while now. I just didn’t know if I should say anything, if I could this whole thing we have is all new to me.”

 

A silence hung in the air as we both stared at each other, I could see the glossiness in his eyes caused by the tears that formed in his eyes. I was speechless and confused, this entire time I thought I was going to burden him with my feelings and greed for more. A part of me felt relieved and ecstatic that he felt the same way but I still wasn’t sure how to respond, so I kissed him. I pressed my lips roughly against his and he returned the kiss eagerly.

 

We stumbled back a bit as the kiss grew more intense, I ran my hand through his hair as he came to under my dress. I guided us back towards the bed and he pushed me down onto it breaking the kiss, I laid back breathless but it wasn’t long before we were kissing again. I helped him undo his belt buckle as started to undo his shirt, he pulled back again taking off the black dress shirt he wore and his pants were off soon after. In the meantime I pulled my dress over my head and tossed it aside before crawling into the middle of the bed, Bruce coming up behind me soon after. I laid on my back and he kissed my lips again passionately before moving towards my jawline, his kiss trailing down my neck and torso towards the building warmth between my legs. He kissed down my thigh and neared closed to my lips but first, he bit down roughly on the meat of my thigh I winced as his teeth were sharp and definitely left an imprint and mark on my thigh. Before I had time to recover from the slight pain he was already pressing a kiss to my folds and dragging his tongue slowly between them. I squirmed under him arching slightly, my body instinctively reacting to the sensation which only emboldened him. He hungrily lapped away like a man starved days for water, he wrapped his arms around my thighs pulling me badly every time I tried to squirm away.

 

The pleasure was mind-numbing and made me grip tightly onto the sheets as I tried and pathetically failed to muffle my moans and heavy breathing, as I knew it would only set him off more. I felt the tension quickly building in my abdomen as he licked and teased my clit between my folds, it was long before I came my body jerking from the intensity of it. Bruce sat up from between my thighs his face glistening from the vulgar mixture of his saliva and my juices, my face burned red at the sight which only turned me on more. He climbed off me grabbed a condom from his pants and put it on, he climbed back on top of me positioning his erection between my folds. He looked at me for reassurance and I simply nodded, and in one quick move, he plunged his entire length inside me with a guttural groan. One hand gripped at my hip whilst the other one pressed down on my stomach, he ground his hips slowly against mine feeling how he poked up into my stomach with a satisfied grin on his face. His thrusts sped up he went deeper and deeper inside of me, I was still sensitive from my orgasm so each thrust sent me closer and closer to another one.

 

He leaned over and buried his face into my neck, his breath was heavy and hot against my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around him digging my nails into the muscly and scarred skin of his back, as our bodies continued to meld together his groans and thrusts became more erratic and he dug his teeth into the still-sensitive skin on my neck. I whimpered out in pain and Bruce stopped biting after a moment, opting to suck and kiss at the skin instead. Things grew hotter and hotter and it wasn’t long before a deep thrust sent me into a second orgasm, I rocked my hips against hips riding the high of it as Bruce thrust a final time into me with all his strength as he released his load. His grip on my hips tightened as he pulled me down onto him but eventually, he released his grip and pulled out of me, he flopped down onto the bed next to me. I sighed as my body felt empty without him and let out a pant as I wiped away some of the sweat on my face, I looked over at Bruce as he rolled over to me and draped his arm over me. We just locked eyes and smiled at each other, reveling in the quiet moment we had together.

 

“I didn’t get to say it earlier but I love you too.” He laughed and kissed my forehead softening his gaze.

 

 

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

 

Bonus scene

I snuggled into Bruce’s chest as he rubbed slow circles into my back, his heartbeat had relaxed and thumped inside his chest at a steady pace. It was a soothing sound and I felt myself being lulled into a tranquil state by it, I felt Bruce shift as he placed a kiss on the top of my head. I looked up at him as he smiled down at me, he brushed aside some of my hair with his free hand.

 

“You should get some sleep dove, you’ve had a long day.”

 

“You’re one to talk, you’re the one working hard to keep your business running. I just spend all day shopping and being escorted around, you should get some sleep.” He laughed and nodded his head.

 

“You aren’t wrong, I do have even more work due tomorrow but I think I’ll take a rain check on those, I’d much rather spend the day and night with you.” He said with a wink and a grin whilst I rolled my eyes.

 

“You’re so cheesy, I love it.”

 

“You better because I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. You’re mine, all mine.” He kissed me again and bit down harshly on my lip, I flinched as he drew blood and I could tell from the look in his eyes how serious about not letting me go he was.

 

 

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[yanderes-galore]

♦️ with your no.59 polypa and mallek??

I assume you mean they share a darling so that's what I went with, poly Moirails I guess-

I will admit this, you picked a good pair because they work really well together in this-

Warning for the fact their quirks may be butchered, I was using a generator and I think my formatting messed it up.

Yandere! Pale! Polypa Goezee + Pale! Mallek Adalov Prompt 59

"Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

Pairing: Poly-Pale♦️

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Taboo concept in Troll culture (Multiple Moirails), Protective behavior, Violence/Murder, Isolation, Dubious Moirallegience.

When it came to trolls, most people had one Moirail. A Moirail was like a soulmate, someone who brings the best out of you through the pale quadrant. Most were supposed to have one.

You had two.

Having two Moirails wasn't a very common thing you heard of besides maybe films. It normally never happened. If you had a Moirail, you had a Moirail.

Not only did you have two Moirails, both had consented to sharing you over time, they are of two different bloodcastes. Your first, Polypa, is Olive. Your second, Mallek, is Cerulean. One is Lowblood, the other is barely Highblood.

Your two Moirails also have very different jobs. Polypa is an assassin while Mallek is a hacker. Despite their differences, the two set aside fighting for a common goal.

You make them better people... so they'll share you.

When the two had first met it was worrying. Polypa had caught you hanging around Mallek/following him into his limousine and followed. She already had the intentions of confessing her pale love and felt she had to protect you.

Meanwhile Mallek had taken you in to do the same thing, confess. When Mallek had realized Polypa followed you and she was an assassin things got nasty. You ended up having to explain the situation and calm them.

There was tension between them for along time, which had pushed back their confessions. Polypa was distrustful of Mallek due to his caste, while Mallek wasn't sure why you trusted an assassin of all people. With time and you being there to monitor them... you tried to make them become friends.

For you they made it work. In fact, they could actually help each other with their jobs. Mallek was able to hack technology to aid in Polypa's assassin work. This actually brought the two closer, other than the fact they both care for you.

While Polypa and Mallek were just friends... they both felt they cared for you so much more. They soon realized they both feel pale towards you and speak about it with each other. Both were unwilling to share at first until they realized you made them friends.

They both owe you... so they agreed to the unthinkable.

They'll share a Moirail.

That's how you gained them both as Moirails. The whole thing is kept a secret. If you are in public, PDA is a no. Plus the two can't be seen with each other.

You're with one or the other, if not, then you'll all be at Mallek's Hive to relax.

The two are affectionate to you as their Moirail. Despite their grueling jobs they still manage to be sweet to you. They comfort you, hold you, and treat you as any Moirail would.

The only difference is you have two.

Behind your back the two are in cahoots. They share information about you and always keep an eye on you. After all, it's a dangerous place on Alternia, especially if you're a Lowblood or an alien.

Polypa watches you from the shadows and marks anyone she doesn't like around you for death. Mallek hacks cameras and drones to watch you, plus he hacks drones to aid Polypa in assassinating threats around you. The two are a dangerous pair.

A dangerous pair who'd do anything for their Moirail.

The reason you're so safe is because of them. When you meet with them at Mallek's Hive, the two always look so tired. It's worth it to protect you, plus they both end up receiving soft affection from you so they can rest.

You love your Moirails, you just have no idea what they really do for you. They help each other kill for you, they watch you when you leave the Hive, in fact...

Maybe you just shouldn't leave the Hive anymore, hm?

Keeping you in Mallek's Hive has been something the two have been considering. They had been meticulously planning it, even working it out with Mallek's Lusus to make a room for you to stay in. Things were going slow and steady...

Until your Moirails realize you've been speaking to other trolls.

Mallek had reported such a find to Polypa when she came back from an assignment. On some security feed it was shown you were talking to a group of other trolls. To them, it didn't matter what caste, they needed them gone. This lead to Mallek confronting you when you were gone.

When you came to visit Mallek's Hive with Polypa, Mallek had asked about the feed. It was a poor move but now they had to move fast. They can't have their Moirail getting themselves hurt.

"are those friends of yours?" Mallek starts, pointing to the screen. You can barely find the words to speak. Why was he watching you?

Mallek catches your attention again by hitting his desk with a sharp 'Hey!'. Polypa watches the interaction from the doorway.

"are they your everything!?" Mallek asks again with a snarl, clearly hurt by you talking to others.

"Mallek, they're just friends- You know you and Polypa are my Moirails, you're the most important people to me-"

"if that's so * then why do you bother with other trolls? in alternia that's a good way to get hurt *" *| Polypa chimes in with a hiss, narrowing her eyes.

"They're safe, I swear!"

"really? polypa = right you know; highblood, lowblood, it doesn't matter;;; they're dangerous; my Hive = the safest place for you;"

"What do you mean?"

"i mean you're staying in my hive, as a moirail it = what i feel = right;"

"You can't lock me in your Hive! I'm leaving...."

You turn, only for Polypa to push you back.

"you're staying here * look at you * * * getting all worked up over a few random trolls *" *|

Polypa looks towards Mallek. The two share a glance before Mallek stands up and stands beside you with Polypa. You feel weak between them.

"look, you need to relax;" Mallek sighs, a smile gracing his lips. "this = what your moirails are meant to help with, right?"

Before you can protest the two trolls lay you down on a seat before "shoosh papping" you. You can't help but lean into their touch and relax as they say. Surely they were just worried when they said they'd lock you up here, right?

"polypa;" Mallek says, the Olive troll looking towards him.

"i already know what you want *" *| Polypa answers, glancing at the door. "i'll get rid of them *" *|

You tense up, scrambling away from their touch.

"Wait wait... Polypa, please, there's no need to-"

"shhhh * * *" *| Polypa sighs, giving you a concerned yet loving look. "think about it * those 'friends' will only hurt you *" *|

Frustrated tears flow down your cheeks, Mallek shooshes you and wipes them away.

"you only need us, your moirails; we keep you safe, we look after you, we're the only ones that matter to you;" Mallek explains, holding you close while Polypa stands up. You struggle in his grip but he doesn't relent. "removing those trolls = meant to help you; please, won't you trust your moirails?"

Mallek exchanges another look between Polypa. She steps forward briefly to comfort you before walking to the door.

"we're doing this to protect you * * *" *| Polypa reassures you before she leaves."mallek will watch you while i take care of this *" *|

When she leaves you can't seem to stop yourself from caring. Mallek holds you tighter and does his best to comfort you. Unfortunately your body betrays you even when you try to fight his comfort, leading to you nuzzling into his hood.

"we love you, you know that don't you?" Mallek hums, looking at you softly.

When you only respond with hiccups and sobs Mallek rubs your back with a soft 'Shh...'

He'll give you time... surely you'll come around and understand how much he and Polypa care for you in the end, right?

[melis-writes]

Prompt for Victoria being with Michael in Cuba on one of his trips. Sex in a big fancy hotel room after a day at the beach and/or pool club, both wearing swimmers all day!!

Oooooh, yes!! A fun, sexy trip putting all that business aside for a little while with Michael and Victoria. 🥴 Just imagining wet Michael stepping out of the pool is enough… Bit on the longer end with a major warning for lots and lots of smut in this prompt. 🥵🥵🥵

Most of Nevada and New York may know just who you and Michael are for all the right and wrong reasons, but the infamous Corleone couple matters little outside the country as Michael discovered with his own identity when he first flew to Cuba.

Physical distance aside, Michael’s first visit to Cuba a few years back promised danger for himself with all signs pointing to convenient assassinations—hence why Michael absolutely refused to take you and the children with him.

Sleeping alone and wondering about your husband over two thousand miles away from night to night never compared to raising two little ones missing their father too, especially with such risk.

Michael and his only trusted business partner in Cuba communicated through associates and out of state visits, but with Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola both dead and out of the way, Michael has more than just claims and inheritance with his name on it in Cuba.

Being able to fly down without the possibility of discovering betrayal or planning someone else’s death as revenge sates Michael’s craving for your presence.

After all, Michael knows if it’s truly up to him with your safety secured, then he’s never against the idea of bringing his wife with him upon business trips.

Opting for a private jet to take you both to Cuba in the lap of luxury, Michael keeps an arm over your hips upon the leather loveseat you both sit together on.

“Thank you,” you smile up at the hostess who pours the two of you glasses of five-hundred dollar bubbling champagne.

Michael takes a glance at his 18k gold wristwatch before taking his champagne glass and taking a small sip from it—never opting for anything else but red wine from time to time.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Michael’s eyes fall upon yours.

You hold your champagne glass in your hand, letting out a soft sigh through your travel exhaustion beginning to grow on you, but your overall excitement to spend the trip with Michael overpowers it with the soft smile over your lips. “I can definitely say it’s the longest flight I’ve ever been on.”

“Fifteen hours.” Michael adjusts his watch, giving your hips a gentle rub. “We’re halfway through. Time’s passing by much more quickly.”

“I can guess why.” You peek up at your husband, drinking your champagne. “You’re not as stressed or insistent to go. Not like last time.”

“Mm. You weren’t with me last time, yet you know?” A hint of amusement flashes in Michael’s eyes.

“I know you too well, baby.” You blush, leaning up to give Michael’s cheek a kiss. “We’re replacing that memory as we speak.”

“Believe me, I’d like to above all.” Michael exhales deeply, relaxing in his seat. “I didn’t imagine there would be anything for our family in Havana after Roth and Ricci.”

“You’re a good man, Michael.” You place your hand over Michael’s upon your waist. “And yet again, everything’s worked out for our family.”

“That’s all that matters.” Michael gazes back at you. “There’s more ‘rest and relaxation’ than anything this time around.”

“So you can think of it as a vacation instead of a business trip.” You hug his arm, taking another sip of your champagne. “It’ll help relax you.”

“Only for you, darling.” Michael sets down his drink, lacing his hand with yours. “I aim to make up for all the time I couldn’t spend with you elsewhere.”

“Business aside, I still have you mostly to myself.” You squeeze Michael’s hand, smiling shyly. “I’m just happy to support you always, baby.”

Your arrival to the luxurious hotel booked under “Mr. and Mrs. Corleone” is nothing short of surprises from the private limousine ride onward.

A five class hotel known all too well for being booked months in advance with a separate, VIP wing for presidential suites on each floor with the best room available with security is all for you and Michael to enjoy alone.

A private pool remains just outside the suite on the main balcony, away from prying and curious eyes while the back balcony contains a hot tub able to comfortably fit up to twenty people.

Boasting two thousand square feet throughout the suite with three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a steam room and gas fireplace with twenty-four hour unlimited service, Michael’s ensured nothing but the best of comfort and enjoyment for you.

“Oh my God,” you mouth to yourself in awe from the moment you step into the suite.

“It reminds me of what you told me when we were still getting to know one another,” holding your hand, Michael leads you inside as his and your luggage is neatly placed inside of the room. “Memories over material items?”

Your cheeks flare up with blush, surprised from Michael remembering such a detail. “But that didn’t apply for our first anniversary or my birthday when you bought us a villa in Sicily and a new car for me?”

“I told you,” Michael chuckles quietly, locking the suite door behind him. “You deserve the best and only the best. That is what you shall have.”

“This place is so beautiful, I don’t know what to say.” You shake your head, finding something new and exhilarating to look at with every glance you take. “Did you stay in a suite like this when you first came?”

“Not quite.” Michael follows you over to the balcony. “A VIP suite nonetheless, the best the hotel had to offer but it pales in comparison to this. I spent very little time in there,” Michael’s eyes dart over yours expectantly as you both walk out into the balcony. “Until a call came in from Lake Tahoe.”

Furiously blushing, you turn your head away. “I’m jetlagged and being teased at the same time. Oh, I can’t believe you remember that.”

But then again, that was one of the few and intimate times you and Michael dirty talked to each other on call and had phone sex—touching yourselves to each others voices and teasing.

“Another reason why it’s good for the children to spend time with their grandparents while we’re here.” Michael pulls you close to his body by your hips. “You’re mine,” Michael’s eyes meet yours, smoldering with desire. “And I’ll take you in every bed and room this suite has.”

A rush of arousal tingles through your body as your breath hitches. “You owe me that much.”

“Do I?” Michael raises a brow. “I won’t have any use for this,” Michael tugs on his silk tie, “certainly not over your mouth. The walls are soundproof.”

“If you want me to beg, Don Corleone…” You wrap your arms around Michael’s shoulders, teasing him. “You certainly know how.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Michael’s hand travels underneath your little black dress, caressing your inner thigh. “Go into the central suite’s bathroom. You’ll find something in your favour upon the countertop. I’ll be right behind you.”

You whine softly, “you’re just teasing me. You are.”

“Am I?” Michael gives your ass a firm smack, gesturing back inside the suite. “Go on.”

Biting down on your lip, you enter back into the suite and feel arousal continuing to rush and pump through you with every step you take.

Sensing Michael behind you, you make your way into the master bathroom and turn on the lights—seeing two sinks over quartz countertops, two grand ornate mirrors with gold finishes, sparkling marble floors and a massive bathtub to your right but nothing over the countertop.

You glance up in the mirror to see Michael’s reflection just behind you, but before you can express confusion or say anything else, you feel his firm hands suddenly pressing your hips to bend over the countertop.

“Michael!” You gasp out, clutching onto the countertop for balance.

“I told you.” Michael’s hands snake up your dress, pulling down your panties to your ankles. “You would get what you were searching for.”

“Oh my God,” you whimper, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Michael, please—”

“You wore this dress again.” Michael’s eyes burn back into yours as he hikes up the tight dress over your hips. “You remember what I told you about it last time?”

“Who says I forgot?” You breathe, clenching your legs together.

“Don’t.” Michael narrows his eyes, forcefully spreading them open. “I’m not going to give you what you want just yet.”

“I—Ooh!” Your eyes widen in pleasant surprise as Michael swiftly lowers his head down, planting a wet kiss over your spread pussy. “M-Michael…”

Michael’s hot, wet tongue brushes up against your clit in flickering motions, sending waves of pulsating arousal through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop the breathy little moans and whimpers escaping for your lips as your body begs for more.

Michael keeps both of his hands over your ass, squeezing and spanking as his tongue hungrily darts over your dripping sex.

“Oh my God, yes!” You cry out as Michael slobbers down over your pussy, pushing his mouth over it as he laps up your wetness.

The stimulation over your clit from Michael’s stubble brushing up against it causes you to roll your eyes back from pleasure, building up a delicious orgasm in the pit of your stomach.

Helplessly watching yourself in the mirror as your hands begin to shake against the countertops, Michael continues to suck over your clit and let his spit slobber in and around your tight heat.

Licking and slurping upwards at your clit, Michael never stops his greedy pace. You gyrate your hips downward towards his mouth, having to clasp your hand over your mouth to silence yourself.

Just as you feel you’re on the verge of cumming, Michael’s hands begin to rub tenderly in the creases of your upper thighs before he slowly parts his mouth away.

“M-Michael?” You pant, feeling your orgasm begin to dwindle away from you.

Leaving you aching for more, a string of spit separates from Michael’s mouth and your pussy as he pulls back.

“You don’t get to cum unless I say so.” Michael licks off his lips, rising back up to his feet. “And—” He grasps the sides of your throat, pulling your head back against his shoulder.

You giggle breathily, all the more turned on by his rough actions.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself.” Michael whispers back to you before abdruptly letting you go and turning to exit the bathroom.

“What?” You whimper, shakily pulling up your panties. “We just got here, where are you going?”

“I have a business meeting in twenty minutes, darling.” Michael adjusts his tie walking towards his luggage. “Are you going to hold out for that long?”

“Please,” you rub over your blushing cheeks, looking away. “Think I’m that needy?”

“I do.” Michael picks up his suitcase. “And I want to find you here when I’m back.”

“I won’t go anywhere, Don Corleone.” You teasingly let the straps of your panties slap against your skin. “But I’m going to make good use of that pool. When will you be back?”

“Sooner than you think.” Michael’s eyes dart up and down your body. “Be a good girl and behave until then.”

~

Even five minutes after Michael’s cleaned up and left for his business meeting at the hotel, the aching and pulsating feeling in your clit hasn’t subsided.

“God,” you whimper to yourself quietly, pulling off your panties and feeling the wet fabric slowly part from your pussy lips.

Your eyes fall over the king sized bed, eyeing the swan shaped towels by the foot of it.

Instead of picturing yourself laying down and toying with your clit until you cum, all you can think of is those slender fingers of Michael’s doing it for you while the two of you maintain eye contact.

Attempting to push aside your hot and bothered thoughts, you hang up your little black dress in the closet and toss your panties into the laundry hamper.

Unhooking off your bra as you approach your luggage, you take out one of your favourite bikinis—a cherry red set and a beach towel before beginning to put them on.

You adjust the straps of your bikini in front of the full-body mirror by the bed, humming quietly to yourself as you let your hair down your shoulders.

Wrapping the bath towel around your waist, you pop open the mini fridge by the bed and grab a bottle of unscrewed white wine and a glass before you make your way out to the pool.

The afternoon sun shines brightly over the pool but from the architectural style of both the swimming pool and balcony, it provides ultimate privacy on all sides from anywhere.

You set your wine bottle and glass carefully by the lounge chairs spread out around the pool, wanting to wait for Michael to get back before you enjoy a refreshment in the pool.

You neatly fold your pool towel onto one lounge chair and take a cautious step down the stairs leading into the pool—shivering a bit at the feel of lukewarm water against your skin.

“Alright…” You wade further into the water, letting it soak over you to get used to the temperature.

You swim towards the middle of the pool, diving in and out of the water slowly before popping your head out and brushing aside your soaked hair.

When you open your eyes, you gasp to see Michael standing right before the pool side with both of his hands in the pockets of his trousers, gazing at you.

“When did you get back?” You blink, swimming towards him.

“Just now.” Michael begins to shrug off his suit jacket, “too much sun exposure hasn’t been good for our associate. He wants to meet both of us at dinner for the meeting.”

“I see.” You can’t help but smile shyly at Michael. “That’s even better for me.”

“I thought you might say that.” Michael walks back into the bedroom to put his suit jacket away but purposefully remains in your line of sight as he begins to strip down to his swimmers.

You rest your arms against the ledge of the pool, unable to get your eyes off of your husband as he unbuttons his dress shirt and loosens his leather belt.

The same insistent and urging arousal returns to you as your eyes greedily admire every inch of Michael from his chest hair down to his back muscles.

Michael wears a pair of plain, black swimming bottoms and rakes his hand through his hair a few times to gently break through the gel’s hold as he approaches the pool again.

“A sight I don’t get to see too often.” You begin to swim backwards, smiling up at him. “Come on, come join me.”

“Your intentions are elsewhere,” Michael steps into the pool without flinching or cringing against the slightly cooler water. “Aren’t they?”

“Maybe.” You swim over to your husband, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you. “This is just what I wanted.”

“Mm.” Michael leans over, kissing your lips. “This is the only part of our trip the twins would enjoy.”

“I know,” you let out a soft laugh. “Not that I blame them. When was the last time you swam with them in Lake Tahoe, let alone swam at all?”

“Never,” Michael answers plainly, pulling you into his embrace. “I have my reasons.”

“Such as?” You teasingly run your hand down Michael’s wet chest.

“It’s distracting.” Michael’s eyes move down to your bikini top. “And not something I wish to do in front of our employees.”

“Distracting is the word for it, alright.” You murmur, rubbing over Michael’s shoulders tenderly.

Michael moves over to kiss you again, but this time you dodge it and pull back, smirking at him. “Nuh uh.”

Michael raises his brows at you in disbelief. “Playing hard to get?”

“You owe me.” You gesture to him with your fingers. “And after leaving me a mess like that in the bathroom? I hardly call that fair.”

“I was getting even with you.” Michael swims closer to you. “You’re a smart girl, you know that.”

“I don’t like being teased.” You pout back playfully.

“Who says I was teasing you?” You remain face to face with Michael. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“What doesn’t—”

Michael pulls at the straps of your bikini top, throwing it off of you as your breasts spill free into the water. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, come on.” You giggle breathily, covering your breasts. “You’re not getting me out of the water anytime soon.”

“I don’t have to.” Michael forces your arms down, cupping his hands over your breasts as he begins to push you through the water. “I’ll take you in here, right now otherwise you’ll be a good girl and get back inside the bedroom.”

“Oh, you were waiting for this.” You giggle to yourself, swimming back up to the stairs. “I haven’t even had the chance to dry off yet. You want to ruin the bed?”

“You did it to yourself. That’s what it’s for. I could care less.” Michael follows, snatching your bikini bottoms off. “And you won’t be needing this either. Why you wore anything at all here surprises me. You have all the privacy you could want.”

“And you don’t?” You step out of the pool—droplets of water dripping down your ass.

“Don’t talk back to me.” Michael gives your ass a harsh smack, gesturing back inside the bedroom. “Spread yourself and wait for me.”

“You’ve got another surprise for me?” Blushing, you enter back into the suite with Michael.

Michael doesn’t answer you, instead moving towards the steam room in the suite and leaving you alone in the bedroom.

Impatient but just as needy, you do as Michael says and get on the bed—soaking through the duvet and spreading your legs open.

Just across from you, you can see your reflection against the mirror, all sprawled out, soaked from head to toe and waiting for Michael’s return.

Michael’s back only a moment later, holding a large bottle of massage oil in his hands. “Good girl. You did as you were told to.”

Your eyes land over the bottle in Michael’s hands and you feel as if your pussy has a heartbeat of it’s own, expecting to fuck away the afternoon completely wet and slicked with massage oil.

“Now,” Michael hovers over top of you, tilting your chin down to face him. “Be a good girl and spread it all over yourself.”

You gasp softly to feel the cool massage oil squirt all over you, coating your breasts, stomach, inner thighs and pussy generously.

Michael watches as the massage oil slicks down your body, seeing how your hands work around every crease of your thighs, over your hardened nipples and especially all over your pussy.

“Turn around.” Michael holds up the massage oil bottle. “And get on your knees.”

“Yes, sir.” You whisper to yourself, getting on all fours.

With a perfect view of your ass, Michael squirts the remainder of the massage oil down your lower back and all over your ass.

This time as Michael puts down the empty bottle, he works his hands over your ass—spanking you and squeezing your ass cheeks as he lathers the oil thoroughly all throughout.

“M—My God,” you press your face into a pillow, feeling Michael’s oiled fingers rub circles over your pussy’s entrance.

“When you cum,” Michael pulls his swimmers off completely, kneeling on the bed. “You’ll tell me, do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you whine as Michael gives your soaked hair a tug.

“Make a mess worth cleaning up for.” He hisses in your ear, coating his cock in the massage oil as well.

You arch your back obediently, looking back over your shoulder as much as you can see as Michael begins to slowly push his cock inside of you and penetrate your pussy.

“O-ooohhhh…” You exhale shakily, feeling Michael’s thick, full cock pushing into you.

“Fuck,” you hear Michael mumble under his breath, gripping your hips. “You know how fucking tight you are?”

You giggle out of breath against the pillow, already beginning to feel your thighs tremble from the first thrust. “Michaellllll…”

Facing the mirror, you throw your head back with a half shriek, half moan as Michael begins to pound into your ass—already feeling you aroused and ready for him. “Oh, yes! YES!”

As Michael keeps a steady, quickened sloppy pace inside of you, he watches as a mixture of his precum, water and massage oil drip onto the bed from your pussy.

“Like that, huh? Is this what you wanted?” Michael moves his arm underneath you, squeezing your face and giving it a little shake.

“Y-yes!” You muffle out, pushing your hips back against Michael’s cock. “I w-want it, want it, want it!”

“You’re gonna take this cock in for as long as I want you to,” Michael watches how eagerly you gyrate your hips back to take him in you again and again. “Until you’re fucked into a mess.”

“D-do it,” you groan loudly, feeling Michael slamming his hips upright into you. “Fuck me, fuck me!”

“Did you touch yourself when I was gone? Hmm?” Michael demands an answer—his hair beginning to tousle over his forehead.

“N-no!” You moan shakily, moving your hands back to spread your ass open.

“We’ll see about that,” Michael slicks a finger over your clit—the massage oil dripping off of it providing the perfect stimulation to push you to the brink of orgasm.

Your moans only grow louder and more consistent as you’re simply unable to hold them back.

Your ass cheeks begin to glow pink from the friction of hitting Michael’s waist back and forth as fast as he can possibly fuck you.

“I want to ruin you,” beads of sweat begin to form over Michael’s head as he maintains his rapid thrusting rate, pounding into you as deep as he can go. “Like you begged me to last night.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop—” You squeeze your eyes shut, only able to hear the sloshing sounds of your wetness against Michael’s cock with skin slapping against skin above your moaning.

“You’re gonna cum on this cock or not at all,” Michael feels your pussy humming and contracting over his shaft as you come closer and closer to your orgasm.

You spread your legs as wide as you can in the doggy style position to take more of Michael in you.

His thrusting remains harsh and deep, almost enough to practically push you stomach down on the bed each and every time—the massage oil slicked and glistening over your body.

Learning all your sweet spots and weak points, memorizing each inch of pleasure radiating off your body and listening to your sweet cries of ecstasy as your hips quiver against Michael’s paints a picture of pure erotica in the hotel room.

Michael’s cock ravages your pussy like a man possessed over and over again, fucking you like a ragdoll as the mattress shakes out from under you both.

You roll your hips back at Michael desperately, begging for every thrust going in and out of you and putting him in a state of pure domination.

Michael fucks you mercilessly, bringing you to shrieking loud moans just the way you’ve craved it for days; the scent of sex filling the room.

‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.’ Bursting at a different height of arousal altogether, your toes curl in response as you begin to feel your orgasm unwind through.

[circusgoth-dotcom]

Posers

Ship: Charles Lee Ray x Ash Englund (Rockstar AU)

Word Count: 682

Summary: A conversation in a dirty limousine. CWs for descriptions of unsanitary settings, brief drug mention, Charles spits phlegm onto the car's floor, suggestive ending.

Tag List: @canongf @rexscanonwife @futurewife

This was the cheapest limousine Ash had ever ridden in. Granted, Charles was only known for frivolity when it came to drugs and lavish hotels, if he really felt like splurging, but this seemed like a new low. The cab reeked of bad booze, mainly, and the seats were duct-tapped and filled with cigarette burns.

The carpet was probably a stunning paisley at one point, but too many nights of Z-list celebrity bodily fluids had turned it into the ugliest cheetah print imaginable. Ash and Charles sat side-by-side, with Ash trying to ignore the squalor he found himself in and Charles glaring at a poster in his hands, and Tiffany sat across from them, filing her nails and occasionally becoming distracted by the grime on the windows. Eddie had been shunted up front with the unquestioning, world-hardened driver.

“I would complain about the car situation, but it seems something’s already got you occupied. What’s on your mind, Chucky?” Ash asked, hovering over his boyfriend’s shoulder in an attempt to get a look at the poster for himself.

“It’s a limo, isn’t it?” Charles grumbled before fluttering the paper angrily and snapping, “It’s the damn opener they’ve got for us tonight. Fuckin’ posers, I tell ya.”

“Well, how do you know that?” Tiffany asked, glad to be distracted by something that wasn’t filth or disrepair.

“I did my research, that’s how I know.”

“Is that why you made me stand guard while you snuck into the surveillance office at the hotel the other day?? So you could use the computer??” Ash asked, bemused. “Y’know, you could’ve just gone to the library.”

Charles ignored him. “Alright, fuckin’, get this, you see this little shit here??” He showed the poster to Tiffany and pointed at the frontmost band member.

“Yeah, what about him?”

“Son of Duke De Marino, and he’s trying to claim he’s like us.” He snorted up some phlegm, making Ash wrinkle his nose.

“Chuck, don’t fuckin’ hawk a loogie in here.”

He did so anyway, spitting a white and green blob onto the disgusting carpet. “Too late, already did. Hey, maybe it’ll improve the decor.” He chuckled, though his frustration remained evident on his face.

“Anyway,” Tiffany waved one hand dismissively and used the other to dig through her purse, eventually throwing a tissue over the loogie on the floor. “Duke De Mario, the record producer?”

“Yes, exactly! This is a shit-eating rich kid if I ever saw one who took his daddy’s money and made himself an ‘alternative band.’ And they’re fuckin’ opening for us, Chucky and The Killer Dolls, the most kick-ass band from New Jersey you can think of!”

“The most kick-ass band from New Jersey you’ve never heard of is more like it, we’ve just got loyal fans who bring their friends to shows,” Ash shrugged, then squeezed his boyfriend’s arm. “I get it though, baby, I do. Ain’t exactly anything we can do about it…”

“Other than blowin’ those fuckers out of the water. In a year, nobody’s going to remember The X-Ray Effect, but we’ll still be doin’ pyrotechnics and flirtin’ with groupies, I’m damn sure of it!”

Ash smiled softly, his eyes sparkling as he admired Charles’ profile. “Glad to see you’re in a better mood, babes.”

The partition slid aside, revealing Eddie Captuo’s youthful yet tired and scruffy features. “We’re here.”

Eagerly, the four band members exited the crappy limo and quickly entered the back door of the theatre they were playing at. Charles wrapped an arm around Ash’s waist as they walked, stealing a quick kiss.

“I think I know the answer I’ll get, but what would you say to shaggin’ me in that busted-up wagon after the show?” Charles growled suggestively, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder and back toward the lot where the limo would be waiting to take them back to the hotel. Ash rolled his eyes.

“Okay, Charles, I might be a slut but you know I won’t go that low. I can suck you off in the bathroom afterwards if that’ll make it up to you.”

Charles laughed.

[majesticwren]

The Hanging Tree (Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley x OFC)

Summary: Are you, are you comin' to the tree? Where they strung up a man, they say, who murdered three — She is on a path looking for war as her fate foretold. And he has war within him. Both, thirsty for vengeance, justice and blood.

Words: 15k. Trigger Warning/s: Toxic Display of Masculinity, Implied and not so Implied Harassment, Healthy Display of Masculinity, Sheamus is a Special Guest in this Chapter - and also SheamusxDrew it's Canon in my everything, do not come for me -, Fluff, Jealousy, Dean Acting Possessive and Dumb, Smut, Semi-Public Smut (?) - this time it's actually happening because I felt like writing it and the scene it's steamy, hi -, Dirty Talk, Threatening Behaviour and Harassment pt.2, Verbal Abuse, Violence, both Dean and Valkyrie are Unhinged by the end sorry not sorry Tags: my lovely @hirunoka and honorary mention to @literaryuppsala, thank you both for all the support 💕Let me know if you'd like to be added 🌻

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Chapter 7 - Oxytocin.

Part I.

Valkyrie was far from being used to that kind of world and lifestyle.

Yes, she knew what it meant to work with the stylists. Every time she was expected to go on ring, she was required to wear her full costume gear and makeup. But she always thought about that as preparing for battle. It wasn’t what she was used to back home, far from it, but it was as easy as getting used to the cameras always rolling. She understood what it meant to have a brand and to carry a character in everything, may that be fighting skills or costumes. She was legitimate and her fight was always true, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t get used to the spectacle of it.

But that evening was different.

That evening was made of champagne, limousine rides and red carpets. It was splendid and opulent, making her feel just like a Hollywood movie star, chased by the paparazzi, dressed to impress and ready for a scandal.

The gala was hosted inside an art gallery set up for the party. There were huge, glimmering, crystal chandeliers hanging from painted ceilings and small orchestra groups playing live in every room. The guests lingered around, chit-chatting and indulging in the drinks and food offered by the catering.

Every guest was dressed for the event. The men were wearing elegant tuxedos and polished shoes, while the women wore the most beautiful dresses in the most varied range of colours and shapes, all adorned by sparkly, precious jewels. All looking as beautiful as royalty.

Not every guest was a wrestler, she didn’t recognise many faces in the crowd, but between those who she did recognise she was so surprised to notice that even the roughest, angriest, most violent fighters were all polished and dressed up.

Valkyrie herself had to admit she felt like she was someone else, as she found herself floating in such a different reality from what she was used to. She could, for once, pretend to be just a princess. Her garments certainly carried such an impression.

She was wearing the most beautiful dress she had ever seen in her entire existence, made with the finest materials and greatest craftsmanship. It was the colour of stormy clouds hovering over agitated seas, made of tulle softly falling along her figure, enriched by sparkly, floral embroilments. The soft, elegant beauty of it was opposed by the harder-looking corset caging her torso, made to look like a piece of silvery armour, connected by many, thin, silvery chains to a chest and shoulder piece covered in silver and light blue rhinestones.

As soon as her stylist showed it to her, she was gone for it. Never in her life had she thought she could fall in love with a dress, and yet, she had to change her mind. Even if her team had set aside some other choices, there was no game, as soon as Valkyrie had seen it, that was it.

Wearing it around became her entire purpose and the only reason why she decided not to oppose going to the gala.

That was a dress that deserved to be worn, carried around, shown off and danced in.

Her look was finished with an elegant headpiece inspired by her ring costume. The two wings to the side of her head were made of real, white feathers covered in thin rhinestones that recalled the colours of her dress and makeup.

She felt invincible wearing it – and with no other problem whatsoever in her life but the drama she felt she needed to cause just because of it. To the point that even while parading in front of the cameras by the entrance of the gallery, she found herself posing. Her vanity and self-confidence had taken over, bringing her to feel the visceral need to be looked at.

By the time she stepped into the building, following the marble steps covered in a stream of red velvet, Valkyrie was literally glowing. She was the embodiment of ethereal beauty and she wasn’t afraid to show it.

Someone by the door passed her a leaflet containing the evening program and after that, Valkyrie was left to roam free the different rooms waiting for the gala dinner to start.

She didn’t know enough people to have interest in mingling so she decided to take that chance to explore the art that place had to offer since it was on display for them.

It was a good enough way to spend time, blending into the crowd and enjoying how alive her surroundings felt. Life could be felt flowing in every room. It was in the soft classical music and in the loud chattering and murmuring of the crowd, broken by the occasional distant burst of laughter. It was in the noise of flutes clinking or bottles popping, and in the smell of canapés. In every corner the air was so charged with energy, it was inebriating.

For once, being submerged by such display of life, Valkyrie found herself grateful to be there to witness it.

A small sigh left her chest and a tranquil smile nested on her lips as she observed the shameless brush strokes on a painting representing a young beautiful naked woman lost in the arms of a knight.

Valkyrie dared to look at the details of the painting, only in appearance supposed to picture a soft, secret moment between lovers. She knew exactly how the woman in the painting must have felt, with a hot, running heart and heavy, empty loins. Breathless and abandoned to the will of her chosen one. Passion was wild, not sweet, it was something that paintwork couldn’t hide.

“You should definitely dress like this all day, every day,”

A shiver crossed her back, making her jerk. Her eyelids immediately fell heavier on her eyes as she naturally moved towards that voice. It wasn’t even the familiar warmth of his tone that got her, it was his sudden closeness as if he had just materialised from the very fabric of her fantasies.

Dean stood just behind her, so close it was dangerous and prohibited, but also electrifying. She left any trace of common sense at the hotel room. It was a lost battle even before she started it. So, she quickly decided there and then that she had no intention to fight either him or the warm desire already distending under her skin, making her stomach curl and her heart flatter.

She decided to blame the dress.

“All day?” She wondered, sending him a playful look, not even trying to hide what was supposed to be concealed in the flirty sarcasm in between her words.

And Dean was ready to bite. “Well-” his eyes became darker, his gaze sharper, as he looked at her in such a direct, shameless way, making her feel naked under his eyes, “maybe not.”

Valkyrie took a long moment to study his figure. He was astonishingly handsome, more beautiful than he had ever been before, so polished and elegant. And he knew it. There was extreme confidence, maybe a touch of arrogance too, in the way he stood, willingly basking under her eyes. No trace of timidity. He looked like a dream, with his hair pulled back and face clean-shaven, and with his black tux fitting his fame perfectly.

His charm hit her like a thick wave, washing over her and dragging her down towards him. There was no escape. There was no solace, no peace.

It wasn’t that she had forgotten all the reasons why they shouldn't have been together. It was that she didn't care.

The dress made her selfish and inconsiderate. It made her reckless. And she desperately wanted to be lost in his arms just like the woman in the painting.

She didn't even try to fight it because she knew she wouldn't have won. And it was just much sweeter to raise her white flag from the beginning, with no losses or suffering.

Valkyrie unashamedly ran a hand on the satin collar of his jacket. “You too, by the way. You look breathtaking.”

“You’d want me to wear this crap all day, every day?”

“Oh, yes,” Valkyrie pretended to brush something off his shoulder only to get the chance to lean closer to him and whisper in his ear, “I’d want you to fuck me all day, every day, in these clothes.”

“You’d like that, uh?” His cocky smirk was so handsome she pardoned his arrogance.

She bit down on her lower lip giving him a long, slow look. “I would, baby.”

Dean rolled his eyes, purring, not even doing as much as trying to hide how much he was wrapped around her finger. “Tell me, how am I supposed to stay away from you?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” She dared to openly challenge him.

Dean just looked at her, hesitating only a moment, before releasing a soft hiss, and turning away. “You're such a tease. You’re driving me insane.” His deep voice was soft but vibrated under a shiver that made him squeeze his fists. Dean took a step back.

Valkyrie smiled, extremely satisfied by his words. She enjoyed imagining that what was bothering him was his extreme attempt to try and keep his hands off her.

Gods, she wanted him to lose his control so badly.

“I mean it.” She dared, fighting against the need to slide closer to him. Instead, she looked around, only to make sure they weren’t attracting attention.

Thankfully they were blending well in the crowd. It was easy to feel like they were hidden and unseen when they were covered by the strangers surrounding them.

Her words attracted Dean’s attention and, as she caught the look he shot her, they both stood looking at each other for a very long moment.

Studying his features, Valkyrie could see his uncertainty breaking through, softening his ego. And with that, she was under the impression he could be holding his breath.

“I thought you were set on your decision.”

“I still want you to ruin me, Dean. Maybe I don’t want to fight against it anymore.”

“Against what?”

He hung from her lips. There was no reason for her to explain further, but he clearly wanted to hear her say it.

“I can’t fight how much I need you.” She said it as if that was the easiest thing to reveal. As if it was so obvious and predictable.

Dean broke eye contact. He puffed his chest as his gaze moved all around them. He was making sure they were still unnoticed. He was looking out for her. The idea that he could still be protecting her best interest, still respecting whatever wish she expressed when she pushed him away, despite hurting him, made her fall to her knees for such a man.

“You only ever need to ask.” He finally said, sliding his sharp gaze on her.

The blue of his irises was darkened. The way he looked at her made her blood boil.

“Well, consider it a request, then.”

“Who are you and what did you do to my Eir?” He wondered, jokingly. His sudden soft sarcasm broke the tension raising between them.

Valkyrie didn’t even know why or what got into her. And it didn’t matter. All the reasons why she pushed him away didn’t mean anything now, it was as if it was all so unimportant. She knew she had to protect him. And she intended to keep doing it. But it didn’t seem as important as being close to him.

She needed him desperately, but her desire wasn’t only physical. Which was both the problem and the dealbreaker.

She wanted his noble heart. She wanted his wild soul. She wanted his ravaging madness. She wanted him and everything he was and represented. Spending a moment longer pretending they were strangers was like withering slowly.

The truth was that missing him was more painful and scarier than the idea of putting him in danger. All the ifs and maybes that kept floating in her mind, gnawing at her brain and heart, never leaving her a second of peace, made it impossible for her to actually find a good reason to justify spending another second away from him.

“Valkyrie! There you are!”

She was startled by a third voice that broke in between them. Dean too froze. With a soft gasp, she looked around, slightly alarmed.

As she focused on Sylvia, who stood by them, Valkyrie felt a shot of annoyance vibrate through her chest as she tried her best not to growl like a beast against the woman. Though she didn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

She knew what was to come, and she had to think about a smart way to wiggle her way out of that situation very quickly. Though, when she was the victim of her emotions, Valkyrie was rarely smart. Her instinct was stronger than her brain.

“Hi, Sylvia, what is it?”

“I need to introduce you to someone,” the woman explained briefly just before she looked at Dean, scrutinizing his look from head to toe. “And Ambrose,” Sylvia’s features bent under pure contempt, “I barely recognised you.”

Dean winked at her, pulling the cockiest smirk. “Even us lunatics are allowed to dress up, sometimes.”

“Yeah-” Sylvia was still looking up and down at him, “a tie doesn’t cover up craziness.”

Valkyrie ground her teeth, instinctively stepping in front of Dean, letting her protective side show. She even pushed a hand on his chest, sliding her fingers under his jacket, asserting possession and intimacy over him. “That’s more than enough.”

Sylvia sent her a judgemental look. “What do you think you’re doing? I thought the problem was taken care of.”

“Oh, I did take care of it.”

Valkyrie wasn’t thinking clearly. She was driven by her emotions, feeling the need to rebel against the constrictions that she had been put under. And that most definitely wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

Turning towards Dean and grabbed him by the tie, pulling him into a kiss.

It was freeing. And it was selfish. It was like she had something to prove. And, at the same time, it was like breaking all the rules, even against her own better judgement, taking what she wanted. What she deserved.

Because she wasn't only kissing him to be mischievous or to get a reaction from Sylvia doing something so prohibited and frowned upon. She was kissing him because it was what she wanted to do. She was kissing him for the simplest reason of them all: he made her happy. He filled her world. He gave her purpose.

Spending another second denying it was a terrible waste of time.

Maybe she would have regretted it in the morning. But it didn't matter, she was ready to go through another heartbreak, even if it meant hurting him again. If that was the case, she would have welcomed the known loneliness and pain like an old friend.

Dean didn’t oppose her. He was surprised at first, but his lips were extremely welcoming. His hands easily found her hips, sliding across the sides of her corset. Although she really wanted it, she didn’t give him the chance to wrap her in a hug. With her point proven, she gave him a little push, turning towards Sylvia.

A satisfied, chaotic smile curled her lips. “So, who do I need to meet?”

Sylvia was shocked and offended as her eyes jumped from her to Dean and back. The anger rising behind her eyes was only a tickle on Valkyrie’s skin.

She turned to Dean, bending elegantly. Still brushing a hand on his chest in an unashamedly personal way, she offered him a warm, honest smile. "Find me later?"

"You bet, angel." He winked at her, bending his head, giving her a glimpse of a smile full of dimples.

Thinking about it, she didn't have to follow Sylvia.

She didn't have to be there at all. She had about a million ideas to better fill her time with things to do with and to Dean, than spending a minute longer at the gala.

That was the moment Sylvia grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away as if she read her thoughts on her face.

"What are you doing with him, Valkyrie?"

"Wasn't it obvious? Want me to be more specific? ‘Cause I can be." She didn't even think to be polite. Holding her tongue wasn't something she was used to doing.

And not in front of Sylvia. Whatever power she thought she had over her it was nothing compared to what Valkyrie was and could do.

"You can't be with Ambrose. I thought we talked about this-"

Valkyrie stopped their march, pulling herself off Sylvia's grip.

The look she lowered on the woman was as cold as ice, detached, severe and extremely violent. "Say anything bad about him and I swear to all the Æsir that I will hurt you in unhuman ways." Her gaze was lit by the anger of her warning.

"Why are you fighting me? I'm trying to do what's best for you, you foolish girl."

To Sylvia's grumbling, Valkyrie raised her head and widened her shoulders looking dangerous. "I am not a girl. I am a Valkyrie. I am a deity. Do not forget that. I will do what’s best for me. And you? You can leave any time if you don’t like it.”

“This is not a matter of liking it. I know you take things personally, but, at the end of the day, you are doing a job. It’s business.”

“Great. Then let’s keep it professional, shall we?” Valkyrie raised a hand in the air, taking control over the situation. “Stay out of my personal life. Who I decide to share my bed with it’s not your concern. Whether I decide to get personal with Dean is not your concern. And you better keep your opinions about him to yourself. I care deeply about him; do just as much as give him the side eye and I won’t be happy. Are we understood?”

Finally, as Valkyrie spoke, Sylvia lowered her eyes. Her nod was quick, but firm.

Before the woman would even begin to say anything apologetic or otherwise, Valkyrie raised her chin.

“Back to business then, who do you want me to meet?”

Sylvia looked suddenly nervous about it, looking around and fidgeting with her little purse, swinging her weight from one foot to the other. “A possible investor.”

“Ok,” Valkyrie did her best to appear as relaxed as she could. Her fair features softly distended as she slid her hands on her tulle skirt as if she was ironing it out, in reality, she was only trying to rise above. Feeling the dress helped give her confidence. “Why?”

“He is a fan. He is looking into supporting you, but he’d really like to meet you first.”

“Here we go again with the show horse business I guess.”

“Uh?”

“Nothing. Fine, let’s go then. Bring me to him.”

Part II.

Valkyrie had regretted every single one of her choices the second she realised what it meant to go and meet said investor.

Sylvia was all over him for the very valid reason of how much money he could, potentially, pour into her name and into the company. He was there, that evening, for that specific reason – as he had said himself multiple times, gloating about how rich he was – he was going to donate a big sum to the charity, but, more importantly, by his own words, he wanted to get the chance to meet his wrestling heroes.

So, very quickly into the first few moments of introductions, it was made very clear to Valkyrie that she was not only expected but required to spend the evening by his side. And she was to enjoy it.

They had even put her sitting next to him during the dinner event.

She should have left with Dean the moment she thought about it. She could have been rolling in the sheets with him, right now, being lost in unconditional pleasure. Or they could have spent their evening running around town wearing their gala looks, talking about their lives and eating disgusting, greasy food. Whatever her mind decided to fantasise about, was much, much sweeter than being pushed into spending the rest of the evening with some other guy only to basically sell herself to him.

He wasn’t even pleasant. He was loud and full of himself, and not in a good way. Every time he spoke, he expected people to pay attention to him because he was convinced whatever he was saying was of the most importance. He made jokes that weren’t funny but liked to see people laughing around him. He kept using his riches as a valid personality trait to impress everyone when the only thing Valkyrie felt was boredom.

She had met farmers with more valuable hearts and minds than him, or more humble kings.

The worst part of it all was that he seemed to be under the assumption to have conquered her. He dared to touch her every now and then, may that be brushing his fingers on her arm or fully placing a hand on her back, never once asking permission. And many were the inappropriate comments he sent her way. He acted as if he owned her already.

Which didn’t help his case. Valkyrie had decided she didn’t want to have anything to do with such a person. She didn’t need his money or publicity. Not when it meant he was under the impression he could control her.

She would have already left, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he threatened multiple times to sue Sylvia and her entire team since he had paid a lot of money to get the privilege to spend that evening with her.

It’s not like she couldn’t leave anyway. She surely wasn’t scared of such an insignificant man. But she didn’t want other people to be in trouble. He certainly looked like the kind of man who would wreak havoc if wronged.

She thought she just needed to get through the evening, hoping to be rescued, somehow.

She held a thin glass filled with a mocktail in between her fingers, boringly looking over to the centre of the large dining room where, after dinner had been served, a big space was created so people could dance elegantly, following the orchestra, waiting for the charity announcements to start.

“And that’s when I told them that I didn’t care if the Queen of England wanted that piece for her collection, I was the one who would have won it. And now there’s a priceless statue embellishing my living room.” His chest was so puffed up she thought he could explode.

But that would have been good for her. Sweet release.

The man looked at her like he was expecting something from her, so just then Valkyrie realised that she was supposed to answer in some way. With a little delay to be a natural response, she pushed a fake smile out, pretending to be impressed. “That is incredible! Must be a hell of a view.”

“You know,” he began, daring to slide closer to her. He pulled an arm on the back of her chair, wrapping it around her shoulders, resting his hand on the other side of her. She froze, realising she was caged and couldn’t move away without risking causing a scene. “I could show it to you.”

“Show me?”

“Yeah. The statue. In my living room. I think you’d like it.” His gaze became suddenly turbid. The way he looked at her made her feel so dirty she needed a shower.

Valkyrie had to push the disgust deep down inside of her not to risk gagging in his face.

“And I think there would be other things you might like,” he wasn’t done, even when his point was perfectly clear.

Funny how she would have let the right man whisper to her ear the most horrid, degrading, perverted things he wanted to do to her and be desperately turned on. But just as easily, the wrong man could only attempt and succeed to disgust her.

“I am sorry, I don’t think I understand.” She pretended to be naïve, only in the hope that he would think about what he was doing and stop. Valkyrie moved back a bit, trying to find some space from him.

“Oh, c’mon. You know what I mean,” the smile he was giving out was as confident as it was disgusting. Unbelievable that he could think women could fall for such behaviour at all. “I’ve never been with a woman like you. So big and strong.” Somehow his words didn’t sound like a compliment at all. The look he traced across her figure made her want to vomit. “I’d love to add you to my collection.” He traced a circle on her shoulder with his index.

Valkyrie was shaken by a cold shiver. It sounded like he was ready to fuck her in a despicable way, and she wasn’t at all allowed to enjoy it, just to then store her on a shelf for the rest of eternity. That time she didn’t hide her disgust. That was the moment she thought a line was crossed.

She pushed a hand out, moving away from him, and turned her head away breaking eye contact, clearly imposing a solid wall between them. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, why not?”

“This is inappropriate,” she pleaded at first, trying to be as polite as possible, “please, stop.”

“The hell I’m going to stop. Do you like being chased, uh? Fine.”

“No, Mr Malone. Believe me when I say in the politest way possible that I am not interested.”   

“Why? Are you into chicks or something?”

She jerked to his question fighting against the need to slap him. “It is not your concern, sir.”

“Because it can be arranged. If you rather be with a woman, I’d be happy to watch.”

Valkyrie looked around, the sudden frost of panic flooding her blood. Their table was empty, all the other couples had gone dancing or mingling. And no one else seemed to be close enough, or paying attention to them, to notice she was in desperate need of being rescued.

“I said no, Mr Malone.” This time, there was no space for politeness.

He chuckled. She could have been honking like a goose right now, it wouldn’t have made a difference to his understanding.

“Do you think a no had stopped me before?”

An icy shard crossed her heart. Valkyrie lost colour in her face as the implication of his words became knowledge and vivid images in her mind.

Though fear didn’t freeze her, it lit her up. Her disgust quickly became anger as she snapped.

Valkyrie turned quickly and grabbed him by the neck, unconcerned about their surroundings and the fact that people could have seen her acting inappropriately. She clutched her fingers around his throat, squeezing the air out of his lungs and pushing her nails deep into his flesh.

“I swear to all the Gods that men like you deserve the worst curses. If a no doesn’t stop you, how does the promise of cutting your dick clean off sound?”

Fear shot through his eyes as he tried to fight her off. But Valkyrie didn’t give in. She gave him a shake, leaving his neck only to grab him by the jaw, squeezing his features in her palm. She pulled closer to him only to dangerously bare her teeth to his face.

“I am the biggest shark in here, so do not dare to think for one moment I owe you anything, little man.” She pushed him off, snarling to his face like a rabid animal, “and fucking learn how to talk to a woman.”

He pulled away from her. The horrified look he shot her made her lips bend in a satisfied smile.

“Y-you will regret this.”

“Will I?” Her gaze became dark and dangerous, “Careful there with your threats." She hissed like a snake.

Then, the air moved around her.

As if her Gods finally decided to grace her, they sent a hero her way.

A big shadow stood behind her. She didn’t need to see the man to notice Malone's eyes raise behind her all the way across his figure. As he appeared even more scared, then she began to relax against her chair.

A couple of big hands slid on her shoulders in a protective hold. "You may want to go and grab a breather, fella."

Valkyrie would have recognised that accent anywhere.

Sheamus stood behind her imposing but calm, as usual.

A soft smile crossed her lips as she released a sigh, gently giving him a grateful pat on the wrist.

"Why would I listen to you, mate?"

"Because," Sheamus slid a hand in front of Valkyrie, encouraging her to take it and get up. She did, following his move blindly, exchanging a brief look with the Irishman. He pushed her gently behind his back, just then puffing up his chest appearing as big and as dangerous as he could be, "I'll be the one who breaks your jaw if you don't."

Valkyrie wrapped her hands around his big arm, smiling satisfied. "I'd be happy to watch." She teased, leaning her chin on Sheamus' shoulder as she looked towards Malone.

He appeared utterly offended by their behaviour as if they were the ones who'd been disrespectful.

Malone got up from his chair but, instead of listening to Sheamus' friendly suggestion, he pointed a finger at Valkyrie's face, actively crossing her. Though, before he could say anything vaguely threatening, Sheamus snapped. Grabbing his hand, he tore his finger purposely hurting him.

"Got something to say to me?" Sheamus barked, giving him a strong shake.

As Malone squeaked, many were the pair of eyes set upon them. Some people in the crowd immediately closer to them even gasped.

The man's eyes slid on Valkyrie, filled with hatred, which set Sheamus off even more. He stepped forward, completely covering her with his body. "Don't even look at her. I swear to God I'll break your finger, fella."

"OK, OK! Fine! Let me go!" As Malone begged, Sheamus gave him another shake before pushing him away.

"Fuck off, before I get really angry."

Surprisingly, Malone listened and left. Defeated and pissed off, but he left. The further away he got, the easier it became for Valkyrie to breathe.

Something told her that wouldn't have been the last of him she would have seen.

As soon as Sheamus faced her, she pulled him into a hug, releasing a relieved sigh against his shoulder. "Thank you."

The Irishman chuckled, gently cradling her into his arms with the confidence of a dear friend.

She didn't like many people, but Sheamus she liked very much. He was a very close friend of hers and she cared about him.

Differently from any other bond she installed in the company, Sheamus wasn’t a warrior her Gods sent her to help but someone who intervened and helped her first. They became very close ever since to the point she had asked for his help even if he didn’t owe her any favours.

"When did you get here?" She wondered distancing herself just enough to look him in the eye.

Even despite the fact that she was a very tall woman and wearing heels, he still towered over her.

He pulled the warmest of smiles looking at her with his gentle blue eyes. "Just this afternoon."

Valkyrie gave him a good look, studying his figure, handsome features and clothes. He was wearing a tartan grey suit with a loose white shirt open on his pale chest, showing the golden Celtic cross he was wearing around his neck.

"Gods, look at you."

Sheamus blushed, chuckling as he looked down at himself. "Yeah? Is it not too penguin-looking?"

"It's not." She was still checking him out, just to underline her words.

He nodded, gratefully taking the compliment and puffing his chest up. Then, he pointed at her. "Well, hate to point out the elephant in the room, but you look fucking stunning, as usual." He pulled a deadly wink that had the ability to make her blush. "Much better than me' old arse tightened in this suit."

She even dared to bend over to have a look, only to nod in approval. "No. Your arse is perfectly fine."

They both laughed, only for Valkyrie to drag him in another tight hug. "It's so good to see you, I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, lass."

He had been off for a few weeks due to an injury and it felt like they hadn't seen each other for years. So many things had happened.

She wasn't even sure she was the same woman he had known before.

But Gods life had been lonely and difficult without his presence and guidance. Sheamus had always been a ray of sunshine in the dark for her and possibly one of the few, if not the only, that she had been trusting since the very beginning.

"So," he began, breaking the hug only to slide a heavy arm around her shoulders, "I wasn't here to look after your sorry arse so you thought to cause all sorts of problems, uh?"

Valkyrie giggled. Next to him, she felt like a little girl, there was something in the Irishman charm that she always had a weakness to.

"Well, please, don't put it that way."

"Ya' sure don't have many friends. What's that business with Randy?"

"Ah, nothing really. He got sour about me winning a match against him and now he wants another match to prove something."

"OK, but there's real beef between you two."

"He started it."

"That is weird. Not like him at all."

"Do you know him well?"

"Well, as good as I know a colleague but I wouldn't trust him with my life. But he is not a bad guy."

"He is being an ass. Professional about it up to the point he called me names."

"Did he really?"

"Just once." She froze, rolling her eyes. "Ok. I did my thing, I helped someone he was attacking, and he got upset because I've won."

"Yeah, we'll get to Ambrose in a minute," Sheamus pointed a finger to her face, wiggling it like he was going to scold her, except he was badly hiding a sarcastic smile, "don't you think that because I wasn't here, I don't know all the gossip."

She still blushed violently, trying to avoid his look, barely able to contain a timid smile. That was pure emotion on display as only talking about Dean made her heart flutter.

"Yeah. Look at you, I thought I was the only one able to make you blush and giggle like a lassie."

Valkyrie looked up at him, pulling a cocky smirk. "You do make me blush."

"Ah, but Ambrose surely has better tricks up his sleeve, uh?"

"That he does." Her lips bent tenderly only thinking about him.

Sheamus shook his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Damn, I leave for a month and my favourite girl gets snatched. Unbelievable."

"You should have made your move sooner, old man."

"Yeah? And leave Drew to run away with you?"

"Yep. Or, give you one better, no need to leave Drew behind." She dared to wink. "I'm perfectly fine running away with the both of you."

"Sure you are."

No one else had the privilege to see her under such light. No other human being made her feel so comfortable and relaxed to grant her the possibility to be as warm and as flirty, knowing she didn't have to think about consequences, as it was with him.

She felt extremely comfortable with Drew as well, Sheamus' boyfriend and their colleague, they both were like family to her. But with Sheamus, there was a different, deeper level of understanding.

"You are a menace. I hope Ambrose knows he is up for a ride."

"Oh, he knows." To the smirk she offered, Sheamus chuckled, shaking his head.

"C'mon, lass, tell me everything. What did I miss?" Pulling one of his bright smiles that made his blue eyes glimmer, Sheamus sat heavily on the chair previously occupied by Malone.

Surprisingly how easily she forgot about him since Sheamus arrived.

"Well," She sat next to him, ready to start diving into all the details of her new situation, especially looking forward to having his advice about all her doubts.

His words would have been the only ones she considered listening to.

Part III.

"So, he doesn't know?" Sheamus was hanging on the edge of his seat, captured by her storytelling.

Valkyrie shook her head. "No. He knows some, but he doesn't know the entire thing." She fidgeted with the thin tulle sleeve of her dress. "Do you think I should tell him?"

Sheamus sighed, taking a long second to think about it. "It's difficult. I mean, it is the reason I haven't told Drew."

"Yeah. I know perfectly well he would want to help,"

"And that is the problem."

"Also, Dean is a bit-"

"Crazy?"

"Unpredictable." She corrected him as both smirked, knowing exactly what she meant. "I do not want to put him in danger."

"But he has the right to know."

"Do you think?"

"Well, you clearly can't keep pushing him away. Especially since he played a trick on you or something and you don't seem inclined or able to stay away."

"Well, that's true," without even thinking about it she raised her eyes to the crowd as if she hoped to find him easily in the people surrounding them.

"I don't think he should stay in the dark for long if you two are involved. With Drew, it's different because if you chose to tell him, I'd respect your choice, it is your business after all."

"I wouldn't do such a thing to you."

"But you get what I mean."

"Yeah. I do." A sigh left her chest.

"You like the man very much, don't you?"

Valkyrie felt like she couldn’t hide from his look so she just nodded. Her raw emotions were so clearly visible on the edge of her reddened cheekbones and glimmery eyes. “I do. He makes me feel alive.”

Sheamus looked at her with such pride shining through his eyes. He leaned closer to pinch her cheeks, offering a soft smile. “Looks to me you’re falling for him.”

She hid a timid smile behind her hand, biting softly on her knuckles. She was indeed falling for Dean. No safety measures and no interest in the consequences. They had no future and she didn’t care. Not until he could be her present.

“He better not waste your love because I swear on your Gods and mine, I will skin him alive.”

Valkyrie shook her head quickly, grabbing on his hand and giving him an encouraging squeeze. He was the only man she would have accepted such behaviour from. She didn’t like to be protected or be treated like she couldn’t take care of herself, but Sheamus had that privilege. Only because she knew his behaviour was dictated by his affection and not an attempt to undervalue her.

“There’s no need. His heart is extremely noble.”

Sheamus chuckled, shaking his head. “So, when will I meet him?”

“Ah-” Before she could think about something quick and witty to respond to avoid such situation, her attention got caught by the tall and large man wearing an elegant, full-kilt suit walking towards them. His blue eyes were both gentle and piercing, made even clearer by the dark edges of his long, curated beard and tied black hair.

“Incoming,” she announced, directing Sheamus's attention to the man approaching them, trying her best to hide a relieved sigh.

Before Sheamus could turn, Drew was already sliding a hand across his wide shoulders, pressing a quick kiss on his temple. They both moved like Sun and Moon, attracted by an invisible, undeniable magnetism.

“I should have imagined that you would kidnap him.” Drew’s strong Scottish accent bent his sarcastic words into a charming tone.

Valkyrie melted into a warm smile, immediately getting up to hug him. “Hi,” she let the man squeeze her between his arms as she pressed a quick kiss on his cheek as if that was supposed to make everything ok, “sorry. He didn’t mention you were waiting for him.”

“Of course, he didn’t,” Drew sent Sheamus a disappointed, sarcastic look, followed by a sharp smirk, “when it’s you he just forgets about the world.” Drew then pretended to be extremely dramatic, pushing the back of his hand on his forehead. “I am just the forgotten wife, never the chosen woman.”

“Are you done talking bullshit, man?” Sheamus chuckled, giving Drew a quick tug, pulling him close enough to pat his side.

“I promise you can take him back; we are done catching up.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Drew sent them both a look before offering her his hand, bending slightly like a true gentleman. “So why don’t we make him jealous with a dance, princess?”

“And leave him all alone here to entertain himself?”

“He’s good at that.” He whispered, sending her way a wink and a smirk that had nothing clean to them. The meaning of his words was obvious.

Valkyrie chuckled, taking then his hand, sending Sheamus a quick, playful look. “Well then,”

“Hey, where’s my dance? I was here first!”

“As usual, you’re too slow making your move, old man.”

As she giggled lightly, blowing Sheamus a kiss, she let Drew drag her to the middle of her dancefloor.

As they danced, his steps were easy to follow. He was an extremely skilled dancer and quite comfortable leading, making her accept his moves with ease. Over the classical music, it was easy to exchange some words and jokes.

It was a good moment to catch up with a friend and she appreciated the warmth and company Drew offered.

“I love that man, but he has been fucken insufferable pain in the arse for the past four weeks I swear.”

Valkyrie giggled, so clearly able to imagine Drew’s words as true. “Has he been a nightmare?”

“Yeah- think about someone unable to stay still after surgery, despite doctor’s orders, always trying to overdo it to prove he is in shape, only risking to injure himself worse. The immediate day after I found him trying to put together a set of shelves we had forgotten about for weeks – yet suddenly it was a priority.”

“Sounds like Sheamus to me.”

“That damn stubborn Irish.”

“So, what’s the situation now? I am sure if I’ll ask him, he’ll lie not to worry me.”

“He is ok now. He has been cleared to come back but he can only attend and show his face here and there for now. No fights.”

Valkyrie sent him a sceptical look, raising her eyebrow, looking back towards the Irishman still sitting at her table, enjoying looking at them from afar. “We are talking about Sheamus here.”

“Yeah, I am aware.” Drew released a sigh, rolling his eyes, badly hiding an amused smile. “Had to threaten him with the big guns.”

“Which are?”

Drew made her spin, only to wink at her once he faced her again. “If he gets into a fight, I won’t have sex with him.”

Valkyrie broke into a genuine giggle, shaking her head. “You would immediately cave.”

“You are right. Let’s hope he doesn’t know.”

Valkyrie gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. “He most definitely knows.”

As they looked back to Sheamus, Valkyrie pressed her forehead against Drew’s chin, enjoying seeing how tender and yet hot Sheamus’ gaze was on his companion.

“Guess I am fucked.” Drew revealed with a defeated sigh.

Valkyrie made him look back at her, gently pressing her hand on his cheek. “Oh, hush you. Stop pretending it would be torture.”

Valkyrie giggled loudly as Drew made her spin again. That was the moment her attention got dragged back to Sheamus, she wanted to make it clear they were talking about him only to tease him, but her warm smile got wiped off as soon as she realised he wasn’t alone anymore.

She froze as soon as she recognised the man standing in front of him. Black elegant suit, hair the colour of copper pulled back on his head and darkened by the gel, blue eyes as dangerous as sharp razors.

Dean looked like he was ready for a fight.

“Oh, God-” she whispered arresting the rhythm she and Drew were elegantly spinning around with. As soon as she saw Sheamus getting up from his seat, shoulders tensed and confrontational look, she slipped away from Drew’s arms, quickly marching towards them.

“Is that-?” The Scot began, but before he could continue, she cut short his question.

“Let’s not have our boyfriends brawl tonight, shall we? Give me a hand.”

As she instructed, Drew nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’d really love not to vote for my abstinence so soon.”

Valkyrie ignored his joke, appreciating the fact that he kept his questions for later.

“What is your problem, big fella? Afraid of a bit of competition? You shouldn’t treat her like she is your material. That’s objectifying-”

Valkyrie sent Sheamus a quick, warning look, even if it was completely ignored by the Irishman. She wondered why did he have to be such a hothead. Not that Dean was any better, because he was ready to snap.

“I’ll fuck you up in ways that will make your mother hope she had never given birth to your sorry, ginger ass.”

Before the situation could get worse, both Valkyrie and Drew intervened.

As he slid his big hands over Sheamus’ chest, pulling him back, trying to whisper soothing things to his ear, warning him to stop, Valkyrie stepped in between them catching Dean before he could step over the edge.

She cupped his face in her palms, gently but firmly pulling him towards her. “Look at me,” as her first order was completely ignored and Dean’s blood only appeared to boil wilder, she gave him another tug, “Baby, look at me.”

The moment his crazed look slid on her, as her voice finally came through to him, Dean seemed to immediately calm down. To help it, she slid her thumbs on his cheeks. “Don’t. Please, Dean-”

He inhaled a deep breath, trying to do his best to gather control, enough to pull her hold off himself and take a step back. Now his anger was directly pointed at her. But Valkyrie didn’t let him get lost in his wild feelings. She grabbed him, pulling him away. “Come with me.”

Her tone was firm but inviting as she was determined to take him somewhere quiet where she could have explained to him the situation. She was done having secrets and misunderstandings with him. Especially for something as stupid as that situation could be.

She didn’t keep herself from sending a crossed look directly to Sheamus over Dean’s shoulder. She had a massive what the fuck printed all over her face, which brought Drew to smile on Sheamus’ face. “That wasn’t a happy bunny. You’ll definitely owe her an explanation.”

“Me?! He came for me!”

Before she could lose her patience, Valkyrie shrugged, doing her best to ignore what was going on in the background and pushing her anger and shame down, burying it inside of her just enough to get away from the public eye.

She was dealing with literal children.

Gods, why was she the one who had to go through so many curses? Wasn’t being stuck on Midgard enough?

Why would Sheamus misbehave in such a way, openly challenging Dean even knowing how short his temper was? Especially since he had already started the conversation without being amicable? Because Dean wasn’t the friendliest of people, clearly.

Surely, she would have had time to face Sheamus later, for now, she had more important things to deal with. Because she couldn’t understand Dean either.

As soon as they were alone in an empty corridor in the back of the gallery, where the lights were dimmed and it didn’t seem like that area was part of the event, Valkyrie gave him a strong push. “What the fuck, Dean?” Now she was the pissed-off one.

It was only like throwing pure fuel on a vivid flame. Dean was ready to ignite, pointing a finger to her face and grabbing her by the neck with his other hand, pushing her against the wall. “Don’t you dare. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

That was the moment it hit her. He was jealous. She was supposed to remain angry. She was supposed to feel insulted and outraged. And yet, the way his abrupt violence underlined his possessiveness over her didn’t do any of that. It made her blood boil but with desire.

And a dark, hidden side of her only desired to push him over the edge.

She raised her chin proudly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“First, I had to watch you spend the evening next to that insignificant man. I knew something was up. I’ve seen how uncomfortable you were. And then you attacked him. I was ready to come to you, I needed to make sure you were ok. But before I could, he arrived. That Irish whoreson thought he could behave as if you belonged to him.”

His words gave her a shiver that made her entire body shake as his hold around her neck became tighter. Dean pushed his face closer to her, trying to appear dangerous. The only thing he was accomplishing was making her melt underneath his hold.

“You know how painful it was to see you flirt so openly with him when I barely got to get a direct look from you this entire week?”

He sounded so deliciously tormented it made her purr.

“Tell me how difficult it was.”

“I wanted to kill him,” Dean slid a hand through her hair, pulling her head backwards, making her bend underneath him as he towered over her, “I want to hurt anyone who looks at you with desire.”

His words ripped a moan out of her throat, only prompting him to act even more wildly.

Dean snarled into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply her scent. Then he shook his head, trying to gather control over his own thoughts. “What are you doing to me? Do you enjoy seeing me go insane?”

Valkyrie hissed as her arms slowly turned around his shoulders. “I do.”

He seemed more than willing to give her exactly what she wished for.

Dean dawned upon her, sealing her lips with his, famished and desperate. His kiss was rude and demanding, as he pressed against her, not caring much about the condition of her dress as his hands grabbed and tugged on it.

Valkyrie grabbed the nape of his neck, looking for something solid to hold onto as she lost lucidity. Every thought in her mind was fogged up, her common sense and morale wiped out, as Dean's hands cruised across her legs, frantically pulling her skirt up.

Nothing mattered anymore if not being lost in each other's arms. Maybe to prove a point. Or maybe because that's how their nature was, impossible to keep apart.

Dean finally pushed a hand in between her legs, making her jerk and choke on her breath to that longed-for touch. He released a deep, loud, satisfied growl as his fingers met with the drenched material of her underwear.

"Is this for me? Or for him?" He wondered against her lips.

"You're such an asshole." She blurted out without even thinking. To her it was obvious her desire was only for him, the idea that he could think she wanted someone else was offensive.

But she liked teasing him too much to make sure that point was extremely clear quite yet.

Every intention of ironing out any misunderstanding was forgotten. At least for now, because she was determined to have him lose his mind completely.

And something told her she was on the right track.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You are an asshole." She challenged him, unafraid of seeing his blue eyes transform from furious to feral. His desire for her had never been hidden.

He pulled off her only to turn her and push her against the wall. He pressed himself against her back, pulling roughly her hair with one hand, unconcerned about her headpiece and even less caring to ruin her complicated hairstyle, and finding again her sweet, hot core with the other hand.

Dean made her bend against him, turning her head forcefully towards him only to press his mouth against her ear. "You don’t even know how cruel I can be," he began, "and you will beg me to forgive your disrespect."

He tugged on her hair, making her bend even more, biting down on her lower lip, and then on her neck, most definitely leaving a mark.

"Dean-" her breath was cut short as she pleaded a silent prayer to him.

As he pushed the thin material of her underwear to the side, dipping his fingers through her wet folds, she did her best to suffocate a moan.

Dean pulled a cocky, arrogant smile, looking down into her eyes, ignoring the way she clawed at him. "What is it, baby girl?"

She knew he wasn't oblivious. It was clear in the way his fingers moved, clearly aimed to give her as much pleasure as possible, following the responses of her body and the rhythm of her quickened breath.

Suffocating a louder moan, biting down on her own lip, Valkyrie felt the pressure of an orgasm already mounting inside of her but before she could enjoy feeling it grow, Dean slapped her most sensitive skin, startling her, making her jerk between his arms. Even though surprising, the quick, light shot of pain that gesture released through her carried the deeper roots of pleasure.

"Do you really think I'd let you win so easily?"

"Fuck-" She choked as he buried two fingers inside of her, stretching her out, coating his digits in her hot juices.

He growled satisfied against her ear.

Valkyrie was already willing to drop every inch of her pride, unable even to consider fighting him any longer.

"Please, I need you." She didn't even care that they were exposed in a public space. Anyone could turn the corner any minute. "Please, just fuck me."

Dean evilly chuckled at her desperate request. He pumped his fingers inside of her, finding her clit with his thumb, relentlessly set on truly torturing her with blinding pleasure.

Instead of indulging her request, he did the opposite. As soon as her pleasure rolled closer to the edge, he denied her release once more, dragging his hand away from her entirely.

Dean turned her around rudely, without finding any opposition from her whatsoever. Once he faced her a satisfied, mischievous grin appeared on his lips.

"Look at you, already in shambles," before she could say anything Dean grabbed her by the neck again, pinning her there, "such a mess. So pretty."

Making sure their eyes were locked, he slid his hand over her jaw, just to caress her lips with his thumb. "I could do what I want to you."

"Yes," she confirmed, whispering against his finger. Dean trembled, so clearly struggling to remain focused.

Again, she didn't oppose him, on the contrary, her lips were ajar and welcoming as soon as he pushed his thumb into her mouth. She sucked on it, willingly and loudly, swirling her tongue around his digit, enjoying seeing him rolling his eyes in the back of his skull as a soft moan left his chest. Pleasure clearly rolled through him as his knees seemed to become weaker.

He fed her the same medicine. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking her juices off his digits, he released the most ravishing, low, moan, truly satisfied in tasting her pleasure.

"Shall I fuck you now?" He wondered pushing his thumb deeper into her mouth, "That's what you want isn't it?" He wondered, receiving only a whimper in response. His smile grew sharper. "You want me to stuff that pretty pussy with my cock?"

Now she was the one who rolled her eyes.

Valkyrie tried to touch him, feeling the desperate need to fill her hands up with the material of his suit, desiring to tug at his hair and dig her nails into his skin, but before she could, he was ready to grab her wrists in one hand, pinning them over her head, immobilising her.

"Shall I fuck you until you beg me to stop? Shall I fucking ruin your pretty pussy? Uh? Is that what you want, baby girl?"

The yes she tried to whisper was suffocated by how he grabbed at her jaw.

He acted so rudely that it only made her stomach twist, bringing her to press her thighs together trying to find any release from the weight pressing on her tired, hot flesh.

"Or I could toy with you,"

The possibility made her freeze as she gasped, looking right into his eyes. "Dean please-" She tried again only to find him grabbing her neck and stealing her breath.

"You're already begging me, that is sweet, angel. But you'll need to earn it. I am the asshole after all, right?"

A shiver crossed her from head to toe, giving her goosebumps. He wasn't wrong, she was already in shambles.

And Gods, how much did she like to be harshly handled by him. And the way he talked, so raw and wild, so honest.

He gave her a shake. "Here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna fuck your pretty, dirty mouth.”

"Yes," she gasped, famished, already salivating. She was ready to get on her knees for him.

No other man ever had such power over her. And no other man ever will.

"Yes, what angel?" He made her lift her chin, looking down into her eyes.

“Yes, Sir.”

She had found out he liked to be addressed in such a way when he was in control. It turned him on. And so did she, as her own desire was extremely connected to his pleasure. She liked to satisfy him, giving him what he wanted, letting him take everything from her, just as much as she enjoyed when he did the same for her. It was a sweet way to make her forget about anything else and let go of every concern – as soon as she was between his arms, nothing else mattered.

“Good girl,” his praises made her stomach tremble. “Then we’ll see if you deserve to be fucked or if I shall make you wait.”

A hot shiver crossed her spine, nesting directly into her core, making it almost impossible for her to stand still. Only the idea made her tremble. She had to recollect every drop of her control not to whimper at the possibility of having to endure longer penance. Valkyrie didn’t want to risk appearing selfish.

She didn’t have much time to think about that anyways, Dean grabbed her and gave her a solid pull, making her follow him through the corridor. As if he had already mapped that place out, knowing the turns of each corridor by heart, Dean confidently pulled her around a corner and into a forgotten bathroom far away from the party enough to be considered hidden.

As he locked the door behind his back, Valkyrie moved in the small space, pretending she cared even in the slightest about what it looked like. Surely, it didn’t look at all like any public restroom. Money clearly poured through that gallery since they could afford to decorate that space as one would do in the privacy of their own house. It had several types of hand soaps and hand conditioners by the sink, plus fresh sets of towels to dry your hands with, instead of the usual paper towels or air dryer.

For a moment Valkyrie doubted that was a public restroom at all. But then she remembered she didn’t care.

Turning her attention back on Dean she found him looking at her. His eyes cruised on her figure as he slowly unbuttoned his cuffs and removed his jacket. He was looking at her like a famished animal. And Gods she was ready to feed him.

Without him having to say a word, she kneeled, patiently and quietly waiting for him to get close. Her eyes never moved from him – and she could tell he liked it.

Dean wrapped softly his fingers around her chin, keeping her still as he looked down into her eyes. He even offered a gentle, satisfied smile that made his dimples pop as his eyes glimmered full of desire.

“You are such a good girl,” he praised her softly, “so beautiful.”

She didn’t dare to move a muscle or say a word. She was only waiting for his will.

“Remember, I’ll stop any moment, you’ll just have to say the word. Got that, angel?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Although, since you won’t be able to speak, tap your hand on my left thigh three times to signal me to stop.”

She followed his words with a compliant nod, slowly raising her hands on his thighs, enjoying feeling his solid muscles under her palms more than she would have ever imagined. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” Dean gave her a fond caress around the jaw before pulling away.

He got rid of his tie and unbuttoned his black shirt, loosening it up around his neck, before undoing his belt and trousers. It was as if he was moving slowly on purpose, only to tease her.

And it was working. She was desperate.

She filled her eyes of his figure, feasting over him. He was so beautiful, so perfect, she could barely think straight. Her skin felt hot and sensitive to the point her dress was starting to chafe her. She only wanted to be naked, feeling his hands, tongue and body satisfying every drop of desire she had.

But Valkyrie also knew to be patient.

Grabbing her chin once more, Dean bent, stealing a rude kiss from her, before standing back up, starting to undo his belt and unbuttoning his trousers.

Her eyes were greedy as she followed the movements of his fingers with great expectations, knowing exactly what was to come and waiting with anticipation.

“Look at you,” As Dean began, a cocky smile printed on his lips, he pushed one of his hands over his boxers, grabbing on the bulge of his erection. The heavier breath he released made her lose her mind.

She was unashamed looking at his erection trapped in his palm and hidden behind the material of his underwear. The way she looked back up at him, eyes full of a silent plea, made him tremble. She wasn’t afraid to show just how hungry she was.

“You want it, don’t you?” The way he teased her, squeezing himself without giving her the chance to actually feast on him, made her almost snap out of it and take it. But she behaved, just submissively and quietly looking at him.

The nod that followed his question was slow and determined. “I do. Please, give it to me, baby.” She knew she was supposed to address him as Sir, but it seemed that he liked to be called baby so much he was inclined in ignoring her misbehaviour.

It actually prompted him to give her exactly what they both wanted.

“Open your mouth nice and wide for me. Let me see it.”

She did as he requested, bending underneath him, even pulling her tongue out. The moan he released in approval was enough of a reward. But was topped only by Dean finally decided to whip his cock out.

Valkyrie was on him in a second, too desperate to wait for him to make the move.

She ran her tongue on his shaft, base to tip, enjoying feeling how heavy and hot his flesh was. His skin tasted delicious. It was a prohibited and powerful flavour that made her every nerve tremble and her core ache.

She whimpered, wrapping her lips around his throbbing head, sucking on the tip of his cock as she swirled her tongue on it, enjoying immensely seeing him release a moan as he bent his head backwards.

But then, as he dipped a hand into her hair, still not caring about grabbing, pulling and ruining her hairstyle, the pace changed. He imposed her to be still as he pulled back enjoying watching down at her as his cock rested by her already puffed-up and humid lips.

A satisfied smile appeared on his lips. “I’ll fuck your throat now. Hard. Is that ok, baby girl?”

Not that she thought she actually had a choice, but Gods she wanted nothing more. As she nodded, Dean pulled her hair rudely, shaking his head. “No. Say it.”

“Fuck my dirty mouth, please.”

Her voice made him tremble, she could see it in the way his shoulders twitched and his fingers clutched her hair. He wasn’t expecting anything more than that and didn’t waste any more time playing stupid games.

Grabbing her hair to keep her steady, Dean pushed his cock into her mouth, all the way to the back of her throat, stretching her sweetly and painfully. The low, deep moan he released was music to her ears. Valkyrie had to fight against her gag reflex, as he choked her, but it wasn’t like she didn’t like it. On the contrary, her core twitched and her fingers curled around the soft material of his elegant trousers as she took every inch of him.

He gave her a few moments to get used to him, pulling in and out of her mouth regularly so she could catch her breath and learn to pace it, quickening his rhythm every time until he was fully pumping into her throat.

She didn’t even care about how messy she looked because he seemed to really like to ruffle her up. The way his turbid, hot gaze travelled across her face as she sucked on his cock was enough praising. He liked seeing her chin coated in dribble or hearing the noises she made choking on his erection and he was very vocal about it with either dirty praises or loud moans.

Dean abruptly pulled away from her, looking down. Grabbing her chin, he made her bend her head to look up at him and enjoyed watching her catch her breath.

“I want to stuff that pretty mouth of yours with my cum.” He announced. The raw power his words carried made her whimper. Valkyrie was already nodding even before she could think properly about his words.

“Look at you, so desperate and beautiful. I should have known that I only needed to shove my dick deep into your throat to shut you up.”

“Don’t forget it next time,” as she dared to challenge him, knowing exactly what she was doing, willingly teasing him being disrespectful, Dean pulled her hair, giving her a shake, making her pay for her words with a soft smack on the cheek.

“Careful, baby girl. You are so close to your reward.”

She truly weighed her options. The thought of jeopardizing her immediate future pleasure just to disrespect him some more only to push him over the edge and have him being rough was really tempting. But she decided to shut up, knowing misbehaving was funny only at the moment, but she would have most definitely cursed herself later when he would have denied her pleasure for an indefinite amount of time.

Taking his own joke literally, Dean still prevented her from even risking to say something she would have regretted pushing his cock back into her mouth. This time, he didn’t give her time to adjust and had very little care for her choking. He was selfishly focused on his own pleasure as he fucked her mouth until his own orgasm left him whimpering and shaking.

As he came, filling her mouth with his warm seed, the deep moans he released, mixed with his soft praises, was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

Dean looked down at her, his gaze was sweet and affectionate as he dropped the act for a moment. Pulling away from her, he again made her look up at him, this time only gently pushing her chin up.

“Swallow.” He ordered softly.

Valkyrie obliged, making sure to gulp down his seed as evidently as she could, only to give him a spectacle, since he liked it so much.

The way he was looking at her was the only reward she needed.

Dean didn’t give her much time to catch her breath, he pulled her up and pushed her against the countertop, dawning upon her in a famished kiss.

“I’ll give you anything you desire, now.” He breathed heavily against her lips as he helped her hop on the edge of the counter, trying to push her skirt up as quickly as he could as if it was a matter of life and death to nest between her legs. “I can fuck you now, or we can wait to go back to the hotel, it’s up to you.”

Valkyrie's only response was a soft whimper as she let him trace her jaw with his lips, automatically bending her head to uncover her neck for him.

“I’ll give it to you hard and quick now. Or, if you wait, you can have me at your disposal all night later.”

Both his offers sounded so tremendously sweet Valkyrie didn’t even know the point of choosing.

“I want both.” It was an offer and an order. Because she wouldn’t have let him get away for either.

Her breath was hot and heavy as her words prompted him to nibble on her neck. “Someone’s hungry.” His chuckle vibrated through her skin, giving her a shiver.

Just now she realised to be finally able to push her hands into his hair, unconcerned about messing up his look.

“Just fuck me.”

“You’ve been such a good girl I will pardon your bratty impatience.”

“Dean, please,” she begged, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist. He rewarded her by sliding his palms on her opened thighs, reaching dangerously close to her drenched, aching core.

“You are so cute when you beg me to fuck you. You almost make me want to keep teasing you.” To underline his words, he slid his fingers playfully over the material of her underwear, only to retract them across her legs.

Valkyrie hissed, victim of her own frustration, but before she could do anything about it, taking the situation into her own hands, Dean finally answered her prayers.

Pulling away from her, he slid her underwear off her, tracing the edges of her legs with a soft brush of his fingers. He kept that thin piece of material like a trophy, stuffing it in his pocket, as he then proceeded to rid her of her shoes too. The heels fell heavily on the floor and, as their smack echoed in the restroom, also did the relieved sigh that left her chest. Dean wasn’t done taking care of her though.

“There you go, darling.” He lulled, wrapping both his hands around her feet and ankles, one side at a time, giving them a squeeze to softly massage her tired muscles, before carefully guiding her to wrap her legs around his waist so he could go back to nesting where he was up to a moment ago.

“Thank you.” She purred, welcoming his care with a warm smile. Her hands slid across his chest, over the material of his black waistcoat, only to drag him closer to her, to trap his lips in a grateful kiss.

Dean pushed his hands up on her thighs, trying his best to make way in the layers of the voluminous skirt of her dress, even releasing a frustrated grunt himself when he realised that the dress was in the way regardless. And it was covering most of her skin.

“Fucking hate this shit. You look amazing in it, but God help me for what I’ll do to you once I’ll be able to take it off.”

An amused smile rolled on Valkyrie's lips as she pressed her shoulders against the big mirror behind her, leaning on her elbows, just so she could get a good view of him. “Didn’t think something so small could threat your patience that much.”

He replied giving her a rude pull, rolling his arm around her waist, just to hold her up as he pushed his free hand over her core. The moment his thumb found her clit moving in quick, relentless caresses, Valkyrie choked on her breath. Going from total frustration to the opposite side of the spectrum without any warning brought her quickly and violently close to the edge.

Dean enjoyed watching her unravel underneath him.

“I am not a patient man.” He grinned down at her like a hungry wolf as she moaned loudly.

As if her body was singing a song to him revealing the secrets of her pleasure, he knew exactly the moment her orgasm started to approach, so, instead of letting her cum with his fingers, he pulled away only to find the right position for his already hard, proud cock.

As he slid inside of her Valkyrie tried not to cry out his name, desperately failing. Her eyes rolled in the back of her skull, while welcoming his size stretched her, finally filling her up just as she had desired to feel for so long. A hot, heavy shiver ran across her back the moment she realised Dean had every intention to show her just how impatient he could be. He gave her no time to get used to him as he started pumping in and out of her.

“I’m going to come,” she whimpered.

Dean wrapped his free hand around her neck, giving her a squeeze, nodding looking right into her eyes. “Then do it, angel. Let go. Come all over my cock.”

His voice, the stronghold of his hand, his beautiful cock stroking her so sweetly, the way Dean looked at her with such anticipation and devotion, tipped over the edge in seconds.

“Yes, baby girl, give it to me.” His praises only helped make her more of a twitching, whimpering mess as her pleasure took over her body, blinding her. She called his name to the Gods in a blessing for Freyr, Freyja and whoever was listening.

Dean was relentless. He didn’t give her a second to rest, fucking her right through the waves of her deepest pleasure and into overstimulation, bringing her to bend and claw at his clothes as she cried her moans out loud.

“Tell me,” He bent over her as his grab around her neck became slightly tighter, “is this wet, desperate, hot mess you are all for me? Or have you been thinking about that potato eater too?”

She knew he was only teasing and yet the look she shot him was more than enough for an answer.

“All for you,” she moaned heavily as Dean let her breathe freely. “Only you.”

He pushed deeper inside of her releasing a loud grunt, his hand easily finding her hair to pull it, making her bend her head and expose her neck to him just so he could assault her sensitive skin marking her. “You are mine.”

“Yours,” she agreed, “do not forget that warrior. I want only you.”

Her words made him release a soft whimper, only prompting her to wrap her arms around him, both to hold onto his solid shoulders and to cradle him.

Her stomach twisted as another thick wave of pleasure raised through her, and Valkyrie didn’t have any shame to announce it loudly.

“Me too, baby girl. I need-”

As a moan cut through his words, she caught him, sliding a hand around his jaw she brought him to look into her eyes. “What do you need?” She caressed his lips with a soft brush of her thumb.

“I want to fill you up. I need to come in you like a fucking animal.” His voice was coarse as his breath broke, but more than that, it was his frenzied look that gave her a shiver. He wasn’t all there and his words were true desire. He wanted to mark her in the most primal way.

And may the Gods have mercy on her because she wanted him to do it so badly.

“Do it, baby.”

“But-”

She hushed him gently, shaking her head. “No. I can’t. I’m a deity, you won’t impregnate me.”

Something twitched in him as if somewhere hidden deep inside of him, that was the entire point. But that impression was gone in a second, as he dived on her for a heated kiss.

He did exactly what he desired. Took him only a few moments to push her over the edge of another orgasm and as he praised her fondly for it, he let his own pleasure flow as her core squeezed him dry. Feeling his pleasure release inside of her was a ravaging experience. It carried pure feral energy, as she realised, she wasn’t the only one being marked by him. He was hers forever now.

They remained tangled and breathless for a few seconds, as none of the two dared to move as a heavy blanket of calm draped around them.

Moving slightly, Dean was back to his sweet self as he looked into her eyes. He offered her support, helping her up. “Are you ok?”

“Never been better.” She chuckled, still needing a moment to catch her breath.

Dean made her lean against the sink as he bent over to grab a towel, never actually letting go of her. He helped her get cleaned up and then watched her closely as she decided to remove her headpiece and loosen her hair, getting rid of all the uncomfortable pins and thin bands that constricted her.

Just after, as she released a relieved sigh, Dean cupped his hands around her face, diving in for a hot kiss.

“I can’t be without you,” he whispered against her lips, “make me your secret. Keep us hidden from the world. I do not care. But you need to let me in.”

“Ok.” It was everything she offered him. And even if it seemed only a simple word, it was as sacred as a promise made in front of the Gods. “But you need to know that you’re not bound to me. I carry a heavy burden you do not need to share and the door will be open for you to leave any time if you need.”

It was so important for her to make sure he understood, even if she was far from being ready to share what was actually pressing on her chest. She was still too scared to bring him too close to danger to reveal all her secrets.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. He was the only person that made her feel safe and at home in that forbidden place and she wished she could unload her pain, hiding in his arms. It was fear of losing him.

“Oh, angel. I am bound to you, body and soul.” He caressed her face so tenderly it hurt her chest, “I’d die for you. And I’d kill for you.”

She pulled him into a kiss, knowing exactly what weight his words brought. He was serious. And so was she.

“I want to go back to the hotel.”

Her whisper full of promises made a smile grow on his lips. “Let’s.”

He helped her slide back into her underwear, as his hands crossed her legs left behind the traces of a hot caress that made her stomach tremble and her filled core twitch. She was more than ready to have more of him.

Then, kneeling in front of her, he helped her wearing her heels, leaving soft kisses on her ankles and calves.

Valkyrie released a soft sigh, letting her head fall backwards. “You need to stop or I won’t let you leave this bathroom.”

“And that’s a threat how?”

She had to gather all her better judgement and self-control to just get to the door instead of pushing him to sit on the toilet and hop over his hips.

Taking only a moment to recollect herself, Valkyrie opened the door. Knowing she was walking on wobbly legs, Dean was by her side in a second, wrapping his arm around her waist.

He carried his jacket and tie on one arm, just as she carried her headpiece and purse.

They both looked a glorious mess and definitely like they were done with that gala event.

Taking advantage of the empty corridor, Dean pushed a soft kiss on her temple. “There’s not much secret to keeping if we leave together in front of that hoard of paparazzi just outside.”

“I don’t know if I care enough.”

Dean wrapped his hands around her face, kissing her forehead and then lips. “I repeat, what did you do to my Eir?”

“It’s the dress.”

They both chuckled, leaning into another soft kiss.

Their bubble had to burst sooner or later, though.

Valkyrie knew they weren’t alone even before she perceived the shadow invading the empty corridor. A frosty shiver crossed her.

Then, a burst of known laughter invaded the space, followed by a series of slow clapping.

“I didn’t know the great Valkyrie was such a slut.”

Malone stood a few metres from them, a cocky, disgusting smile printed on his face as he looked down at them, particularly at her. His contempt was so clearly printed on his face.

She had to grab Dean to keep him from immediately jumping the guy. “Dean, no. It’s not worth it.”

He wasn’t even looking at her. His dangerous, razor-sharp gaze was pointed to the man who offended her, as he was already so clearly ready for a violent fight. “Say that again, motherfucker.”

“What? That she is a whore?” As Malone openly offended her again, Valkyrie had to push solidly on Dean’s chest to keep him there. “I am surprised you pretended to be so high and mighty with me earlier. All pure and proud. Now I get it. Is it the ginger hair or them being simply scum?” A burst of evil laughter released from his chest. “I am kinda glad I’ve dodged it. God, I don’t even want to think about it. Disgusting. Getting fucked in a bathroom always tells you enough about a woman's character, uh?” It was as if he was trying to get Dean’s approval, not realising or not caring he was only increasing his blood thirst.

“What bullet did he dodge?” Dean wondered not paying attention to him.

“Oh, you think she wanted you when she fucked you? Sweet.” Malone cut through before she could even start answering. “No, no, no. She wanted me, and she knew she wasn’t at my level. Now I understand. So, that is why you refused my offer, uh?”

“You are delusional.” As she barked at him, she felt Dean freeze under her hands.

“What offer?” He asked, still only looking at her. His tone was softer as he talked to her, but the danger vibrating through his words as anger rose wild inside of him was undeniable.

“To take me back to his place. He implied-”

“I didn’t imply anything, I simply offered to show you my art collection.”

Both she and Dean ignored him, from holding him back, she started to slide her hands across his chest, bending by his side, until she reached for his hair with one hand, wrapping a finger around one of his longer locks. “And when I refused, he made it clear to me that he didn’t care much if I said no."

"Is that why you attacked him?"

"Yes. I do not condone men who think they can violate a woman's will."

"Man, don't listen to her, she is full of shit. Honestly, you're better off listening to me. And probably you might want to get checked out, who knows what kind of diseases she carries."

The dirt and the implications of his words made her stomach twist in disgust. A twitch tensed her shoulders as she felt the weight of the meaning of his intentions.

How many women did he hurt that way or worse?

He deserved to be hurt.

And she could feel Dean's anger grow and shape him into a beast.

So, she simply let go of him, sliding to the side. "Get him, baby."

If Malone didn't consider a woman able to stand for herself, he would have certainly understood the message Dean brought.

"Hey, woah, don't listen to her, she is only manipulating you, don't you see?"

"God himself could walk down here and tell me I am the new messiah but I'd still doubt it if she said otherwise."

He was on Malone in a second, grabbing him and twisting painfully his arms behind his back in a submissive pose, pushing him against the wall.

"I worship the ground she walks on. Do you understand me?" He pushed Malone against the wall. And then again, this time holding his hair, making sure to smack his face against the wall. "Do you understand what it means when I say one word from her and you're dead?"

As Dean snarled dangerously to Malone's ear, Valkyrie smiled satisfied, sliding close to him. Feeling her move by his side, Dean pulled his hair bringing him to look at her. "So, you better apologise. Profusely."

"And if I don't?"

A moment before Dean could snap and smack his face against the wall again, attempting to make some abstract work of art with his blood, Valkyrie intervened. "Dean, stop."

She only wanted to mock Malone, and as if Dean knew perfectly what she thought, he did exactly as she said.

He didn't let go of him though.

Malone sent her a quick look, even then, not hiding a cocky smile. "I knew you would come to your senses darling. See? That wasn't difficult, even for you."

"Actually," she pretended to think about it, "please, do hurt him, my love."

Dean moved immediately as soon as she spoke. It was as if her will was connected to him. He pushed Malone's face against the wall, this time slowly, squeezing against it until the man started to groan in pain.

A sadistic smile popped on Dean's lips. "More?" He asked, looking at her.

"I don't know," she tapped her index on her chin, "are you done calling me names?"

"I'm not, you fucking whore. You and your dog will regret this."

Dean punched him in the lower back twice, fast and hard. "Sorry, I don't know if I've heard you properly."

A shiver crossed her as she watched him enjoy hurting someone that disrespected her. Gods, it was inebriating. The sense of power and respect Dean's behaviour gave her was simply perfect. She felt like a queen.

Malone wheezed a slimy laughter. "Go on. I'll sue you from here to oblivion. I'll ruin you."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Oh yes, you fucking insane bastard."

A dangerous laughter vibrated through Dean's chest as he pulled the man around and wrapped both his hands around his neck. "Then you'll know I do not care about your useless threats." And he squeezed. "Disrespect my woman one more time and I swear to everything that is holy that I'll break you."

Valkyrie smiled, basking in the violence unravelling just before her eyes and in her name. She purred, sliding by Dean's side, caressing his tensed arms as she placed her chin on his shoulder, tenderly rubbing her forehead on the side of his face, like a cat, as if he wasn't in the process of choking someone.

She was deaf to the noises Malone was making, as his cries for Dean to stop were reduced to pitiful whimpers. And she was most definitely blind to his weak attempt to grab Dean's arms and fight him off.

Valkyrie moved behind Dean, wrapping her arms around his waist now pushing her face close to his neck. She lulled sweet words into his ear in her native language, praising him and her respect for his valour.

The look she slid on the man he was pinning to the wall, as their eyes crossed, was merciless and as cold as ice as her lips curled in a dangerous smile, similar to the one of a wolf.

She watched him slowly losing strength, as his face became redder and redder and his eyes more and more widened. True fear started to grow in his eyes the longer Dean's hold would became tighter.

Just when she noticed his eyelids fall heavily on his eyes, Valkyrie brushed her lips under Dean's ear. "Let him go."

Dean obeyed, immediately stepping away but still watching Malone's body heavily falling to the floor with a smile printed on his face.

The man coughed and gagged, pulling his arms to his own neck, trying to catch his breath as he pushed himself away from them as much as he could, crawling on the floor.

"Look at you, you sick fuck," Dean leaned close to him, still acting as threatening and as pissed off, "pathetic, wiggling like a worm."

Valkyrie was still close to him and casually placed a hand on his shoulder so openly displaying her closeness to Dean with no fear, despite what had just happened.

Justice was so sweet.

She let that feeling run through her, filling her up as it became the true essence of everything she was.

"Please, no more." Finally, Malone seemed to break as he begged, hiding his face from them as much as he could.

Dean grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up like he weighed nothing. "Say you're sorry, you piece of crap."

"Fine, I am sorry!"

"Not to me, you pathetic pig. To her."

A shiver crossed her back. She had lost every interest in the situation. Everything she wanted was to have Dean all to herself to thank him properly for his disposal of valour.

Nothing ever turned her on like what she had just witnessed.

It was primal and it was violent. And it was beautiful.

Despite the flaws he might have had, which she still had to meet because she didn't care if he was brutally honest or slightly rude or handsy, he was a man worthy to be called so.

Her Gods were right to smile upon him.

And he was her warrior.

That was the moment she realised she wanted him by her side forever.

"Shall I break your fucking arm to get it out of ya?"

As Dean shook the man, Malone squealed, finally looking at her. "I am sorry."

"That's not enough." Again, Dean shook him like he was nothing more but a dirty, wet piece of cloth.

"Please," Malone looked at Dean first, just to realise his mistake in time and look back at her, "I beg you to forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You are not forgiven.” She stated, raising her chin proudly. “You’ll never be forgiven for what you have done to me, or other women alike, both in less or worse degree.” Valkyrie then bent taking advantage of Dean still holding the man steady. Her look was brutally determined. “May Baldur curse your appearance. May Forseti see that justice is brought upon you. May Freyja and Freyr curse your fertility. May Frigg never let you marry. May Loki curse you. May Odin and Tyr ruin you. May Vali see that everyone you hurt is avenged. May the Norns see that your fate is ruined. And May Hel welcome you with open arms into the tormented, darkest pits of Helheim.”

To every calling to her Gods, Valkyrie drew an invisible rune on Malone’s forehead, truly hoping that her pleas would be listened to. But also, even just enjoying the pure terror in Malone’s eyes to every single one of her curses was enough to bring her satisfaction.

Finally, Valkyrie hinted to Dean to let go of the man.

She enjoyed watching him wiggle and crawl away from them, as he kept begging them for mercy, pressing himself against the wall, hiding his face on the floor, acting like a hurt insect.

Dean moved around her, going to retrieve the stuff he dropped on the floor and then he casually wrapped an arm around her shoulders, dragging her away. As if nothing happened. Definitely, a man like Malone didn’t deserve to receive any more attention.

“Remind me to never to piss you off, angel.” He chuckled to her ear, pressing a fond kiss on her forehead.

She turned towards him, pressing her smile on his chin and then reaching for a quick kiss. “You’ll just have to keep me happy and satisfied at all times, I guess.”

“I can do that.”

Valkyrie liked to nest under his arm. She liked how it felt to be so close to him. And she liked the belonging that pose implied.

“Ready to go?” She wondered looking up at him a moment before they’d turn the corner back into the more crowded side of the gallery.

“Are you?” He winked at her, offering the softest of smiles.

She got lost in his eyes for a second, unaware and unconcerned about how deep and totally on display her feelings for him were. Not that Dean did anything to hide his closeness to her either.

Her nod was quick and determined. She didn’t care anymore. And maybe it was wrong. And maybe she would have thought about it at a later date and regretted her choices, but, for now, she was done hiding.

“Let’s go, then.”

[cantuscorvi]

The delivery had been absolutely impeccable, considering she had only made up her mind about the whole debacle only two days ago. One of her personal assistance was assigned to personally deliver the set of keys and all necessary legal documentation right in Raum's hands at precisely the time she'd knew he would be at his living quarters. What did the keys open, you may ask? Well, when clicked they activate the blinker of the car in front of his home. And not just any car. What appeared to be a long black limousine was actually a luxury hearse, black paint shining like liquid tar against the chrome details. On both sides wreaths of abundant white roses laid hanged in a grandiose display, and a thick black ribbon bearing the cursive writing of "Our sincerest, most regrettable condolences to what could've been~" stretching along the hood. Under the windshield there's a note bearing only today's date, 1st of April and the imprint of Adrianna's kiss.

@of-elitiism

I didn't order anything, he'd said when the courier had arrived at the door, suspicion printed over his features as a large envelope was pressed into his hands, followed by a small box. He'd put the envelope aside in favour of opening the box, finding the key tucked inside like one might a piece of jewellery.

Perplexed, he pressed the button — half-expecting an explosion or something just as dangerous to result from it, pleasantly surprised when there was nothing of the sort, instead that distantly familiar unlocking chime of a car.

Lips parted with surprise when he noticed it was actually hearse parked outside the house. His confusion only grew further while he circled around the vehicle, inspecting the (tasteful, he had to admit) display inside. Only when Raum reached the front and picked up the card, it dawned on him who it was from — the residual trace of her energy yet lingered on the paper.

Silently he shook his head, shoulders trembling with restrained mirth before it released in a bewildered chuckle. The meaning was rather lost on him, besides the insinuation of the death of something. Was it the death of her interest in him? Ha! Hardly. A threat, then? But she'd long proven to do that by her own hand...

Or was this the point? To have him twist his mind for a reason that didn't exist? To make him chase her for the meaning? A gracious gift and a bad omen — to be subject to the whims of an eccentric woman like Adrianna.

Well. Whatever the case. Raum tucked the card into his inner breast pocket, then opened the car door. Better not to put the gift to waste.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Where Nobody Else Will Go

Jericho sat in a daze, staring at the crimson splatters on the wall.

Were they ketchup? Or blood?

He sniffled and removed the sunglasses from his nose—a pair of aviators that certainly never belonged to him. The whole room around him resembled the aftermath of a hurricane. Chairs had been overturned, the mattress of a king-sized bed had been stood up against the floor-to-ceiling windows to a huge balcony, and the color of the carpeted floor could barely be identified with all the trash littering it.

Plastic wrappers crinkled under his ass as he shifted in his uncomfortable seat on the floor, a sharp pain coming from his butt cheeks that had fallen asleep.

How in the hell had he even gotten there? This wasn’t the shabby motel room where he had gone to sleep, awakened by that woman and her thugs—

The power of a thousand hangovers converged on his skull and started hammering it like a heavy metal drum set. His whole head throbbed. Jericho groaned and tossed the sunglasses aside, then rubbed his face.

Barely able to stand straight once he rose to his feet, the tip of his bare toes caused empty bottles to clink and empty cans to clatter. Junk, wherever he gazed.

“Man, what the hell?” he muttered.

Surfing on the waves of a powerful headache, first memories crashed upon his aimlessly floating shreds of consciousness.

He had not just sampled booze from that magic skull. That woman had mixed some liquid drugs into the bourbon.

Aria. That was her name. Aria Chambers.

Jericho had never gone to college or enjoyed any higher education. Yet last night, he had chugged toxic brew from the hollowed-out skull of a dead president, as if he had to make up for lost time by mimicking the wildest frat parties of his wasted youth.

He groaned again, sitting against an elegant white dresser, now stained by what had to be a mixture of vomit and more of the red stuff.

He scratched the red stuff and sniffed. Retched.

Definitely ketchup.

That smell brought back memories. Those gorilla-shaped men in the three-piece suits kept bringing them whatever they asked for. Aria’s drunken giggles tickled his mind. He recalled how one of those cheap plastic ketchup packets from the golden arches had exploded in a spray of red splatters.

She had kept serving him up more to drink from the skull, and he downed every drop like his life had depended on it. They had scattered dozens of bottles throughout the hotel room to show for it.

Truly, though, he had never felt so free as he had last night. He almost permitted himself to think he enjoyed partying with Aria.

He waded through the sea of trash, looking for anything that remotely resembled his clothing. A wide mirror above the bed revealed he was currently garbed in a black leather gimp suit, with his buttocks exposed. Red streaks marked his cheeks. Soon after groping them and riddling over the painful origin of the reddened marks, he spotted their source—a small riding crop, haphazardly discarded upon the empty bed frame.

Jericho groaned a third time. He only drew a blank when he tried to recall if they had slept together. Though, judging by the chaos of this mysterious hotel room, he wouldn’t have called it sleeping together.

He would have called it fucking.

Either way, his memories failed him, leaving him unable to fill the gaps with any coherent recollection.

They had also been talking at some point. He had climbed out of the skylight of a white stretch limousine, howling in joy, and drunk out of his mind, just before the two thugs pulled him back down, only for Aria to hand him another skull full of whiskey and liquid LSD, which he greedily drank up.

A robotic giggle interrupted the disjointed reverie when he stepped on a busted Baby So Happy doll. It was missing an arm and a leg, and someone had drawn a mustache and devil horns onto its face with a magic marker.

“The fuck?” he muttered.

Finally, he rediscovered his black jeans. Someone had crudely clipped the legs with scissors, turning them into jorts, provoking a whole string of profanities from Jericho. He swore some more when he remembered that he might have done it himself. He angrily dug around in their pockets until he found a lighter, then tossed the ruined pants aside.

After several more minutes of rooting around in this disaster zone, he gave up on looking for his leather jacket and instead retrieved a half-smoked blunt from an ashtray, which he lit up and took a long drag from.

He let himself slide into sitting in a shallow puddle of cold liquid in the bathtub of what had once been a luxurious bathroom. Two empty champagne glasses sat on the ledge, with dozens of party streamers crisscrossing the floor in a riot of garish colors. Lewd scrawls drawn in bright red lipstick marked the mirror.

More memories returned as he sat and smoked in silence.

Aria had kept asking about the Way King. In turn, Jericho kept stopping her from saying that name out loud. He loathed the horrors that followed every time anybody uttered the Way King’s name.

Some asshole must have told her about the boss. That thought bounced around in the cavernous hollow of his throbbing skull.

His “master”, as she had put it. Jericho had remained uncooperative.

After another long drag from the blunt, he downed some remaining drops of champagne from an empty bottle. They tasted more like warm spit.

This is going to be a problem. She is going to be a problem. Fuck, Jericho thought. I kind of like her.

Aria Chambers seemed to be the same kind of fucked up on the inside as Jericho, just packaged with a different flavor. Sweet like strawberry-flavored bubblegum and cotton candy, with all skeletons neatly stacked away in her closets, and dressed like a rockstar. She clearly knew about magick and the dukes. Hell, for all he knew, she probably was one of the dukes herself. And she was leagues apart from being as uptight and psychotic as the others he had had the misfortune of getting to know.

She must have footed the bill for this hotel suite—even through all the destruction they had wrought, the place must have cost something on the high end of triple digits per night, Jericho wagered. Just pondering what might be charged for damages here, his head hurt even more.

Still smoking the blunt in his daze, he stumbled around the suite until a sharp pain in the back of his head reminded him of more pressing matters. The thing she had distracted him from.

His job.

He had something to do here.

Bright light accompanied a blurry glimpse of the skyline of Chicago outside the hotel balcony windows, providing another stark reminder of his dirty work. Dirty, stained hands, destined for dirty, magick work.

He still had work to do. For the fucking Way King. It was, after all, the only way he knew to escape this life. A paradox of its own. Going deeper down the spiral to escape. Building momentum to fly off the rails and crash through the walls of the cosmic drainpipe. Just one more job, he kept telling himself. Just one more job, and I can punch my final card.

But he had now paraded himself right into another problem. It could take him hours to recover his wallet—if he hadn’t lost it before getting to this hotel already. Hours to acquire clothes—something other than a gimp suit and a pair of jorts, something that wouldn’t get him arrested the moment he took a stroll through the city. And maybe a few minutes to hijack a ride, once he had the first two objectives covered. A gun also wouldn’t have hurt, but that was low on his list of priorities.

Aria had effectively left him stranded.

Jericho grunted, wondering if that had been on purpose. If she worked for some other faction, trying to stop him from getting his work done.

Maybe. But that was not adding up. Though he refused to believe in coincidences, Jericho knew the power of synchronicity. The way their kind were unconsciously drawn to each other. Trouble finding the troublemakers.

He snuffed out the blunt in the overflowing ashtray and lumbered his way around in search of the room’s air conditioning controls. The place was hot and stuffy. More than a pricey room like this should have been.

Courtesy of his own meddling, of course.

Trash crunched and clattered with each shambling step. It took him half a minute of swiveling and stumbling around like a zombie till Jericho remembered where to look. Finally, he found the panel, kicking some junk out of the way so he could stand and lean against the wall.

He flipped open the control panel and tapped the top of the plastic device three times. Three times three. Then he adjusted the dial to a freezing temperature and muttered the magic words out loud.

“Gesserred agamemnis.”

He tapped the device again, three times three.

“Come on, you piece of shit,” Jericho muttered. “Open sesame, motherfucker. Roger, over, magick S.O.S., open your fucking ears. Come in.”

The device whined. Whispers erupted from the nearest air conditioning vent on the wall.

“Jericho,” whispered the voice in the air. “Time is running out. What are you doing? The Way K—”

“Shut up,” Jericho said. “Don’t say his fucking name and just—just let me speak, okay? I’m aware of the time. Just shut the fuck up and help me out here. I need clothes, cash, and a car. And a gun. Can you do that?”

Wind whistled from the vent. An eerie silence accompanied it.

“Yes. FBI agent Parker will arrive in Chicago soon, and you need to intercept her.”

“I remember my fucking job, you mystic jack-off. Stop wasting time and send me—”

“A new group emerged from the shadows,” hissed the whispers. “The Threshold was disrupted. Threads are rapidly unraveling around Parker. I cannot see what they want, but you must hurry. Get to her first. You must act decisively. You must be willing to go where nobody else—”

Jericho used his middle finger to flick the air conditioning controls off.

It rendered the whispering wind silent.

“Asshole,” Jericho muttered.

He flipped the vent both birds, even if the Oracle on the other end couldn’t see it.

It was, after all, the thought that mattered.

Now, all he had to figure out was how to get through the hotel to an exit without getting himself arrested. Jericho continued rooting through the mountains of trash and overturned furniture. He recoiled when the broken television set suddenly emitted a flurry of sparks.

Another series of profanities escaped him when he slipped on a half-eaten burger in its wrapper, leaving his bare foot slimy with patty and ketchup and pickles.

He finally recovered one of his boots from underneath the bed and held it up high in triumph. With a bit of luck, some other clothing remained in this chaos.

His triumph was cut short. A chill ran down his spine. He sensed a presence before—

The door to the suite opened. Aria waltzed inside, with the two thugs flanking her.

She looked Jericho up and down through a pair of yellow contrast spectacles, and Aria had clearly cleaned up better than Jericho in the meanwhile. Not a sign of any hangover or lasting effects from their wild party last night. That, or she was good at concealing it with makeup and narcotics. And the eccentric white designer dress did more than enough to grab all his attention.

The two thugs looked like two different guys, though Jericho had paid little mind to their features.

“You look like shit,” she said, puffing a cigarette.

“Hey, Hollywood. You should have called. I was just about to freshen up,” Jericho muttered. “Where the fuck is my shit?”

“Do I look like the Oracle of New York?” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you know why I’m back. You know what I want to ask, right?”

Jericho sighed.

“Yeah, listen. I’d really love to tell you, but I’d rather eat literal shit than fuck my boss. That crazy German fuck can do things that are far worse than murder.”

Aria rolled her jaw and set it.

“He’s German, huh?”

“Ah, fuck. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying. That’s it.”

Jericho focused. He channeled his innermost power. The darkness lurking in the deepest recesses of his heart.

He needed to get out of here.

Now.

He focused on the little that remained of his life. The memories that arrived effortlessly. His only friends from Evergreen. Unimportant little things they treasured so dearly, like Tom’s crappy old Apple laptop, or Joel’s ring from his trip through Nepal.

Breaking the awkward silence, Aria’s speech trailed off, like his memories, dissolving into the ether. She said, “Listen, darling…”

The headache vanished. The throbbing in his skull ceased.

Purity followed. Clarity. The purification of a raging fire.

Destruction.

The belt buckles exploded from the pants of the two thugs, causing their pants to drop. Their dress jackets exploded into clouds of worthless fabric scraps, revealing shredded white shirts, and they yelled in pain as their earpieces turned into molten plastic slag in a flash, forcing them to yank them out.

Jericho squinted. Aria had remained completely unaffected by the explosion of unloved objects.

“How in the fuck?” he asked. “How?”

One of the hired thugs scrambled to draw a melting pistol from a sagging, broken concealed-carry holster, but Aria slapped his hand away.

She glared at Jericho. Reminded her of the high school teacher he used to have a crush on as a kid. He peed a little in his gimp suit.

He had never seen anybody unaffected by his breed of magick.

With a wave of her other hand, holding the cigarette, the two gangsters in the suits froze. Nodded. Cheeks rosy with fury and shame, they both pulled their pants back up, stepped outside, and closed the door behind themselves, leaving Aria alone with Jericho in the hotel suite.

“Jericho, darling,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “You are very, very, stupid. Comically stupid, even.”

“Uhuh,” Jericho said, failing to keep his composure and looking for a way to escape.

The only other way out was a drop of a dozen stories off the balcony. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with plan B.

Aria added, “I could have hurt you if I wanted to. But here’s the kicker—I don’t. Even after that little stunt of yours.”

He paused, meeting her gaze through the yellow spectacles. She calmly smoked.

Not an ounce of fury about her.

She asked, “Do you even have any more juice to sling?”

“Of course! I could burn this shithole to the ground,” he lied.

She dropped the cigarette from its holder. Underneath an expensive red heel matching the rest of her fancy runway attire, she stomped out the butt on the hotel room floor.

“What little of your life remains for you to destroy?” she asked, twisting her heel to punctuate the question.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Maybe she was going to give him an easy way out, after all.

“You sure you don’t want to tell me about the Way K—”

“Ah!” he shouted to interrupt it. “Zip it. Please, for both our sakes, don’t say that asshole’s name out loud. And how the fuck do you know about that? My cheat codes?”

She tilted her head and sighed. An air of amusement washed over her mien.

“You were very talkative last night, even if you dodged every question about your… employer. I almost thought we had something here.”

“Sure. So, can I go now? Are we gonna have to do this the hard way?”

“He’s got something on you, doesn’t he? This isn’t loyalty, this is—”

“Look, I just need to go, or I will be in a world of hurt. And you might enter that world with me, just by proxy.”

“He’s got something I want, darling. If you’re a sweetheart and promise to help me get it, I’ll be out of your hair for now. You can go off to dance to the piper’s tune, get back to me, and we can talk shop afterwards. I have an aged bottle of bourbon we could share to sweeten the deal; catch up on old times. How about that?”

Jericho sighed.

“Sure, fine. Okay. I mean, for what it’s worth, I’d rather work for you than him. I just need to know I won’t be finding out what fates are worse than death, alright?”

Anything to placate her for now. Maybe he would even think about what she wanted. Maybe.

The yellow shades clicked as she slid them down the ridge of her nose, gazing at him over silvered edges.

Eyes fierce. Crystal blue. Seductive.

Jericho caved immediately. The maybe turned into definitely.

“Okay,” she breathed. She pushed the shades back up her nose. “Your other shoe’s over there.”

She whipped her hair around and left the hotel suite.

Left him alone to scramble, peeling out of the gimp suit with effort, getting dressed in what remained of his attire. Save for the sorry state of his jeans, he found all the articles.

By the time he snuck out of the trashed hotel room, Aria and the two thugs had disappeared. Jericho slinked through spacious white halls to the nearest elevator. It dinged melodically, serenading him with finest music on the ride down. Its doors slid open without incident, and he strode outside at a fast pace, avoiding eye contact with a well-dressed concierge behind the front desk. The majestically and comically gigantic entrance lobby made Jericho uncomfortable in how long it took him to march himself outside.

His body was taut as a wire, expecting to stop himself from punching anybody in the face if he encountered anybody stupid enough to stop him. Could not afford to cause trouble.

Wearing a pair of jorts with his leather jacket and black boots embarrassed him the most. The rest of his disheveled appearance was standard fare, nothing he normally felt ashamed about. Several people in the lobby stared. His face burned; he kept his eyes level with the exit. Acting as if he belonged where he clearly did not.

Finally, he had made it outside. He furrowed his brow upon reading the logo above the entrance.

Hilton Chicago.

More than ready to leave, Jericho looked around and exhaled a sigh of relief. Several limos and taxis waited at the curb. One of them had to have been sent by Michael, he reckoned.

While he scanned them, two unfamiliar faces approached. Shadows in the corner of his eye. An Asian man and an African American woman. Dressed like government agents. They gave him a rotten feeling, worse than his breath currently smelled.

Jericho turned, pretending to have overlooked them. He wandered down the sidewalk, away from the hotel entrance—away from them. Shooting a glance into a window and glimpsing their silhouettes in the reflection, he confirmed his suspicion.

They were tailing him. Beelining right through the crowd to follow his path. He bit his tongue before he could swear anymore, picking up his pace and marching down the sidewalk, weaving past passersby.

He didn’t know Chicago well and had zero clue regarding his current whereabouts.

Should have asked Aria, he thought. Stupid.

Another glance over his shoulder. The two suits had matched his pace. He had no idea where to go. Crossed the next road despite the red light. Tires screeched, a horn honked in anger, and he waved at the driver with a shit-eating green, flipping each other the bird. It helped mask his nervousness.

He did not want to wait at the crossing for those two suits to catch up.

They kept following him while he continued down a narrow driveway. A bridge crossed over the road, and one of the L-trains rumbled and squeaked and shrieked as it rode above him. Jericho ducked into the alleyway above which the train tracks trailed, sticking to the shadows. His eyes darted about, looking for a place to hide.

Nothing.

Only a parking lot with a high fence, and an endless stretch of brick walls covered in breathtakingly beautiful graffiti.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—”

Maybe a dumpster, he wondered. Just hop in a dumpster and wait them out.

Nope. Too late. Another furtive glance, and he knew the two suits had already caught up, rounding the corner into the same alley. Definitely on his ass.

And with nowhere to hide.

At the very least, there was nobody else nearby. No immediate witnesses if things turned ugly. Just the two suits and him.

They probably had guns, but he had one last trick up his sleeve. Aria had guessed right: he was running out of juice. In their wild night of partying, he must have told her something about how he worked mojo. This was, indeed, going to be his last shot for now.

A long shot.

“Yo,” said the Asian man behind him. He sounded almost friendly, but his casual tone could not fool Jericho into missing the hidden malevolent intent. “Hey, hold up, dude.”

Jericho gritted his teeth and stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned, finally getting a chance to get a good look at the two.

Without fail: two concealed-carry holsters in their jackets. Good shoes, both of them, suitable for running. And they both looked athletic enough to give Jericho a run for his money.

Correction, he thought. Reality kicked him in the teeth again. I feel as shitty as I look, and I can’t get up a fucking flight of stairs without feeling winded.

“Okay—the hell is your problem, you fucks?” he asked them, spittle spraying from his mouth.

They stopped a solid dozen steps away.

The Asian man smirked. Said nothing.

Without even as much as twitching, Jericho reached deep inside himself.

He rooted around in the few pleasant memories he retained from his early life. His dog, Finch, cuddling up to him before that sweet little dachshund died of old age. One of his only friends as a kid. It wasn’t like he wanted to sacrifice a memory like that, but what choice did he have?

Murderous intent sparkled in the woman’s eyes. The smirk on the Asian guy projected malice.

They weren’t going to play nice if he didn’t do exactly as they said. And neither was Jericho.

The clarity returned. The memory purged. A past going up in smoke, dissolving with the memory of tossing Finch’s leash into a bonfire. Jericho’s cheeks and ears burned with inner flames, all blood rushing to his head.

All the woman managed to exclaim was the clipped phrase, “What the—”

Their jackets ripped open, fabric torn asunder, and their pistols went flying towards Jericho in a straight line.

He snatched both firearms out of the air and pointed the weapons at the two. Jericho’s face twisted and froze somewhere between a grimace and a wicked, toothy grin.

“I haven’t even had breakfast, but I’ll pass on whatever bullshit you’re selling,” he told them, keeping one pistol trained on each of them.

“Okay,” said the Asian guy. “My bad. I take back what I said about this shmuck.” Way too confident for having witnessed Jericho work real magick.

“Hey—asshole,” Jericho shouted at him. “Do you not have eyeballs in your fucking head? I’m holding the guns here. Your guns.”

“Easy,” said the woman. The sparkle of murderous intent had given way to a dull sheen of surprise. “We can talk about this. We wanted to talk, anyway, but we can do it on your terms.”

“Oh, spare me that bullshit,” Jericho groaned. “I’ve got things to see and people to do. How about we start with who the fuck you are?”

The Asian man thumbed at himself. “Tommy Wu.”

“Jolena Ford,” said the woman.

“Cool. Who do you work for?”

They exchanged a glance before meeting Jericho’s gaze again.

“The House,” said Tommy.

“What house?” Jericho asked.

Then it hit him. He knew exactly which house they meant. That House. The House of Change.

All the fire died. The blood drained from his face, and a clammy cold made his palms holding the pistols turn sweaty.

They said nothing else. Either they knew that he knew, or they refused to speak of its nature out loud.

Jericho refused to return there. He had escaped it once and dreaded the thought of never escaping it again.

“What the fuck do you—what the fuck does the House want from me?” he asked them. “I’m not going back!”

He would rather have the Way King turn him into a doormat for the rest of eternity.

Jolena said, “Mister Wu here had the bright idea that it would be easier to get to you than it would be to…”

She stopped mid-sentence. Clenched her jaw.

“Spit it out,” Jericho said, cocking the hammers on both pistols for emphasis. “Or I’m gonna put you both in wheelchairs.”

Tommy tilted his head and sighed.

“No point in beating around the bush. We were going to get you instead of intercepting the FBI agent. Parker.”

“Why? What do you want from me? Or her? Why the fuck is everybody looking for this FBI lady all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do not tempt me, motherfuckers,” Jericho spat.

“We truly don’t know. You’d have to ask him. Your… boss,” said Jolena. “The Way K—”

Jericho pulled the triggers. He blazed away with both pistols. Unfortunately, he was a terrible shot, and handguns truly weren’t meant to be wielded the way he was misusing them. Most bullets missed, though one of them winged Tommy in the leg, provoking a crude expletive from the Asian man.

The rest of the bullets just sprayed sparks from the asphalt, and the dumpster, and the steel pillar upholding the bridge while the two agents of the House scrambled to find cover.

Jericho wasn’t sticking around to find out or make sure how badly he had hurt them.

He ran.

His lungs burnt with growing intensity as he charged down the alleyway, tumbling over the nearest fence, stumbling over a pile of cardboard boxes, and crashing through a door. Someone yelped in terror as he pushed a stranger out of the way, carrying stacks of something or the other, now flying wildly in every direction. Someone else shouted in the distance, and yet another person yelled bloody murder.

Too frantic to distinguish if they were chasing him closely, Jericho fled like a coward. It usually worked out for him this way. His most reliable method of survival. He ran like a madman. Guided only by instinct, blindly taking turns, and zigzagging through back alleys and narrow spaces in his mad dash.

He ran past a crowd of surprised faces working at a loading dock, charged right around a corner, and down a ramp of the next building’s underground parking garage.

His whole body was on fire, covered in a sheen of sweat, and the air rattled through a tortured throat into lungs abused by smoking since his thirteenth year of age. He hid behind a van and held his breath.

Plenty of ruckus outside. Emergency sirens blared in the distance. Traffic in the streets. The L-train rumbled down the elevated bridges. Honking horns. Shouts. Chatter.

The blood rushed in his ears; his lungs screamed at him to breathe.

Breathe.

He had shaken them. For now. He hoped. He had to hope.

Definitely clipped the Asian guy, Tommy. The splatter of crimson from his leg had stained asphalt, one of the last clear glimpses he had caught of the two people from the House.

The House of Change.

Jericho shuddered as he crept between parked vehicles, testing them to see if any set off any alarms. He eventually climbed into a shiny black sedan.

He tried to banish the thoughts of that place. The House. It haunted his nightmares and waking hours. If he could have sacrificed those memories for magick, he would have done so a long time ago. Unfortunately, it never worked that way.

No free lunches.

No keys under the mat, for that matter, either. Nor behind the sun visor, nor in the glove compartment. No keys in the car whatsoever.

Never such luck.

Luckily, he knew how to hotwire a car. It would serve him well enough to get to the suburbs, where he could finally catch this damned FBI agent, deliver her to the boss, and call it a day.

Nobody entered the garage while he worked. His heartbeat still raced, his lungs still burned, and stale sweat caked his body, but he started feeling somewhat safer. The sound of police sirens passed by outside, en route to some other crime scene—perhaps unrelated to him, he hoped.

He desperately matched the two wires he had gutted from the car’s ignition. Tiny sparks flew on each attempt. It took several attempts till the engine chugged to life.

With the car started, he finally permitted himself to sigh in relief.

Now, perhaps, he could finally get his work back on track. Get the Way King off his back. He had to hope.

He took control of the steering wheel and further controlled his shuddering breaths, calming himself. Get the Way King off my back—that’s the dream. Just one more job.

The radio lit up, springing to life without invitation. It whined and emitted eerie shrieks, like a cacophony of demons howling from beyond the void. Freezing air shot from the vents of the expensive car’s air conditioning.

Whispers hissed at him through the slits of its vents. A familiar voice. “What happened? Where did you go?”

“Two fuck-heads from the House of Change tried to jump me. Don’t worry about it.”

Something inside the air vents rattled, like bottle caps caught within.

“Don’t worry about it?” Static crackled from the radio with a high-pitched whine, causing Jericho to cringe; becoming so painful he almost let go of the steering wheel to cover his ears.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT?”

“Alright! Alright! I got it handled, okay?”

Another whine from the radio, more rattling in the vents.

“Do not let them stop you. Do not fail. I sent help.”

“Help? I already have a car and not one, but two guns, no thanks to you, asshole. Your help better be a cabbage roll of cash, a medium steak, and a free blowjob, or I'll—”

The cold muzzle of a gun pressed against the back of Jericho’s neck. He had a hunch about who it was, and he hated this. He hated how she could just show up like this.

“You will bring Agent Parker to the Ranch,” Michael whispered through the vents.

Jericho groaned through gritted teeth. A creepy woman’s smile greeted him through the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He knew that smug smile. A pair of piercing blue eyes, long raven-black hair, and a symmetrical face framed full lips, a face too attractive to fit the psychopath she was.

Jericho hated her. Karma was a bitch.

“Just so you appreciate how important this is, I sent Karma to ensure you wouldn’t fuck this up,” Michael whispered.

The most sadistic bitch Jericho knew.

[myloveforhergoeson]

ch 31 preview bc i feel bad for not posting in so long yayy

“Mr. Rocque, Kelly, please,” Roxanne pleaded, shaking fingers threaded, palms pressed together. She would’ve gotten down on her knees to beg if she, the band, and their two bosses weren’t already in the back of the limousine headed to Brand New Day’s album release party. “The Big Time Rush booking fee is for interviews and photoshoots, and- and millionaire’s birthday parties. Not for an advertising campaign for a band no one has ever heard of!” 

Though she winced at her desperate tone of voice, she hoped one final appeal would make the two adults change their minds. Despite spending the last 24 hours making similar statements since Gustavo’s call at the movie theater, neither of them had budged in their decision for the band to attend the party. She’d even taken the fight all the way to Griffin’s office, sitting atop the Rocque Records building and adorned in the strangest taxidermy the assistant had ever seen, hoping that even he would think it an odd request. 

Turns out that had been a mistake; Roxy had severely underestimated how much Griffin seemed to like her. America’s fourth most powerful CEO was no better than his money-hungry adversaries and deep down she knew that… She just wanted someone other than her friends to take her feelings into account just this once. 

With Griffin’s word as law, and whatever Gustavo was afraid of in Obdul’s briefcase when the tall man tapped on it, the band was set to attend the gathering and adhere to Brand New Day’s request. 

When Kelly sighed, shifting her gaze from the soft glow of her BlackBerry in the back of the dark limo to the writer, she just slowly shook her head. “You heard Griffin earlier, Roxy. They’re paying customers and Rocque Records has a contract to fulfil. As much as you dislike these boys-”

“These two,” The assistant automatically corrected, feeling James’ hand slide onto her shoulder as the limo turned a corner. “These two,” Kelly continued after a brief pause, “There’s a lot of money at stake here.”

That was the same answer the talent scout had given her all day - the same corporate talk about contract fulfillment, legal obligation, and reputation. Bullshit. 

 “Griffin said we have to,” Gustavo added in a flat tone, red glasses matching the tint of a neon sign zooming by outside the window behind him, suggesting that he wasn’t all too thrilled with the night before them either. “So we have to. Set aside whatever crap has you all up in a twist about this party! It’s only a few hours, okay?” 

With a huff, Roxy crossed her arms and pushed back into her seat, watching the endless stream of cars out the window beside the man’s head. Most of the time she and Gustavo were on the same page, especially when it came to breaking down emotional barriers in the writer’s room. If he was able to help her draw out the words to place on the page when she was struggling in the past, why was he so incapable of seeing her irritation now? 

“We’ll be okay, Rox!” From across the way, Carlos reached out to pat her knee, welcome warm contact on skin that felt as cold as ice. The charm from the bracelet she’d made him for Christmas jingled around his wrist. “The night will be over before you know it!”

Carlos’ optimism never ceased to amaze Roxy; She wished she could feel even a small portion of it at the present, but her confusing amalgamation of fear and anger had been too busy building up in her system all day. Too much time had already been wasted worrying about Mag and Dani since they’d moved to Hollywood. Past memories playing in her head like a bad movie plagued her dreams, causing her to reach out for James in the darkness of her room, only to feel the emptiness creep in when she remembered a few walls separated them in 2-H and 2-J. Horrible flashes of whatever may transpire tonight took hold of her imagination when she was awake, only fueling the fire of emotions rooted in her belly. 

And even that felt ridiculous to her because Mag and Dani were just people she used to be friends with, not the supervillains of epic proportions her mind was making them out to be. The hurt and confusion then mingled with shame for expecting the worst from them, dragging up situations in which they’d looked out for her at local gigs or sat up and listened to her complain on the phone all hours of the night while she tried to work out a new tune or melody. All the fun they’d had playing together, advertising for their band wherever they could, and drawing up big plans to hit the big time together.

Then, the cycle of emotions started anew, because if they were such great people, how could they so easily take her work and pass it off as their own? How could they be Brand New Day without her?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Roxy tilted her head back into the hard headrest, focusing on the silence in the car since she’d been too fatigued to pick a radio station, and took a deep breath in an attempt to stave off the emotional overload.

Beside Carlos, messing with the material of his lap belt, Kendall nodded at his friend’s words. “Just a few photos for the news outlets and some social media posts saying how much we love the new album, then we’re so far out of here and everyone will forget about Brand New Day in a week.”

Though the both of them knew that last part probably wouldn't be true, Roxy wanted to believe it anyway. Internally, she cursed her past self for all the time and effort she’d put into promoting their band to friends, strangers, and whoever would listen, and all the wishes on shooting stars in clear Minnesota skies that one day they’d blow up and get to move out of their nothing town. 

Too little, too late, the girl thought, feeling the unpleasant sting of her nails cutting into her palm as they balled into tight fists in her lap. At least we all got what we wanted in the end.

James must have noticed her discomfort; The hand on her shoulder trailed down her arm to unwind the mess she might have made of her palm with her fresh manicure. 

“You also… Don’t have to come…” Logan tried to add but quickly winced when Roxy countered his comment with a nasty glare. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m the only one who knows what those two are like! This is all part of their big scheme to-” 

“Roxanne.” Gustavo cut her off with a grating exhale of her name. For a few seconds, the humming of the engine was the only sound heard between the seven. “Being in the entertainment industry means sometimes you have to do things you don’t like to do. Do you think I enjoy playing babysitter for the five of you? No! But if I want to stay Hollywood’s number one producer, that’s what I have to do!”

“Oh, stop it Gustavo, you flatter us too much!” Kendall said with a sarcastic smile in a clear attempt to ease some of the tension radiating off of his boss and assistant, which calmed Roxy only slightly. At least one of them was able to keep a level head at the present. “We all know you love us too much but simply can’t admit it - out loud or otherwise.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Gustavo turned to look at Kelly’s BlackBerry, signifying Kendall had won that part of the conversation for now. 

The frontman looked over to her too, for approval or something else she wasn’t sure, but she did catch the upward quirk of his lips. Momentarily, some of the tension left her body and she finally let her head rest on her boyfriend’s shoulder. If there was one thing she could count on tonight, it was her four friends. 

Like it or not, this was happening, so she might as well suck it up and be the bigger person. In public at least; The big tub of chocolate chip ice cream in her freezer and the floor of her kitchen were already calling her name no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. 

Even if it wasn’t his intention, Roxy found comfort in Kendall’s subtle smirk. As good as friends Mag and Dani had been to her in the past, their bond didn’t even come close to the one she shared with the Big Time Rush boys and her new friends at the Palm Woods. So, she took it as a sign. One that screamed “We’ve got your back, Roxy! Always!” in bright, flashy colors, big enough to rival the magnitude of the Hollywood sign looking out over the city they so loved. 

Maybe James had noticed it too, his hand tightening in hers before pressing a light kiss into her hair. The two savored the last bit of physical contact they’d have before the prying eyes of everyone at the party, because neither of them needed to add a potential relationship exposé to the list of things that might happen that evening. “Everything will be alright, baby. I promise.”

[sa7abnews]

Kamala Harris Should Look to 1964—Not 1968—for Guidance

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/13/kamala-harris-should-look-to-1964-not-1968-for-guidance/

Kamala Harris Should Look to 1964—Not 1968—for Guidance

Vice President Kamala Harris’s campaign has been on a roll—stacking up key endorsements and shattering fundraising goals—ever since she emerged as the consensus Democratic nominee for president on July 22. 

Her momentum seems likely to persist through the Democratic National Convention, which begins on Aug. 19. 

But if she is to maintain her momentum after the convention and attract additional voters to her cause, she will need to lay out a clear vision of what a Harris Administration would stand for and the policies she would pursue. It will be a tricky maneuver, especially if those policies diverge from President Joe Biden’s.

History suggests that an incumbent vice president seeking the White House can be hamstrung by a president who has exited the race. Hubert Humphrey faced that challenge in 1968 after President Lyndon Johnson decided to forego reelection largely because of the ongoing and unpopular Vietnam War. Humphrey needed to distance himself from Johnson on the war, but doing so created friction with the president and proved difficult. 

These events have shaped the current conversation about Biden’s withdrawal, but the more instructive episode for the present moment came four years earlier, when Johnson was thrust into the spotlight at a moment’s notice. Johnson’s success at shedding the image of a discounted and frequently maligned vice president and scoring a record-setting presidential election victory illuminates why mapping out a program and a vision that can energize the Democratic base—while also appealing to independents and some Republicans—is so critical.

The circumstances that landed Johnson in power were abrupt and tragic. Riding two cars behind President John F. Kennedy in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963, Johnson found himself on the floorboards of his limousine after shots rang out in Dealey Plaza. Roughly two hours later, Johnson took the presidential oath of office on Air Force One, with Kennedy’s body in the back of the plane and his widow by Johnson’s side.

Read More: Biden Drops Out of Presidential Race, Endorses Harris to Replace Him

The horrific events of that afternoon transformed Johnson, who had been estranged from Kennedy’s inner circle and despondent in a job with little power. Before assuming the vice presidency, Johnson had been arguably the most successful Senate Majority Leader in history. But as Kennedy’s number two, Johnson had been consigned to symbolic foreign travel, stewardship of the country’s space effort, and leadership of a toothless presidential committee on equal employment opportunity. He was the butt of jokes, cast aside by Attorney General Robert Kennedy—the President’s younger brother and Johnson’s arch-nemesis—as well as by John Kennedy’s inner circle.

There was even speculation that Kennedy might dump Johnson from the ticket in 1964, with Johnson himself musing about throwing in the towel. In short, he was miserable.

But the tragedy in Dallas, in Johnson’s home state of Texas no less, changed everything.

Johnson grabbed the reins of power, led the country through its period of mourning, and passed bills on taxes, foreign aid, and civil rights that Kennedy had introduced before his murder. In fact, Johnson grasped the possibility of going far bigger than his advisers recommended, or than his predecessor had imagined was possible. Responding to pleas that he sidestep legislation on civil rights, Johnson countered, “Well, what the hell’s the presidency for?” In fact, he labeled Kennedy as “too conservative” for his taste and pledged a more dramatic expansion of the welfare state. 

Within six weeks of assuming the presidency, he had announced a “War on Poverty” and committed the state to funding improvements and opportunities in education, jobs, health, and housing. And less than five months later, he articulated the much grander vision of what he called his “Great Society,” a sweeping effort to combine national prosperity with social equality.  That vision of a more compassionate, just, and equitable society, as well as early victories on key pieces of legislation, propelled Johnson to a landslide electoral triumph in 1964. It was a remarkable turnaround for a political figure once consigned to the wilderness. 

But it wasn’t just legislative success that propelled Johnson to a smashing electoral victory. His own evolution on social justice, as well as his centrist positioning, were just as important. During his vice presidency, Johnson had expanded his understanding of the civil rights crisis and the pernicious effects of racism in America, deepening his concern for the disadvantaged and his desire to lift up the downtrodden. Both the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Economic Opportunity Act of that same year—a measure Johnson could claim as his own—testified to his liberal bona fides.

Yet, despite his liberal achievements, Johnson also positioned himself as a mainstream politician—a compassionate yet business-friendly candidate at home and a steadfast, though rational, Cold Warrior abroad. It was a winning combination: Johnson reassured the party faithful of his commitment to liberalism, while steering clear of its more radical voices; and his adherence to budget ceilings and bipartisan solutions ushered into the Johnson camp centrists and moderate Republicans repelled by GOP candidate Barry Goldwater and his extremist stances on nuclear weapons and the welfare state.

Read More: President LBJ Wrestled With Social Justice, War, and Unrest. His Legacy Is Still Relevant

Like Johnson, Harris has labored in her role as vice president. She was assigned the daunting challenges of regional migration and border security and has struggled to present an air of competence in these areas. Reports of dysfunction within her office also have cast doubt on her management skills. While Harris was forceful in efforts to secure voting rights, opposition to filibuster reform from Arizona Senator Kyrsten Sinema and West Virginia Senator Joe Manchin doomed the effort. Nevertheless, she has been the Administration’s leading voice on reproductive rights, an issue Democrats have used effectively in statewide contests to rally supporters.

But with Biden’s recent departure from the presidential race, Harris has stepped into the spotlight with a newfound sense of vigor and confidence. The Democratic Party’s rapid embrace of her candidacy no doubt buttressed that image. But like Johnson, Harris has had the chance to chart her own path, to champion the policies and positions she holds most dear, and to stump for them in a voice more convincing and authentic than previously available. The impact has been electric: her polling numbers have improved dramatically, she has raised extraordinary amounts of cash, and the party heads into its convention coalescing around their new candidate.

To be sure, the 1964 parallels—like all parallels—are inexact. Johnson and Harris brought very different baggage to their campaigns, and they became their party’s standard bearers under wildly dissimilar circumstances. But in emerging from the shadows in a moment’s notice, both figures embraced the opportunity to take center stage and reintroduce themselves to voters in full.

Harris’s job is complicated by the delicacies of serving a sitting president. Yet, here too, the parallel with Johnson is instructive. Though he got to sell his program from the Oval Office rather than as the number two, Johnson remained burdened by the mystique of Camelot, along with lingering doubts about his liberal sympathies. But once empowered to pursue his dream of a “Great Society,” Johnson rode that vision to electoral victory, vanquishing his Republican opponent, who offered a darker, less inclusive, and more divisive approach to national and international life.

The lessons of Johnson’s victory for Harris are clear. She needs to continue to amplify themes and policies that cut to her core like criminal justice and reproductive freedom. But she’ll also need to project centrist positions on several matters, from border security, to health care, to energy, to gun control. That will enable her to thread the needle like Johnson did, to mobilize the Democratic base— including those who were disillusioned with Biden and planning to sit out the race altogether— and appeal to independents and Republicans turned off by Donald Trump’s style and dark vision. Though Harris only has 100 days to make her case, the example of Lyndon Johnson illustrates that the opportunity to do so is there for the taking.

Marc J. Selverstone is professor and director of Presidential Studies at the University of Virginia’s Miller Center of Public Affairs. He is the author most recently of The Kennedy Withdrawal: Camelot and the American Commitment to Vietnam (Harvard University Press, 2022).

Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Learn more about Made by History at TIME here. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of TIME editors.

[aakritirwt]

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[sportpeskenyateam]

From humble storekeeper to millionaire: Athuman Salim's incredible SportPesa journey

Athuman Salim’s life took a dramatic turn when he was officially awarded over 26 million KSH from the SportPesa Midweek Jackpot on Monday, July 8, 2024. The Likoni storekeeper became one of the two lucky winners of the total KSH 53,736,269 jackpot, and he finally received his cheque after 18 days, allowing him time to fully grasp the enormity of his windfall.

Athuman’s triumphant journey began when he accurately predicted the outcomes of all 13 games in the midweek jackpot, earning him a staggering KSH 26,868,134. His remarkable achievement was celebrated with a VIP experience, complete with a limousine ride and police escort to the SportPesa offices.

During the official presentation ceremony, a jubilant Athuman expressed his profound gratitude to SportPesa for transforming his life. "I am overjoyed today as I collect my SportPesa Midweek Jackpot win, which has elevated me from just Athuman to millionaire Athuman," he declared.

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“To be honest, I was incredibly nervous knowing I was one game away from winning the jackpot. I couldn’t eat before the Spain vs. Italy game in the Euros. Normally, I support Italy, but this time, I put my partisanship aside and backed Spain. When they won, I received four consecutive congratulatory messages from SportPesa. I think I let out the biggest scream of my life—I was so happy,” Athuman recounted.

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Join SportPesa and play the jackpot today. If you are a fan, you can login today and keep on playing. You never know how your life can change forever.

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[zurichchauffeurservice]

Zurich Chauffeur Service: A Comprehensive Guide

Switzerland's largest city, Zurich, is a popular destination for both business and leisure travelers. Aside from its stunning architecture, cultural attractions, and bustling business district, Zurich offers a unique experience for visitors. When traveling around Zurich for the first time or with a large group, it can be challenging to navigate. Zurich chauffeur services provide a luxurious and convenient means of getting around.

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A VIP chauffeur service is offered by Taylor Travel Management Group in Zurich to cater to business travelers, diplomats, celebrities, and family offices. Taylor Travel Management Group, a reliable chauffeur service provider for fifteen years, offers a variety of luxury limousines, all equipped with four-wheel drive and winter tires, ensuring a comfortable and safe ride through the Swiss Alps. You can also find useful information for your trip to Zurich, such as travel times to popular destinations and chauffeured transportation for ski trips.

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[clawsextended]

[ hidden ]   your muse having sex with mine somewhere semi-public.

the world is music, magic, perfect. you don’t have a care in the world. you’re so unused to using the same car for more than a few hours but daphne has a pretty limousine, daphne has a pretty life, daphne looks oh so pretty when she sinks her teeth into a neck ferociously and calls that gaze in a quiet challenge that snaps wolfin aside. you aren’t daphne but right now you’ll take as much of her as you can, enact as much genuine, desirous want as you can set across.

(you taste blood and frankly, frankly, frankly that’s all you want. you want to feel it, know it, yearn for it, just behind all the you you can’t ever quite be—)

the limousine’s partition clicks shut beneath the beckoning touch of a gold louboutin heel. light catches the scarlet underside. you’re so you; maybe, maybe this is so you.

saliva pools at the backs of your molars. you really are nothing but a filthy creature; a beast made of want, want, want.

[douxlen]

Kamala Harris Should Look to 1964—Not 1968—for Guidance

New Post has been published on https://douxle.com/2024/08/14/kamala-harris-should-look-to-1964-not-1968-for-guidance-3/

Kamala Harris Should Look to 1964—Not 1968—for Guidance

Vice President Kamala Harris’s campaign has been on a roll—stacking up key endorsements and shattering fundraising goals—ever since she emerged as the consensus Democratic nominee for president on July 22. 

Her momentum seems likely to persist through the Democratic National Convention, which begins on Aug. 19. 

But if she is to maintain her momentum after the convention and attract additional voters to her cause, she will need to lay out a clear vision of what a Harris Administration would stand for and the policies she would pursue. It will be a tricky maneuver, especially if those policies diverge from President Joe Biden’s.

History suggests that an incumbent vice president seeking the White House can be hamstrung by a president who has exited the race. Hubert Humphrey faced that challenge in 1968 after President Lyndon Johnson decided to forego reelection largely because of the ongoing and unpopular Vietnam War. Humphrey needed to distance himself from Johnson on the war, but doing so created friction with the president and proved difficult. 

These events have shaped the current conversation about Biden’s withdrawal, but the more instructive episode for the present moment came four years earlier, when Johnson was thrust into the spotlight at a moment’s notice. Johnson’s success at shedding the image of a discounted and frequently maligned vice president and scoring a record-setting presidential election victory illuminates why mapping out a program and a vision that can energize the Democratic base—while also appealing to independents and some Republicans—is so critical.

The circumstances that landed Johnson in power were abrupt and tragic. Riding two cars behind President John F. Kennedy in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963, Johnson found himself on the floorboards of his limousine after shots rang out in Dealey Plaza. Roughly two hours later, Johnson took the presidential oath of office on Air Force One, with Kennedy’s body in the back of the plane and his widow by Johnson’s side.

Read More: Biden Drops Out of Presidential Race, Endorses Harris to Replace Him

The horrific events of that afternoon transformed Johnson, who had been estranged from Kennedy’s inner circle and despondent in a job with little power. Before assuming the vice presidency, Johnson had been arguably the most successful Senate Majority Leader in history. But as Kennedy’s number two, Johnson had been consigned to symbolic foreign travel, stewardship of the country’s space effort, and leadership of a toothless presidential committee on equal employment opportunity. He was the butt of jokes, cast aside by Attorney General Robert Kennedy—the President’s younger brother and Johnson’s arch-nemesis—as well as by John Kennedy’s inner circle.

There was even speculation that Kennedy might dump Johnson from the ticket in 1964, with Johnson himself musing about throwing in the towel. In short, he was miserable.

But the tragedy in Dallas, in Johnson’s home state of Texas no less, changed everything.

Johnson grabbed the reins of power, led the country through its period of mourning, and passed bills on taxes, foreign aid, and civil rights that Kennedy had introduced before his murder. In fact, Johnson grasped the possibility of going far bigger than his advisers recommended, or than his predecessor had imagined was possible. Responding to pleas that he sidestep legislation on civil rights, Johnson countered, “Well, what the hell’s the presidency for?” In fact, he labeled Kennedy as “too conservative” for his taste and pledged a more dramatic expansion of the welfare state. 

Within six weeks of assuming the presidency, he had announced a “War on Poverty” and committed the state to funding improvements and opportunities in education, jobs, health, and housing. And less than five months later, he articulated the much grander vision of what he called his “Great Society,” a sweeping effort to combine national prosperity with social equality.  That vision of a more compassionate, just, and equitable society, as well as early victories on key pieces of legislation, propelled Johnson to a landslide electoral triumph in 1964. It was a remarkable turnaround for a political figure once consigned to the wilderness. 

But it wasn’t just legislative success that propelled Johnson to a smashing electoral victory. His own evolution on social justice, as well as his centrist positioning, were just as important. During his vice presidency, Johnson had expanded his understanding of the civil rights crisis and the pernicious effects of racism in America, deepening his concern for the disadvantaged and his desire to lift up the downtrodden. Both the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Economic Opportunity Act of that same year—a measure Johnson could claim as his own—testified to his liberal bona fides.

Yet, despite his liberal achievements, Johnson also positioned himself as a mainstream politician—a compassionate yet business-friendly candidate at home and a steadfast, though rational, Cold Warrior abroad. It was a winning combination: Johnson reassured the party faithful of his commitment to liberalism, while steering clear of its more radical voices; and his adherence to budget ceilings and bipartisan solutions ushered into the Johnson camp centrists and moderate Republicans repelled by GOP candidate Barry Goldwater and his extremist stances on nuclear weapons and the welfare state.

Read More: President LBJ Wrestled With Social Justice, War, and Unrest. His Legacy Is Still Relevant

Like Johnson, Harris has labored in her role as vice president. She was assigned the daunting challenges of regional migration and border security and has struggled to present an air of competence in these areas. Reports of dysfunction within her office also have cast doubt on her management skills. While Harris was forceful in efforts to secure voting rights, opposition to filibuster reform from Arizona Senator Kyrsten Sinema and West Virginia Senator Joe Manchin doomed the effort. Nevertheless, she has been the Administration’s leading voice on reproductive rights, an issue Democrats have used effectively in statewide contests to rally supporters.

But with Biden’s recent departure from the presidential race, Harris has stepped into the spotlight with a newfound sense of vigor and confidence. The Democratic Party’s rapid embrace of her candidacy no doubt buttressed that image. But like Johnson, Harris has had the chance to chart her own path, to champion the policies and positions she holds most dear, and to stump for them in a voice more convincing and authentic than previously available. The impact has been electric: her polling numbers have improved dramatically, she has raised extraordinary amounts of cash, and the party heads into its convention coalescing around their new candidate.

To be sure, the 1964 parallels—like all parallels—are inexact. Johnson and Harris brought very different baggage to their campaigns, and they became their party’s standard bearers under wildly dissimilar circumstances. But in emerging from the shadows in a moment’s notice, both figures embraced the opportunity to take center stage and reintroduce themselves to voters in full.

Harris’s job is complicated by the delicacies of serving a sitting president. Yet, here too, the parallel with Johnson is instructive. Though he got to sell his program from the Oval Office rather than as the number two, Johnson remained burdened by the mystique of Camelot, along with lingering doubts about his liberal sympathies. But once empowered to pursue his dream of a “Great Society,” Johnson rode that vision to electoral victory, vanquishing his Republican opponent, who offered a darker, less inclusive, and more divisive approach to national and international life.

The lessons of Johnson’s victory for Harris are clear. She needs to continue to amplify themes and policies that cut to her core like criminal justice and reproductive freedom. But she’ll also need to project centrist positions on several matters, from border security, to health care, to energy, to gun control. That will enable her to thread the needle like Johnson did, to mobilize the Democratic base— including those who were disillusioned with Biden and planning to sit out the race altogether— and appeal to independents and Republicans turned off by Donald Trump’s style and dark vision. Though Harris only has 100 days to make her case, the example of Lyndon Johnson illustrates that the opportunity to do so is there for the taking.

Marc J. Selverstone is professor and director of Presidential Studies at the University of Virginia’s Miller Center of Public Affairs. He is the author most recently of The Kennedy Withdrawal: Camelot and the American Commitment to Vietnam (Harvard University Press, 2022).

Made by History takes readers beyond the headlines with articles written and edited by professional historians. Learn more about Made by History at TIME here. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of TIME editors.