#one day teeth is like 'when you took bill on as a client i bet you didn't have this in mind' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eleganzadellarosa · 7 months

Text

Business Before Pleasure

Part 1

💕 pairing: Cha Eun Woo x fem!reader, Cha Eun Woo x OC

✨ genres: Dark Romance, CEO!au, eventual smut

💕 summary: After losing your job, you pursue your dream of working as a secretary. What you thought would be a piece of cake, turns into more because your boss is a POS

✨ author’s note: This fic is based off of an IG pause game lol. This will be a multi part fic so I will upload them as I write. If you would like to be tagged when I upload, please leave a comment! This first part is short but I hope the following parts will be over 2K words. Thank you for reading and enjoy your day <3 P.S the pictures I'll be using for this are not what the character looks like, just as reference to their style or personality.

💕 word count: 2.26K

To say you hated your job was an understatement. You had been working as an at home event planner, only visiting the office for important meetings or to meet with certain clients. It's been 3 years since you started working for the company and to think you bared through the stress for this long should be counted as an achievement. Truthfully you stayed for the pay. Yes it wasn't amazing but it paid your bills and anything else necessary so it slightly outweighed the cons. Tonight however, you regretted your tenacity with how the woman on the other end was yelling at you. She complained and complained about how her entire event was ruined because of a simple mistake that wasn't even on the company’s part but she felt the need to be compensated.

"Yes ma'am, I understand the problem you're having and I'm doing my best to help you. However, I am only able to do that if you stop yelling."

That only seemed to fuel her anger more and she blurted some obscenities before hanging up on you. You rolled your eyes and looked over at the time. It was already 9:45 pm aka 45 minutes past your time to get off. You sucked your teeth and quickly clocked out before shutting down your computer and standing to stretch your legs. Punctuality was one of your biggest traits, especially when it came to your meals but with you staying over time, you had no energy to stand and make yourself dinner. Takeout was your best bet now and as you scrolled through the many options available, an email notification pops up on your screen. You cringed when you saw it was from your boss and already knew why he bothered emailing you so late.

He was an asshole to say the least. He always treated his employees like crap and would penalize them whenever they worked overtime. He especially seemed to hate you for some reason and you were never really sure why. You open the email and read its contents, predicting what you would see, only to be utterly shocked.

Dear Ms. Meng,

I am regretfully emailing you to inform you that due to complaints and interactions with your client tonight, we will unfortunately have to terminate your contract with us. At this time we are unable to reconsider this decision. We hope that you will succeed in your future endeavors.

Best Regards,

A.P Wilson

This could NOT be happening, especially after you took the time out to try and help her as best as you could with an issue that wasn't even your fault. You never received client complaints, so she would be the first and apparently last. You immediately scrolled through your contacts and selected your boss' number and gave him a call.

"Ah Ms. Meng I expected you to call. Unfortunately as I said in my email, the decision is not up for discussion."

"Mr. Wilson" you put on your best fake smile even though he couldn't see it on the other end of the call. "Would you care to inform me how one complaint from a client lead to my termination? Don't you think that's a bit much?"

"A bit much? You were 45 minutes over time with a client you weren't even being considerate to. She said you yelled at her and didn't help her at all. What am I, as a good boss, supposed to take from that?"

"I don't know, maybe ask your employee first before you just let them go? But I forgot, you have your head so far up your ass that you are so busy worrying about paying your employees extra for overtime that you didn't notice that she tried to get a full refund and then some for an issue that wasn't even our faults! Fuck you and fuck this company!"

You didn't even bother to hear what else he had to say and hung up. This job was never really worth it and maybe now you could get an office job that you actually preferred with a boss that you actually liked, no matter how hard those are to come by. You sat on your bed with your brows furrowed and tossed your phone to the other end. You were pissed and now you didn't even want dinner.

Flopping onto your stomach at the other end of your bed, you picked up your phone and immediately typed in a job searching website. Office jobs were common and shouldn't be that hard to find, yet after scrolling through almost 20 pages and finding nothing, you ended your search early. It was only the first day and unemployment should process quickly so you had a few months before you were flat broke. Surrendering to the growling in your stomach, you settle on some tacos for the night.

There was no point in sitting at home sulking when you could be enjoying your unintentional vacation. You never had much time for your friends before, so now was best to call them up to hang out. It was a unanimous decision on meeting at a cafe to chat and have some decent coffee.

"Hey girly!" your best friend Priya called out to you, wrapping an arm around you as she approached. "This is great, finally some time to yourself and time for me!"

Priya has been your best friend since high school. She was your ride or die, there for you whenever you needed her. She was on the much more outgoing side personality wise, but you liked that about her, it helped you get out of your comfort zone. To say this friendship was a blessing would be a severe understatement. You were grateful for her and so was she for you.

"How are you handling everything?"

"I'm doing great actually. I'm going to take this as a sign to go for what I really want." You push the door open for her and allow her to walk in.

"Optimistic as always. We love a consistent girl like you Faye."

A few minutes later, two more friends, Liz and Ada, popped into the cafe and happily rushed over to where you and Priya sat. You slid over to make space on your end of the booth for Ada to fit.

"Someone must have sold their soul to get this girl out." Ada says, bumping her shoulder against yours.

"Haha no, I actually got fired."

The whole table spent about 10 minutes cursing out your boss and praising how much of a good worker you were. As much as you hated how everything was handled, you were telling the truth when you said you were fine.

"Actually, one of my friends from college works at this business and they're looking for a new secretary. If you want, I can hook you up with all the info." Liz interrupts the "boss bashing" and you focus solely on what she has to say. "And I heard the boss is super hot."

You laughed and shook your head. She was always trying to be the matchmaker of the group and almost always ended up failing. You appreciated her efforts though, you haven't had a boyfriend or any love interests since highschool. Boys weren't really on your mind since you broke up with your last one, he was just like every other douchebag guy you knew of.

"Actually Liz, I'm going to have to take you up on that offer. Can you ask your friend if she minds that I have her number? I want to ask her about a few things before I apply."

She quickly nodded and immediately got to typing on her phone.

This was it. Your dream job coming true before your eyes and you didn't know how to handle the happiness. It checked off all the marks you wanted and then some. Sure there were a few things you didn't like about the job but nevertheless, it was what you wanted and you didn't let the chance pass you by.

Today your interview was scheduled for "noon sharp" as the secretary informed you just a few days before. You were all about great first impressions, so you made sure to be here 15 minutes early.

The building was huge and slightly overwhelming. You walked through the revolving doors that lead to the large space. It made you feel important and like the characters you would see on dramas that scanned their key cards to get past the turnstile gates.

There was a middle aged fair skinned woman sitting at a large desk on which the words "information" was read, with a phone between her face and shoulder.

"Hello, can I help you?" She looks at you with a bubbly smile, teeth pearly white.

"Yes, I have an interview with EWX"

"Oh yes, they're expecting you. Take this elevator on the left and go to the 4th floor."

You silently thanked her and waved goodbye as she took another call. The more the elevator ascended, the more your anxiety rose. It's been years since you were last on an interview and you suddenly felt like you left all your experience and skills with your old job. The elevator dinged when it reached the 4th floor and the two doors opened. There was another woman at the front desk on this floor and she smiled when she saw you.

"You must be Faye, here for the interview?"

"I am! Do I need to sign in?"

"Not at all, go ahead and take a seat and they'll be out here shortly."

You sat in the small waiting area for about 5 minutes before you heard someone call your name. When you turned around and looked, there was a girl, seemingly around your age looking over the front desk to see where you sat. Admittedly you were short, but she looked past you as if expecting to see someone a bit older.

"Oh, you're Faye?"

"Yes, I am." You chuckled and put your hand out to shake hers.

She sneered and hesitated to shake your hand. "Wonderful.” She says, sarcasm heavily laced in her voice “Right this way."

You didn't want to think negatively about her behavior but there was only one way to assess it. That's not what you were here for though and you wouldn't let it affect your professionalism. When you entered the interview room, there were two other people there; a man and another woman.

The interview went well. They asked you about yourself, your work history and how you found out about this position. They appeared to be pleased with your answers and said they would be contacting you within the next few days.

The first girl you met eventually introduced herself as Ashley and walked you back out to the waiting room.

"Don't get your hopes up, the boss doesn't really like people like you and most people don't last long."

You looked at her as you pressed the button for the elevator. "Do you mind elaborating on 'people like me'?" She was leaving a bad taste in your mouth but you gave her one last chance to turn it around.

"You know, extremely bubbly, overzealous. Just stop trying so hard and maybe you'll have a chance."

You wanted to roll your eyes. She obviously either has a crush on this man or secretly fucks him and thinks she's better than everyone else, but you bet money it was the former. "Well Ashley, I guess we'll just have to see if the boss wants 'someone like me' to be a breath of fresh air after dealing with someone like you." The elevator opened as you finished your sentence and you stepped in. "Have a great day!"

It's been 3 days since you last spoke with them and the weekend was quickly approaching. It was only your first interview so you knew not to put all your eggs in one basket, but you really wanted for it to work out.

You stood at the stove, phone propped up against your toaster as you made yourself a quick lunch. "I'm so excited to hear back from them whether they want me or not."

"I'm glad you're looking on the bright side and not letting it get you down." Ada praises your optimism and confidence.

"Same and for not letting that jealous bitch get to your head." Priya added.

"I'm sorry if they say no, I'm going to feel like it's my fault for even mentioning it." You looked over and saw a pout on Liz's face.

"Aww Lizzie, don't feel that way. I'm actually so much more eager about finding this type of work so this interview was a big step."

Just then, a number you don't have saved rings your line and you quickly put your friends on hold to answer it.

"Yes, is this Ms. Meng?"

"Yes, speaking!"

"Oh great, this is Sabrina with EWX, I was just letting you know that we would like to offer you the position. Are you still interested?"

"That would be wonderful!"

"Great! We would love for you to come in this Monday to get a fresh start and learn the ropes. Is that too sudden?"

"Not at all! Thank you again for this opportunity and I will see you all Monday!"

"Wonderful, it was a pleasure speaking with you Ms. Meng and we'll see you Monday!"

You quickly switched back over to the group call with your friends and they immediately knew of the great news with the huge smile you wore. They all screamed, clapped and congratulated you.

You never expected to get over this big hump so quickly but you were no less than grateful. This was big for you and you couldn't wait to see what your new job had in store.

#cha eunwoo #astro kpop #astro eunwoo #eunwoo #astro

31 notes · View notes

gerrystamour · 4 years

Text

the bittersweet between my teeth - Chapter 3

Written by: GerryStAmour | Gift for: @northisnotup

Important reminder:

Nureyev is a gender euphoric trans man who has not had top-surgery and does not wear a binder. I use a mix of masculine and feminine terminology when describing his body.

New tags:

Sexual Tension

Mild Sexual Content

First Kiss (doesn’t count bc it’s rex/juno tho)

Making Out

Groping

Chapter Three [Previous Chapter] [First Chapter]

- - - - - Nureyev’s POV - - - - -

Nureyev hadn’t even realized he was walking into the Old Town Cafe that morning until he made eye contact with Benten, who appeared to be completely unimpressed. Rita, however, had beamed at him.

“Hiiii Mista Glass!” she called loudly across the dining room before hissing at Benten, “Pay up, I called it.”

“You took a bet on whether I would come?” Nureyev questioned as he approached the counter.

“I usually only make bets when I’m confident on my odds,” Benten replied sourly. “Guess I wasn’t clear enough last night.”

“Oh, you were plenty clear, Benzaiten,” Nureyev said with a smirk. “I suppose I wasn’t clear enough about my intentions.”

“Here you go, Mista Glass!” Rita interrupted, shoving Nureyev’s usual breakfast into his hands. “Boss ain’t here right now, cos he’s got that whole competition thingy with the other restaurants.”

“Thank you, Rita. You are truly a gem,” he said with a pleased smile.

He sat down at his usual spot and pulled out a notebook and his comms. Since he was so close to finishing the job, he didn’t bother to bring his laptop. It was really only busy work he was doing at that point. Anything for an excuse to stay and fool around with a semi-retired private eye, really.

When the bell over the front door clanged loudly, followed by the near-stomping steps he knew to be Juno Steel’s, Nureyev had had grand plans to ignore the private eye, to wait and see if he would come to speak to him first.

But Nureyev never did have much self-control when he allowed himself sticky things like feelings, and he always did have a flare for the dramatic…

When he looked up, Juno hadn’t seen him yet and he was allowed a brief moment to admire the beautiful lady for the first time in what he realized was two days.

Juno was radiant as always, wearing his heavy boots and a cotton skirt, showing off his muscled legs. The detective’s simple, nearly threadbare wardrobe that he wore to work was something that Nureyev had always found endearing. The idea of being able to keep something long enough for it to show it’s well-loved age was completely foreign to Nureyev.

Then Juno inhaled sharply through his nose and turned to look in his direction, his visible eye wide but his expression completely unreadable. When Juno didn’t do or say anything after a few moments, Nureyev decided to say something to rile the lady up a bit and give Nureyev one of his beautiful overreactions to break the awful silence that was growing between them.

“Good morning, Juno,” he said, and he knew it came out dripping with every besotted thought he had ever entertained about Juno. Nureyev could see it in the way Juno’s expression twisted just a bit as he released the breath he was holding in a gusty sigh through his nose and stomped over.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” Juno said as he sat down heavily across from him, his tone hard and not even bothering to return his ‘good morning’. Nureyev met his gaze over the rims of his glasses and something ached in his chest at the hurt he saw on Juno’s face.

“I considered staying away,” Nureyev confessed.

“But you didn’t, huh?” Juno supplied with a snort, crossing his arms. “Ben told me you’re a terrible date.”

“Yes, well,” Nureyev hummed, smirking as he returned to writing in his notebook. “That is bound to happen when the wrong date shows up.”

There was a long beat of silence.

“What.” Juno said it so flatly, it hadn’t even sounded like a question. It was a statement of confusion, and one that didn’t even necessarily demand an answer. For a detective, Nureyev figured, asking questions was more of a courtesy to others.

So when he looked back up at Juno, he was nearly winded by how his beautiful face softened with confusion. Nureyev wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to kiss another person in his life more than he did in that moment.

“Yes, I remember handing my second invitation to a clever private eye and paid him a great many compliments that hardly cover my true feelings for him,” Nureyev elaborated with a dreamy sigh. “Yet, when I arrived, it was his twin brother who met me. To say I was confused would be an understatement, Juno, and given that his brother and I barely tolerate each other—”

“Wait, what?” Juno sputtered, shaking his head. “Start over, and without the dramatics.”

“Well, that’s no fun at all—”

“Glass,” Juno warned.

Nureyev shifted so that he was leaning on the table with his elbows. “Juno, I had asked for you to go with me,” he said, straightforward and earnest. “My work is coming to an end soon, and I wanted to have a nice evening with you before I left.”

Juno shook his head in disbelief. “But, Ben—”

“Has nothing to do with this,” Nureyev pushed, reaching across the table between them to rest his hand on Juno’s forearm. “I would like an opportunity to correct my blunder—”

Juno wrenched away from Nureyev’s touch as if it had burned him, and chewed the inside of his cheek. When he stood up, Nureyev reached to stop him but Juno just shook his head and retreated as quickly as he could to the kitchen. Rita made a sad sound and followed him.

Nureyev sat there for several moments, shocked at the turn in the conversation before schooling his expression into something cool and unfazed. He turned back to his notes and stayed at his table for hours, looking back up occasionally to see if Juno was going to return. Nureyev hoped his face didn’t show just how much it hurt when Juno didn’t.

The next two days went about the same way, with Nureyev only seeing Juno for brief intervals. Nureyev began to wonder if Benten would let him off the hook by virtue of Juno completely refusing to see him again.

By the third day, Nureyev was discouraged, though hoped he was fairly successful in not showing it.

He was sitting at his spot in the cafe watching some surveillance footage he had recorded, trying to find the cleanest take for each camera. The idea was that he would hijack the video feeds and loop some pre-recorded footage of empty halls, effectively hiding in plain sight as he snuck in.

As the lunch hour approached, he heard the kitchen door swing open. Nureyev paused the video to look up, and he truly disliked how much it upset him that it wasn’t Juno coming out, but Benten instead. Schooling his expression into a cool mask of disinterest, Nureyev looked back at the footage and hit play.

His work had been put off as long as possible, and it was only a matter of time before O’Flaherty contacted him again. Or worse, called in another thief. But that meant cutting his losses with Juno, which was for the best in more ways than one. It simply made no proper sense being so singularly focused on the private eye at all; they had rarely spoken, and when they did Juno was cagey and suspicious, his moments of openness fleeting and rare.

But those moments were captivating, pulling Nureyev in against the current, and all he could think about was the way Juno’s brow would soften and his jaw would clench just before he chewed the inside of his cheek. He thought of Juno’s smirk and the way it would settle into a soft smile and, even rarer, a genuine huff of laughter at a particularly well-timed joke.

Nureyev wanted to bottle each and every one of those moments and take them with him, but he supposed the memories would have to do.

“Ugh, this is getting depressing,” Benten burst out, loudly and without warning, and stormed around the counter to sit at Nureyev’s table. “What are you doing?”

Nureyev looked at his coffee, and then to his work before asking in a stage whisper, “Is this a trick question, Benzaiten?”

“I mean about our deal, Rex,” Benten said with a roll of his eyes.

“My job here on Mars is ending,” Nureyev replied, closing his laptop and leaning across the table to give Benten his full attention. “I will be leaving shortly after regardless of outstanding affairs.”

“Bullshit,” Benten snapped. “You claim to really care about—”

“I have already delayed as much as I can, Benzaiten. My… client is growing impatient with the lack of results, especially seeing as I billed the work as child’s play at our consultation,” Nureyev hissed. “I would rather not leave without talking to Juno, and I was truly intending to keep to our deal, but I do not have the luxury of time to wait for him to work through whatever he’s feeling.”

Benten rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Rex,” he muttered as he moved to get up.

Something about the tone was the final straw, the constant needling from Benten and Juno’s avoidance and Ramses’ micromanagement becoming too much.

His hand flashed across the table, grabbing Benten’s wrist to pull him back down into his seat. Leaning across the table, Nureyev schooled his expression into something pleasant. “You are a spoiled brat, do you know that?” Nureyev said through gritted teeth. “You’ve pranced through life with this cocky little attitude, all the while Juno probably took every slap, punch, and insult that you earned.”

“Hey—”

“I can see it in the way you hold yourself next to him, the way Juno steps in front of you if it seems you’ve put your foot in it,” Nureyev continued, looking him up and down. “Do you even realize you’ve made him your shield?”

Benten did not answer, only stared at Nureyev with a raised eyebrow, though he did actually appear cowed. Nureyev would take it, and allowed himself one of his work smiles that showed off too many teeth, and not an ounce of kindness to soften the blow.

“You go on and on as if you understand exactly what I am, but I know it was Juno that figured it all out because he’s the clever one,” he continued unkindly and leaned back, watching Benten’s face. “I will say this again, but only because I hope it is repeated to Juno; I have delayed as long as possible, and will have to act soon. Once I have, I’m leaving and never returning.”

Nureyev moved to stand, but Benten held his hand up to stop him.

“Maybe you should stay for lunch today,” he said.

“What part of—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got all that and I’ll pass it on,” Benten replied and rolled his eyes. “He’ll probably come right out, yeah?”

“Possibly,” Nureyev said as he leaned back in his chair. “He’ll at least confirm what I am saying makes sense. I’m not making excuses to weasel out of something I wanted to do.”

Benten nodded, looking hurt and angry, and stood. For a moment, Nureyev felt a twinge of guilt watching him walk away, but it passed quickly when he remembered the constant antagonism. When Benten was gone, Rita scurried over to sit with him and gave him one of her brightest smiles.

“Wow, Mista Glass, I’ve never seen someone talk like that to Mista Benzaiten,” she said excitedly. “He’s a sweetheart, honestly, but I know he’s also really mean when he wants to be, y’know?”

“I didn’t mean to snap at him like that,” Nureyev said, because he thought he should say something like that.

“Yeah you did,” Rita laughed. “And he deserved it for what he’s been doin’.”

“What does that mean?” Nureyev asked, and he jumped a bit at Rita’s explosive sigh.

“What I’m sayn’ is Mista Benzaiten has a lot of good reasons to be suspicious of you, and I kinda agree. We’re both real tired of people hurtn’ Mista Steel, y’know?” She did not wait for Nureyev to respond to her question. “But I dunno, you look at him different and I think Mista Benzaiten sees that, too, but he’s scared. He thought someone looked at Juno different before, and that went real bad for both of them but that’s besides the point—” she took a deep breath and when Nureyev opened his mouth to ask for more information, she continued, “He gave you one of those ulti-whatever’s and you held up your end of it and he’s just sittn’ there lettn’ you fail! Which I said wasn’t fair, and let me tell ya Mista Glass, I was not happy that Mista Benzaiten actually went on that date with you. I told him to come clean, to tell you Mista Steel didn’t understand you asked him out and that going along with his conclusion-jumpn’ was more hurtful than helpful, but Mista Benzaiten was insist’ on talkn’ to you all private-like.”

Nureyev blinked at her, overwhelmed and still working his way through everything that was just said to him. “Thank you, Rita,” he said eventually, and she heaved a huge sigh.

“No, thank you Mista Glass! It's been a long week and these boys are gonna be the death of me if they keep it up,” she vented, leaning back in her chair.

“We can’t be having that,” Nureyev said sympathetically, returning the bright smile she gave him. “It’s safe to assume that you did most of Juno’s digging into me, yes?”

“Yeah,” Rita replied with a frown. It looked strange on her face, like hers wasn’t built for scowling. “I know a thing or two.”

Nureyev chuckled, shaking his head as he said, “Rita, I’ve done my own research into this merry bunch, professionally speaking I mean. I know the extent of your skills. How much have you found?”

Rita’s frown became a pout at the question. “Nothn’. Mista Steel figures ‘Rex Glass’ is a brand spankn’ new alias, so there’s nothn’ tied to it. Even facial recognition comes up with nothn’. It’s very annoyn’.”

“And when did you figure this all out?” he pushed, and Rita laughed.

“Oh, like the day afta’ you started showin’ up here or somethin’ like that,” she replied and Nureyev felt a shock rocket through him. “Mista Steel’s had your numba’ figured out since he saw you at Hyperion Brewn’ or whateva’ they’re called.”

Nureyev opened his mouth to say something but shut it, stunned as he was that Juno would entertain him at all.

The door to the kitchen opened, and habit had Nureyev looking up. Ready as he was to be disappointed, he was actually startled to see Juno leaving the kitchen carrying a plate with a sandwich. He strode up to Nureyev’s table and put the plate down, his expression very serious.

But Nureyev could see uncertainty in the lines around Juno’s visible eye, and it was obvious he was chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Juno—” Nureyev began, but Juno shook his head sharply.

“On the house. Make sure to use your napkin,” Juno bit out before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Curiously, Nureyev picked up the sandwich—the same sandwich he had ordered the first time he ate there— and looked at the napkin that sat beneath it. Through the layers, he could see there was something written and couldn’t help the little chuckle.

“Oh, how mysterious, Mista Glass!” Rita cried excitedly. “Secret codes and hidden notes and all that stuff!”

Nureyev smiled indulgently at her and picked the napkin up to flip it open. Written inside were comms details, which he could only assume were Juno’s. A brief note, as curt and surly as the lady who wrote it, told Nureyev to call whenever he was able to talk freely.

“Not very mysterious, nor secret, if the whole cafe can hear you, dear Rita,” Nureyev said teasingly, tucking the napkin away to pick up the sandwich and start eating it.

“Oh! Right!” Rita said with a determined look. “Then I guess I better whispa’ then.”

“It’s best that we stop speaking of it entirely, actually,” Nureyev said with a laugh, making quick work of the sandwich before packing up his things to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, hopefully.”

“Of course, Mista Glass!” Rita replied with a smile so bright it was likely visible from orbit.

As Nureyev left the cafe, he entered Juno’s information into his comms and made the call. His stomach did somersaults as it beeped, waiting anxiously for Juno to answer.

“That was fast,” Juno answered, his tone flat but the tension was palpable.

“Would you prefer I call back later, dear detective?” Nureyev asked with a warm chuckle, and this earns him a snort of laughter.

“No, this is fine, just give me a second. I’m dealing with the oven,” he said, and Nureyev listened to Juno fiddle with and press several buttons, muttering calculations under his breath.

“Don’t you have an oven that does all of that for you?” Nureyev eventually asked, which was responded to by adorable stammering.

“I prefer doing it myself,” Juno grumbled defensively. “If it does the thinking for me, I’ll get lazy.”

“I truly doubt you’ve ever been ‘lazy’ a day in your life, Juno,” Nureyev all but purred, and he smiled at the shaky breath that earned him.

“Well that shows how well you know me then,” Juno said firmly.

Nureyev laughed as he hailed a cab. “That’s what I’m trying to change, dear detective,” he said, hoping he was conveying his sincerity well enough over the comms.

“Stop that,” Juno bit out, but the tone was pleading.

“Stop what, darling?” Nureyev asked cheekily as he slid into the backseat of the cab, handing the driver a business card for the hotel.

“Sucking up to me.”

“I can assure you, Juno, that is not at all what I’m doing,” Nureyev reassured with a small chuckle, letting his voice drop an octave. “But I’m not opposed to suck—”

“Nope, no, absolutely not,” Juno choked a bit. “We’re not— you said you’re leaving soon, right?”

Nureyev hummed his acknowledgement, his smile turning a bit sad.

“Will you tell me what all this is about?” Juno asked, his tone sceptical.

“That depends,” Nureyev replied cheekily, and Juno laughed.

“Okay, I’ll bite. It depends on what?” he asked, and Nureyev could hear the eyeroll.

Nureyev suddenly felt… something like worry and stress, knowing what came next. It was time to take the plunge and it was terrifying.

“Will you go to dinner with me, two nights from now?”

Juno scoffed. “Like a date?” he asked, his tone mocking and bitter but there was an edge to it that Nureyev desperately wanted to be hope.

“Only if you want it to be, Juno,” he replied soothingly. “It can just be dinner, where we can get to know each other and I will… tell you everything after if you still want to know.”

Juno hesitated for a moment before he took a shaky breath. “Do you want it to be a date?” Juno asked quietly.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, and he smiled softly at the little gasp Juno let out.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to dinner with you,” Juno said after a few more moments.

“Tomorrow?” Nureyev asked, raising an eyebrow at the change in pace.

“That a problem, Glass?” Juno asked with a laugh. “You said you’re running out of time.”

Nureyev smiled, and said, “It’s not a problem at all. Thank you—”

“It’s not a date, by the way,” Juno suddenly said, defensive all over again.

“Of course not,” Nureyev agreed.

“You’re still a criminal.”

“Of course, so you say,” he laughed.

“It’s my job to turn people like you in.”

“Of course, Juno. I am aware.”

Juno let out a huff, sounding almost annoyed that Nureyev didn’t argue any of those points. “Good,” he bit out, sighing quietly. “Where are we going?”

“Let me worry about that, dear detective,” Nureyev said soothingly. “I’ll pick you up around seven?”

“Yeah, okay,” Juno said.

“Excellent, I’ll pick you up from your apartment—”

“I’m not telling you where I live, Glass,” Juno all but snapped, and Nureyev chuckled.

“The cafe then?”

Juno grunted, and Nureyev took that as an agreement and smiled.

“What should I wear?” Juno asked.

“Something nice, I suppose,” Nureyev said as the cab pulled up to his hotel. “But I’m sure you’ll be radiant no matter—”

“I told you to stop sucking up to me,” Juno all but growled.

“And I told you that wasn’t what I was doing,” Nureyev sighed as he counted out some creds and handed them to the driver.

“Then what are you doing, Glass?” he demanded, and he sounded so angry and doubtful.

The impulse was there to continue to tease and flirt with the testy detective, but Nureyev knew it was time for sincerity. It was the least he could offer, and the least that Juno deserved.

“I’m flirting with you because I find you to be incredibly clever, strong-willed and sharp,” he began, taking a deep breath. “You are also very pleasing to look at, and you make the best pastries and sandwiches I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying in my life. And—”

“Okay, Glass, I get it!” Juno shouted, and Nureyev laughed as he got out of his cab.

“Do you, Juno? Because I could go on,” he teased.

Juno laughed at that, one of his beautiful rare ones that lifted Nureyev’s spirits like nothing else ever had. It was a strained laugh, still, but amused nonetheless.

“I bet you could,” Juno murmured, and the tone of his voice was so sweet Nureyev wished he could kiss him. “I’m hanging up now, Glass.”

“I will see you tomorrow, dear detective,” Nureyev said with a smile.

“I won’t talk to you when you’re at the cafe,” he warned.

“That’s fine. I’ll still be coming for my breakfast,” Nureyev replied.

“Whatever, knock yourself out,” Juno grumbled. “I have actual work to do. Bye.”

The comms beeped as Juno hung up and Nureyev couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he went to his room.

None of the traps in his room had been tripped, and after a cursory look for bugs and finding none, he sat down at the desk to work on removing any video evidence of himself from around the city. He knew the location of just about every camera in the city by then, having perfected this particular chore for over two weeks.

After that, he started compiling his plans, both in preparation for performing the heist, and also for it all to be organized for Juno to easily read. It was at that point that it properly dawned on Nureyev that the next evening, he would be spilling everything to Juno, and his gut squeezed at the thought.

Nureyev wanted to bolt, to go right then and complete the job and leave Mars forever. It would be the smart thing to do, the professional thing.

But he thought about Juno, waiting for Nureyev to pick him up, wearing that same sad expression he had when he was convinced Nureyev wanted Ben. He thought about how he would join the long line of disappointments who preceded him, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Juno deserved the truth, and what was more, Nureyev wanted him to know it.

The next morning, Nureyev sat at the cafe eating his breakfast and reading a book. He had no actual work to do anymore, and no longer had a reason to pretend that he did. The cafe was slower than usual, but Juno still managed to stay in the kitchen the whole time as he promised. If Juno ever peeked out through the kitchen door, Nureyev never caught him looking.

It was just before lunch, while Nureyev and Rita sat together watching one of her streams, when Benten arrived with Mick hot on his heels. Nureyev glanced up just in time to see Mick look right at him and frown. The expression was almost comical because, much like Rita, the man’s face was just simply not designed to hold a scowl.

Mick sat down, and grinned broadly at Rita’s delighted, “Hi, Mista Mercury!”

“Good morning,” he said, turning back to Nureyev seriously. “So what are your intentions with my best bud?”

The question actually took Nureyev by surprise and he asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“He means Mista Steel, Mista Glass,” Rita sighed. “He calls Mista Steel his best friend, but I’m actually Mista Steel’s best friend—”

“You’re both wrong,” Benten called from the counter, where he was reading a magazine, not even looking up at them. “I’m his best friend by default.”

“Well,” Mick prompted, ignoring both of them. “What are your intentions with my best friend?”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “That is certainly a loaded question, Mr Mercury,” he replied eventually.

Mick made a face, which Nureyev was positive was meant to look a lot like Juno’s deadpan stare, but it just looked silly on his goofy face.

“Are they pure?” Mick asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Nureyev let out an actual bark of laughter at that, delighting in the way that Benten’s head shot up to stare at them.

“Absolutely not,” he replied cheekily, his tone almost mockingly flirtatious, though the words did summon some fantasies that had heat pooling between his legs.

Mick’s face broke into a grin while Benten audibly gagged. “Hey! That’s great because my buddy Jay is a catch and deserves to be treated like the queen he—”

“Mick!” Benten hissed. “Focus? Please?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Mick said, visibly working to school his expression into something more serious and asked solemnly, “Do you like mushrooms?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Benten muttered, dropping his head onto the counter with a heavy thunk.

“I don’t have much of an opinion on them, to be honest,” Nureyev replied, shrugging with one shoulder. “They aren’t something I particularly love, I suppose.”

Mick was grinning again, and Nureyev was baffled by him.

“Perfect! Cos Jay hates them, like even the smell of them,” Mick said quickly. “There was this one time when I ate this whole mushroom and cheese pie thing, and JayJay walked home because he couldn’t stand sitting in the cab with me all the way back—”

“Mick, c’mon!” Benten groaned, and Mick actually rolled his eyes and Nureyev was certain the man was properly annoyed.

“Okay man, Glass, whatever,” Mick said with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you like Juno?”

“Very much,” Nureyev said without a moment’s hesitation, which brought a smile to Mick’s face again.

“And you wouldn’t willingly put him in harm’s way?” he continued.

“Not if I could help it.”

“And you’re not blackmailing or forcing him to go out with you tonight?”

“Not at all.”

Mick narrowed his eyes at Nureyev for a minute, the silence between them dragging by, before he smiled and shrugged. “Good enough for me,” he said pleasantly.

“Seriously, Mick?” Benten asked sceptically and Mick nodded.

“Yup! Listen, JayJay can take care of himself, Ben. I’m not gonna go around deciding for him what he can and cannot do,” Mick said, shrugging a bit at Rita’s annoyed huffing next to him.

“Did you even listen to anything I told you about what this guy does for a living?” Benten asked.

“Yeah, Ben, but I think Juno is the best equipped for that anyway. But, I mean,” Mick trailed off with a shrug, his face turning properly serious. “Whether I like him or not isn’t what matters, same with you and Rita. Jay makes his own choices, so I say we just get comfy with the lady’s decisions and be ready to clean up after things if we have to.”

Rita and Nureyev stared at Mick for a few long moments, before Rita said, “Wow, Mista Mercury! That was real smart! I mean, I’ve been saying the same stuff and tryn’ to get Mista Benzaiten to see it that way, too!”

The compliment caught Mick off-guard, and for a moment or two he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “Gee, thanks, Rita. Trying to protect Jay just makes him more reckless in my experience.”

“God, Mercury,” Benten said with a roll of his eyes. “You can pull that kind of wisdom out of your ass for Juno, but not yourself?”

“I’m doing fine,” Mick replied with a shrug.

“Mick, I literally just saved you from a mugger,” Benten said flatly, to which Mick just laughed.

Nureyev checked his watch and sighed, his heart suddenly in his throat. “Well, I should head out,” he said with a small smile. “I have some work to do before my dinner with Juno.”

“Wait, you can’t just leave without lunch, Mista Glass! Lemme go grab you somethn’, on the house!” Rita said as she jumped up and hurried back behind the counter. She froze suddenly and pointed back at Nureyev with a fierce expression. “And you’re taking a bag, Mista Glass. Or else I’m never serving you anything ever again.”

Nureyev laughed at the threat, utterly confused by it, but not interested in questioning it or the cringes of Rita and Benten.

- - - - -

Nureyev fiddled with the cuffs of his blazer in the back seat of the cab before tugging at his gloves lightly. He was nervous about the upcoming evening, which meant he was nauseated and ready to stop the cab and flee. Though it felt cowardly, he couldn’t actually look when the cab turned the corner toward the cafe, knowing it would be in view.

The fear and anxiety seized his chest, and the urge to disappear rose up like bile in his throat all over again. But he knew disappearing was not possible, and chose instead to flat out ignore their destination until he absolutely had to face it.

The car stopped and Nureyev only had a few seconds to attempt to collect himself before the door opened and someone slid in next to him. Taking a deep breath, Nureyev turned to face Juno and was immediately winded by the vision that sat across the bench from him. It was a good thing he hadn’t looked ahead, because he was certain that he would have actually bolted if he had.

Juno was dressed very well for a dinner he insisted was not a date, wearing a yellow gown with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a belt cinched tight around his waist. Notably, there was a dramatic slit up the length of the skirt, exposing Juno’s entire left leg to Nureyev’s greedy gaze, showing off the lace boots he wore as well as a tangle of flower embroidery on his hip.

After a few moments of gawking, Nureyev met Juno’s gaze, taking in the dark lipstick, the dramatic smokey eye shadow and the crisp black eyepatch. As he stared, Nureyev realized that the detective’s cheekbones, jawline, and collarbones shimmered with gold highlights, and he was desperate to mess it up with his tongue.

Simply put, Juno was breathtaking. He was also incredibly tense.

Juno was watching Nureyev’s face, and had begun to mess with the hem of his dress. “What?” Juno finally asked defensively, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You’re stunning, Juno,” Nureyev breathed, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed at how easily he was affected by Juno. When Juno dipped his head and smiled softly at the compliment, Nureyev felt like he was in free-fall for a moment.

“Thanks, you…” Juno trailed off, shaking his head. “You look good. Too, I mean. You look good, too.”

The ride most of the way to the restaurant was quiet, though not uncomfortable. At least, the quiet wasn’t. Nureyev, however, found himself utterly distracted by Juno’s bare leg, wholly visible from his hip to his ankle. Nureyev wanted to reach across the bench and touch, to feel Juno’s warm skin through his leather glove, to take off his glove and feel the softness of that thigh under his fingers and squeeze the meat of it.

Several times over the course of the short cab ride, Nureyev had to look out the window to catch his breath and school his thoughts to something less needy. His body was reacting to his thoughts, and it would be incredibly humiliating to soak through his pants before they even reached the restaurant.

“Hey,” the cab driver suddenly said, his voice stern. “I’m not gonna stop you or watch, but it’s a 300 cred cleaning fee if you mess up the upholstery.”

Juno choked as Nureyev’s eyes snapped up to meet the man’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Juno stammered for a bit, saying, “Wh-what!? N-no it’s not— we’re not— there isn’t— what?”

The cab driver just rolled his eyes. “Whatever, just letting you know,” he muttered.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Juno stared out the window and made a noise in the back of his throat. Nureyev couldn’t tell if it was a sound of amusement or something else and that made him even more nervous.

“I said this wasn’t a date,” Juno said flatly, glaring over his shoulder at Nureyev. The cab driver snorted at that, and Juno turned a glower at full heat on him.

“I am aware, dear detective,” Nureyev replied.

When Juno looked at him again, there was something intense in his expression, his visible eye narrowed at him. “Then why did you bring me to the place in Hyperion City for dumb saps to propose?”

Nureyev was tempted to feign ignorance, but this whole endeavour was about being up front and honest with Juno. Lying, especially over something like choosing a romantic venue for a night he wished to be just so, seemed stupid.

“It’s still not a date, as long as you don’t want it to be, Juno,” he replied finally. “I also wanted to make it clear exactly where my interest in you lies.”

Juno bit the inside of his cheek, mulling over Nureyev’s words before nodding. With another firm look, Juno said, “Still not a date.”

Nureyev smiled broadly. “Of course, dear.”

Juno seemed distracted for a moment, his gaze glancing down and locking onto Nureyev’s mouth. Clearing his throat loudly, the detective shook his head and opened his door, slipping out. Nureyev watched him, particularly interested when the movement shifted the dress to show off even more leg as well as a hint of his ass. At that, Nureyev had to take a deep breath to calm himself and was interrupted by the cab driver demanding to be paid.

Juno was waiting for him when he got out of the car, staring up at the restaurant with some trepidation.

“Everything alright, Juno?” Nureyev asked, standing at full height and straightening his blazer.

“This place is expensive, Glass,” Juno complained, but there was something in his tone that Nureyev couldn’t quite place.

“Have you been?” Nureyev asked cautiously, and immediately felt some regret when Juno’s expression darkened a bit.

“Yeah, a long time ago,” he replied with a sigh.

“Well,” Nureyev hummed and offered his elbow to Juno, grinning toothily when Juno accepted it without question. “All of my expenses are paid.”

Juno snorted, allowing himself to be led up the stairs and through the doors. “You’re going to expense a date?”

“Of course not, detective, that would be incredibly unprofessional!” Nureyev said with a scandalized gasp. “Thankfully, as you keep insisting, this isn’t a date.”

Juno looked away pointedly, chewing the inside of his cheek at realizing his slip-up. The urge to spin Juno where he stood and kiss the breath from his lungs was strong, and Nureyev was almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted it.

When they reached the Maitre d’, Nureyev said, “Reservation for Duke and Dahlia Rose.”

Nureyev smiled pleasantly, even as Juno snorted rudely at hearing the aliases, and tugged him along behind the Maitre d’ as she guided them through the dining room.

“Dahlia Rose? Really?” Juno asked with another laugh. “The hell kind of name is that?”

“I’ve used Duke Rose before, years ago, and I figured you might want an alias, too,” Nureyev teased with a wink down at Juno. “‘Dahlia’ was the best I could do on such short notice. Not all names can be as pretty as ‘Juno’, dear.”

“Isn’t it, I don’t know, a bit obvious that it’s not a real name?” Juno asked, and Nureyev smiled indulgently down at him but did not answer right away.

Nureyev took a moment to look around the dining room, noting the number of occupants, potential exits, and possible threats. Once he was finished casing the room, he paid attention to the actual people and with some amusement, he realized that several patrons had stopped to stare at Juno as he glided past their tables, eyes locked on his bare leg and the flowers at his hip.

Once they arrived at their table and were left alone, Nureyev cleared his throat to say, “Our names would only be ‘obvious’ aliases to incredibly clever private eyes, I would think.”

Juno looked away, seemingly startled by the praise, but he was smiling. The reaction of some nearby patrons at Juno’s demure display was completely understandable to Nureyev.

“You’re sucking up again,” Juno accused.

“I’m complimenting you, Juno,” Nureyev said as a server approached their table and quickly ordered them a bottle of wine.

“It’s the same difference,” Juno said flatly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Hardly. ‘Sucking up’ as you call it implies some deception, as if part of what I was saying was a lie,” Nureyev began, pausing only long enough to sample the wine their server brought back and approve it to be served. He smiled at Juno’s frown over the rim of his wine glass. “Now, when I say that you are an absolute vision, the most gorgeous and clever lady I have ever had the pleasure of knowing? I am not stretching anything, lying, or teasing. I mean my words completely.”

“Whatever, Glass,” Juno muttered, obviously embarrassed but also somewhat pleased.

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes as they contemplated their menus.

“Ugh, I hate this,” Juno grumbled eventually, dropping his menu back on the table. “Just order me something. My eye’s too tired to read the fancy font. Nothing with mushrooms, though”

“Of course, dear,” Nureyev laughed. When the server returned, he ordered their food and turned his attention back to Juno.

The detective was lounging back in his chair, one arm crossed over his waist while the other held his wine glass just below his nose as he watched Nureyev.

“What’s on your mind?” Nureyev prompted and Juno just shrugged.

“This really seems like your whole… thing,” he replied, though his tone seemed to imply otherwise.

Nureyev couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up. “Does it?”

Juno’s eye narrowed a bit, though his expression was kept pointedly disinterested. “You seem born to it,” he finally said and Nureyev smirked.

“Do you think so?” he prompted.

Something shifted in Juno’s gaze, where it seemed even sharper than Nureyev had ever seen it, and then he shook his head a bit. “No. Rich people are white-collar through and through, even when they’re being shady,” Juno finally answered, his tone firm and sure, and Nureyev felt a shiver roll through him. “They rarely risk getting their own hands dirty if they can help it.”

“Good work, detective!” Nureyev praised, hunger settling in his gut when Juno looked away with a shy smile again. “I knew you were very clever.”

“It’s not that hard to figure out,” Juno attempted to deflect.

“Ah, but it is,” Nureyev disagreed. “You’re the first person I’ve known who guessed correctly as you have.”

“Okay, so you weren’t born to it,” Juno pressed, and Nureyev could tell he was trying to move the conversation away from praising him.

“It’s all learned, you are correct. Not necessarily an act, per se, but I had to learn it for the job,” he replied with a smile, allowing it to become something a bit sharper as he said, “Much of my work involves schmoozing with the elite.”

Juno’s gaze locked onto his mouth again, his visible eye traveling along his teeth and he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“So, how did… you grow up to become Rex Glass,” Juno eventually asked, looking into his wine glass for a moment.

Nureyev debated responding, instinctively retreating inward as he was wont to do. But that was counterproductive to what he was hoping to achieve that evening with his beautiful dinner partner.

“I lived on the streets for much of my childhood, until I was taken in by a mentor. I don’t remember much of my life before that,” Nureyev replied, savouring his wine while Juno mulled over his words. “What about you?”

Juno snorted and rolled his eye a bit. “Ma used to work for Northstar Entertainment. Lost her job, and then things were hard,” Juno said with a shrug. “I’m sure you’ve already looked all that up.”

“Not at all,” Nureyev replied with a shake of his head. “I looked up the information the HCPD had on you once, but nothing personal.”

Juno looked completely baffled by his confession. “Why not?”

Nureyev had no good answer for Juno, and had to forcibly keep himself from answering with something witty and useless. “I’m not even sure, Juno. Normally, I would have, but I hesitated with you,” Nureyev said slowly, shrugging. “I wanted to hear what stories you have in your own words, I suppose. Perhaps it’s because I saw you before I knew even the first thing about you. I don’t know.”

“What do you know about me then?” Juno asked curiously.

“You’re a sharpshooter, and a damn good one—”

“Haven’t been a sharpshooter in five years, Glass—”

“No, no, do not interrupt,” Nureyev scolded, and Juno’s mouth snapped shut. “You can’t go from your level of talent to nothing, Juno. I know you’ve been going to shooting ranges weekly, according to Rita.”

“Doesn’t make me a sharpshooter,” Juno grumbled and Nureyev decided he didn’t want to argue with him.

“Regardless, I know you left the HCPD, and that there were some disciplinary notes, but I didn’t read them,” he reassured. “They weren’t relevant.”

Juno hummed, studying his face and seemed to decide, ultimately, that Nureyev was being truthful. “Huh, interesting. So this is honestly a chance to get to know each other?”

Nureyev nodded and laughed. “I have been saying that this whole time, but yes.”

Juno smirked, or at least tried for a smirk but it really was just a small, happy smile. “Oh,” was all he managed to say for a while, waiting patiently as the waiter brought a basket of bread to the table.

“I’m curious,” Nureyev began slowly. “What have you figured out about me?”

“Not much,” Juno replied with a petulant pout. “I’m guessing you’re Brahmese, but that’s not too difficult if you know what you’re looking for.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow. “And did you? Know what to look for, I mean?”

“No,” Juno admitted bitterly. “Thought your teeth could be used as an identifier, but turns out most of the people on Brahma share your general description.”

They were silent for a few moments, Nureyev mulling over Juno’s words, and Juno thinking about something impossible for Nureyev to parse out at all.

“Did you live up on New Kinshasa, or…?” Juno asked, his tone careful as he asked.

“No one is homeless on New Kinshasa,” Nureyev replied simply, aiming to leave it at that when he realized it wasn’t much of an answer. “I lived on the surface. My family… they either left or died, but I have no memory of them.”

Juno nodded and tore at his bread thoughtfully. “I’m… sorry?” he said eventually, and Nureyev smiled at the stilted attempt at sympathy.

“It’s the past, dear detective,” Nureyev waved it off. “My mentor took me in when I was quite young, and taught me everything I know.”

With another nod, and perhaps sensing there was no good way to elaborate on his mentor in public, Juno said, “My mom wasn’t that great. Ben wouldn’t want me saying it, but she was… she was terrible. I don’t know why he still defends her, but whatever.”

“Perhaps he knew a different side of her?” Nureyev supplied and Juno snorted.

“Yeah, he knew a different side of her, for sure,” Juno said sarcastically, rolling his eye. “She lost her job at Northstar when we were, like, four and she blamed me ever since.”

“Where is she now?” Nureyev asked.

“Dead. She went to Hoosegow after she tried to kill Ben—”

Nureyev dropped his bread knife, which startled Juno mid-sentence. “Excuse me?” he asked, sure he had misheard.

“She went to Hoosegow—”

“No, I caught that part, Juno,” Nureyev said with a weak laugh. “She tried to kill Benzaiten?”

Juno paused a moment before he nodded. “She thought he was me.”

Nureyev blinked at him for several moments before he said, “See, you keep saying things as if they’re supposed to make sense, but they don’t, Juno.”

“She hated me and wanted me dead, got Ben confused for me and had really shitty aim,” Juno explained in a frustrated huff. “She went to Hoosegow and then died a couple years later. There’s really not that much to it, Glass.”

Nureyev wanted to ask more questions, but Juno was visibly tense, his expression tight. Asking more would only spoil the rest of the evening and Nureyev couldn’t have that.

“Tell me about Mick,” he said instead, and immediately the dark clouds around Juno parted. “How does he fit in with Juno Steel?”

The rest of their evening went on like that, with them discussing the lighter parts of their lives and telling stories that had each other laughing out loud.

They had finished their dinner and were working on their second bottle of wine as Nureyev began waxing poetic about other planets. He had been spurred on by the mystified way Juno stared at him over the rim of his wine glass, his deep blue eye catching the candlelight in an almost magical way.

“Wow, sounds amazing out there,” Juno murmured as Nureyev finished describing Neptune.

Nureyev hummed. “It is,” he said softly.

“Have you ever thought about… settling down?” Juno asked after a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I mean, stopping for a while?”

Nureyev thought he could see a glimmer of hope in the detective’s eye, one that the lady was obviously trying to hide or stamp out. For a moment, Nureyev wanted to lie, had it prepared on the tip of his tongue even, to keep that hope alive and see him smile. But Juno Steel would always prefer a hard truth over a pretty lie, which was something Nureyev found that he liked quite a lot.

“No, not at all,” Nureyev said gently. “Settling down for people in my line of work… usually doesn’t involve surviving to retire.”

Juno nodded at that, and Nureyev saw something shift in his expression, but it was so slight that he could not even begin to figure it out. Just then, their desserts arrived and Nureyev started in on his experiences on Venus.

Across from him, Juno shifted in his seat to cross his legs as he leaned forward to eat his dessert. Nureyev barely refrained from jumping when Juno’s foot trailed up the inside of his leg, stopping to rest against his chair between his knees. Nureyev looked up at Juno questioningly, but the look Juno offered him was the picture of innocence.

It wasn’t until Juno’s foot nudged his knee deliberately that Nureyev realized he had stopped talking entirely. Clearing his throat, he continued his story with a shaky voice. When Juno took a moment to lick his spoon just a bit too deliberately with entirely too much bedroom eye, Nureyev’s words stuttered to a halt once again.

“What?” Juno asked cheekily, and Nureyev stared at a spot of cream left at the corner of his mouth.

“You— you’ve got a bit of cream,” Nureyev begins, pointing at the corner of his own mouth.

Juno chuckled softly, as if he was truly embarrassed by such a thing, and wiped his fingertips through the mess before slipping them into his mouth. It was a simple enough gesture, and not even particularly suggestive on it’s own, until Juno’s blue eye flickered up to meet his. The heat in that gaze was intense, and Nureyev could feel the space between his thighs grow hot and damp.

Then Juno hollowed his cheeks as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a soft, yet perfectly audible pop.

As Nureyev dropped his spoon onto his plate with a disruptive clatter, a patron at a nearby table dropped something small which made a tinkling noise as it hit the floor. Clearing his throat forcefully, Nureyev picked up his spoon and resumed his story without looking at the scheming temptress across from him, instead watching the other patron frantically scoop what looked like an engagement ring up off the floor. With some amusement, if only to make himself feel better about being far too wet for not even being touched yet, he observed that both the patron aiming to propose and their partner were distracted by Juno.

Juno moved his foot again, slipping it further up Nureyev’s inner thigh, rocking up and down until Nureyev met his gaze again. The brat had an eyebrow raised with the spoon held between his lips, and his expression was molten.

With some alarm, Nureyev considered that he was being tested, that it was some sort of trap. A test was much more Benzaiten’s style, however— he couldn’t imagine Juno pulling the same sort of petty nonsense.

Nureyev knocked back the last of his wine and cleared his throat. “Would you like another bottle of wine, Juno?” he asked, his voice thick as he lounged back in his chair, allowing his blazer to fall open. Immediately, Juno’s gaze gravitated to his torso, tracing where Nureyev’s corset cut off just below his chest. Beneath the corset was just a lace shirt, completely see-through except for two notably solid patches of flowers.

Juno eventually hummed, clearing his throat and scooping up the last bit of his dessert with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so. We still have something to discuss,” he said before smirking suggestively. “In private.”

“Ah, of course,” Nureyev said a bit shakily, swallowing thickly. “We could go back to your apartment? If you would like?”

Juno bit his lip and cast his eye downward, a mockery of shy nerves. “I was thinking we should go to your hotel room? It’ll be quiet, empty… private,” Juno said demurely, shrugging a bare shoulder that all but demanded Nureyev’s teeth to mark it up.

Nureyev watched Juno’s face, trying to gauge how much of what he was saying was innuendo, and said, “Of course. We can discuss things at my hotel as long and loud as we please,” he said slowly, smiling to expose his sharp teeth a bit. “We could get quite heated and not disturb a single person.”

“Sounds good to me,” Juno said, and his voice was strained suddenly, as if he hadn’t counted on Nureyev rising to his bait.

Nureyev made quick work of settling their bill, hardly even looking at the amount before he stood and offered his elbow to Juno. When the detective accepted, he tucked himself much closer to Nureyev’s side, the heat of him warming through the layer of his blazer.

Sliding into the backseat of the first available cab, Nureyev was startled when Juno sat on the bench directly beside him. Looking down, Nureyev swallowed hard as Juno’s bare thigh pressed along his leg, and he shivered when the detective’s shoulder leaned into his side while he smoothed his dress down properly.

Very conscious of the placement of his hands, Nureyev kept them clasped together in his lap as he stared resolutely out the window. However, the scheming lady next to him was determined to make any attempt at professionalism impossible, what with the way he kept shifting his leg against Nureyev’s.

The short cab ride to the hotel was already shaping up to feel like an eternity.

“So, is there a plan when we get to the hotel?”

Nureyev tilted his head just so to look down at Juno, knocked nearly breathless all over again by the gorgeous lady looking up at him. But he schooled his expression, smirking just enough to flash some of his teeth, and Nureyev did not miss the way Juno looked at his mouth, or the way Juno’s own mouth fell open with a nearly silent gasp.

“What do you mean by that, Juno?” Nureyev prompted, saying his name with a suggestive drawl and raising an eyebrow.

He did not miss the way Juno shivered when he said his name.

Juno leaned closer to him, the glorious heat of his soft body flush against his side. “You have a way in where we won’t be seen?” he pressed, his voice low.

Nureyev chuckled and leaned into Juno’s space, putting his gloved hand down on Juno’s thigh near where it met his hip As he leaned even harder against Juno, he slid his long leather-clad fingers down between Juno’s thighs, the head of the lady’s cock mere inches away.

Juno shuddered, tipping his head when Nureyev bent low to brush his lips against the shell of his ear. With a toothy smirk, Nureyev squeezed the meat of Juno’s thigh until he gasped.

“We won’t be sneaking past any cameras, my dear detective,” he explained in a whisper, luxuriating in the gasps and shudders of his beautiful lady. “We will walk in together, keeping everything professional, of course.”

“Professional?” Juno bit out, his voice breathy and dripping with tension.

“Of course, and it should be easy enough,” Nureyev teased, his lips brushing Juno’s ear and for a moment he nearly bites it. “This isn’t a date after all.”

Juno nodded jerkily with a hard swallow, and heat absolutely radiated off of Juno’s face.

Nureyev chuckled, flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, which in turn caught the shell of Juno’s ear. Relishing Juno’s shudder, Nureyev squeezed the thigh in his hand tight enough to bruise, holding firm until Juno let out a soft sound. It was just a quiet vocalization on the tail-end of his sharp exhale, and Nureyev wanted more of it. He suddenly wished that he wasn’t wearing his gloves, wanting so desperately to feel the detective’s soft skin under his fingertips.

“I will erase any footage of us together when we go up to our room,” Nureyev murmured, inwardly flinching at calling it their room, a slip-up he had never made before in his career as a thief. Juno at least did not seem to notice his poor word choice, his head tilted to the side, visible eye fluttering as Nureyev massaged his thigh. It was then that he realized that Juno had wrapped one of his hands around Nureyev’s wrist, holding tightly, but not trying to pull his hand away.

Before he pulled back, Nureyev took a moment longer to press his nose and mouth to the side of Juno’s head, just above his ear. Breathing in the scent of coconut and something else, he let out a soft groan only for Juno to hear. Finally, he released Juno, withdrawing his hand with a teasing slide of his fingertips against his sensitive inner-thigh. At Juno’s twitch and gentle gasp, Nureyev found himself very interested indeed to find out just how responsive his beautiful lady truly was.

Sitting back, Nureyev looked at Juno again and immediately regretted every action he made leading up to that very moment.

Juno’s gaze was molten, his lips parted and his visible eye heavy-lidded. There was a very alarming moment when Nureyev wanted to grab the private eye and kiss the breath from him, to press him back against their seat and swallow every gasp, moan, and pleading word his detective might utter.

Pulling on the reins of his self-control, Nureyev sucked a deep breath in through his nose and turned his attention straight ahead. Next to him, he could hear Juno taking a few deep breaths himself before he settled finally. The tension in the backseat was palpable, and every time Nureyev met the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror, she looked completely unimpressed.

When they arrived at the hotel, Nureyev was still paying the driver when the doorman opened Juno’s door to assist him out of the vehicle.

“Ah, Mr Glass! Welcome back to the Hyperion Hotel!” the doorman said exuberantly as Nureyev stepped out behind Juno. “Would you and your companion enjoy a bottle of champagne this evening?”

“Thank you kindly, Washburn, but this is merely business,” Nureyev said with a pleasant smile, and he did not miss the sceptical tilt of the doorman’s eyebrows at his claim.

“Of course, Mr Glass,” Washburn said with a knowing wink. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

With that, Nureyev and Juno entered the opulent lobby with at least a foot between them. Nureyev nodded politely to the associates behind the front desk as they all greeted him by name as well, and Juno made a noise in the back of his throat.

“It’s not, you know, weird that they all know your name?” Juno asked quietly.

“Not at all, my dear Juno,” Nureyev replied with an indulgent smile. “In a place like this, it’s industry standard for all employees to know any guest staying longer than two nights by name.”

“Sounds pretty risky,” Juno murmured and Nureyev laughed a bit.

“This is why I usually stay at little dives if I intend to spend more than a day in one place,” Nureyev agreed. “Employees at places like that are barely paid enough to show up to their shifts, and if you tip them nicely they’ll lie to Dark Matters for you if they have to.”

“Speaking from experience?” Juno said with a snort as they reached the elevators.

“Perhaps,” Nureyev teased with a sly smile, guiding Juno into the elevator when it arrived.

It felt as though the elevator was crawling up the floors after that, and Nureyev let out a sigh. “There are only three cameras on my floor, all of which are situated at the elevator bay,” Nureyev began, his voice low and serious. “One will be facing us when we exit the elevator, so you will have to keep your face low without actually looking as though you are hiding it.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Juno replied, and there wasn’t even an ounce of sarcasm in his tone. “The other two cameras?”

“They face down the two wings. Once we turn down the hall to my room, it will be behind us so it should be a simple thing with minimal risk,” Nureyev answered, and felt something shift in his chest at the curt nod Juno gave him.

“Got it,” Juno murmured, shrugging.

Nureyev was genuinely impressed by how quickly Juno was able to follow his lead as they stepped out of the elevator, keeping his head down by taking his comms out of his bag to fiddle like he was getting ready to call someone. His focus was remarkable, and Nureyev witnessed the exact moment when Juno relaxed again. He hadn’t even realized just how serious Juno had been until they turned the corner and had their backs to the camera.

Gone was the intense look and stony silence, and in its place was the simmering heat from the backseat of the cab again. Their gazes met once and Nureyev was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to pin the detective against the wall and have his wicked way with him right there. When they arrived at Nureyev’s room, Juno leaned against the doorjamb and smiled up at him in such a broad, open way that something ached terribly deep in Nureyev’s chest.

Nureyev was going to insist they talk once they stepped inside, he decided. He wanted the air to be clear between them, to make sure Juno went into anything they might do that evening fully informed. Juno knew he was a criminal, yes, but there was so much more to his job on Mars, things that were directly related to Juno. Nureyev knew he couldn’t move forward with that hanging over and between them.

The lock on the door chimed as it released, and Nureyev pushed the door open. Standing with his back against it to hold it open for Juno, he gestured grandly for the detective to enter. The smile on Juno’s face as he stepped into the darkened entryway from the hall was mischievous, and Nureyev narrowed his eyes a bit in suspicion when Juno did not continue into the suite.

There was no way Nureyev would have predicted what Juno had planned.

Hands grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down, his sharp gasp of surprise swallowed in a hot mouth and smothered by plump lips made sticky with lipstain. Nureyev was a weak man, however, and returned the hard kiss by meeting Juno’s tongue halfway, shivering as Juno pressed his perfect, soft body flush to his.

He was effectively pinned against the door he was holding open, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the galaxy. Juno was making delicious little sounds against his tongue as he hitched his bare leg up, seemingly to wrap it around Nureyev’s waist, but their difference in height was too much. With a low growl, Nureyev grabbed Juno’s supple ass with both hands and hauled him up until the detective could find purchase with his legs around his thin waist and his arms draped over his shoulders.

All thoughts of talking things out with Juno first had swiftly flown from Nureyev’s mind, every coherent thought he might have had fled. He realized with some very distant alarm that they had somehow made it all the way through the suite and into the bedroom, as he found himself seated on the bed with Juno squirming in his lap. The detective was whining into his mouth, one of his hands tangled in his loose hair; Nureyev didn’t even recall taking the tie out of it and undoing the braid, which was almost concerning enough to snap him out of his lust-driven haze. Juno’s other hand was on his chest, groping one of his tits and flicking his thumb across the nipple.

Nureyev wasn’t very sensitive there, but he also wasn’t about to deny having Juno’s hands on him.

But Nureyev’s own hands were frantic as well, his desire to touch and hold every part of Juno taking over now that he could. One hand was on Juno’s thigh following the straps that wrapped his leg snugly while the other clung to the golden fabric of the gown at his hip. Nureyev slipped his gloved fingers beneath the straps to squeeze Juno’s soft thigh, and rested his thumb teasingly near the base of a very prominent erection. When Juno shivered, Nureyev pressed into the sensitive spot with a possessive growl, pulling a needy sob from Juno and swallowing it greedily.

Nureyev groaned at how responsive his private eye was and licked deeper and harder into his perfect mouth.

Juno tugged at his corset, fumbling with the clasps as he whispered against his mouth, “Fuck, Glass, been wanting this off you since the moment I saw you in it.”

Hearing his alias jolted Nureyev out of his lustful haze once and for all, and he was struck with the need to tell Juno immediately. He couldn’t allow it to go any further so long as Juno knew him as Rex Glass.

Nureyev turned his head away from Juno’s lips and shivered as the detective only moved his lips to his throat, mouthing, biting, and sucking at the pale skin. “Juno, we still need to talk,” he gasped, moaning and squeezing Juno’s thighs.

“Then you talk, I’ll finish undressing us,” Juno murmured cheekily, and Nureyev could feel his smirk. “Multitasking, yeah?”

“Juno,” Nureyev moaned, lifting his hands to grab Juno’s wrists and pull his hands away from his clothes.

When Juno made a petulant sound against his pulse, Nureyev’s willpower wavered dangerously. What harm could it do, waiting until his desire was sated and he’d had the lady who haunted his waking thoughts?

Then Juno groaned, “C’mon, Rex, we can talk later.” His tone had been teasing, pleading but not demanding, but it felt like a blow to Nureyev’s gut.

That had been the first time Juno had called him ‘Rex’, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of continuing. There was an alarming moment where his thoughts swirled around the disgust in himself for letting it progress this far so quickly, and then the fear that came with the intensity of his feelings.

‘Rex Glass’ was a fake name, a fake person, while Juno was so real and beautiful. Nureyev wanted— no, needed Juno to know his name, his purpose for being on Mars. He needed Juno to know him, even if he chose in the end to cast Nureyev aside. He knew, roughly, what it meant for Juno to be in his lap, pulling at his clothes and begging so prettily for more.

He didn’t want to fuck Juno while only offering less than half of himself when the detective was giving everything in return. He didn’t want to fuck Juno as Rex glass, he thought with a soft cry when Juno bit his neck again.

With a gasp of utter terror, he realized he wanted to make love to Juno Steel as Peter Nureyev, more than anything else in the galaxy.

The detective was still working bruises into the skin of his long throat when Nureyev turned his head to whisper, directly into Juno’s ear, “Nureyev.”

Juno froze, and Nureyev screwed his eyes tightly shut.

“My name is Peter Nureyev.”

[Previous Chapter][Next Chapter]

#the penumbra podcast #the penumbra fanfic #junoverse #juno steel #jupeter #gerry writes #bittersweet #full fic

9 notes · View notes

quirkykayleetam · 5 years

Text

Broken Pieces Pt. 4: Beth’s Answer

Beth knew something was wrong as soon as Jay didn’t walk through the doors of their apartment building at exactly 5:37 pm.

She imagined what always happened at time, what should have been happening then: Jay would check their mail, draining the last drops of soda from a Grape Crush can. Condensing the aluminum, they would smile to themselves and deftly toss the can into the recycling bin while humming a wordless tune. They would switch their mail to their left hand before heading up the stairs to knock on Beth’s door and tell her the stock market index. Beth didn’t know why Jay did this. To her knowledge, neither of them owned stocks, but it made Jay feel better, so Beth always smiled and wished them well.

That was their routine. That was safe. This emptiness was not.

“Calm down,” Beth muttered to herself, sipping herbal tea from a hideously orange discount mug. “The kid could have a night out with friends. (On a Thursday?) They could work late. (Despite their painstaking precision) They could...have a date?”

Beth shouldn’t be worried about them. Not when they were just a few minutes late.

But then Jay didn’t show up to the apartment’s lounge the next morning to help Beth with her crossword puzzle. They didn’t tease her about ignoring the Sudoku or make faces at her mug of tea. Beth grit her teeth and shut her eyes. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to act, to do something, to try to right this wrong in the world.

“What’s the name?”

“Jay. Well, technically Jonathan Anthony Young. Junior. Their dad died a few years ago and they’ve gone by Jay ever since.”

Beth knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. The police station made her nervous and the cop behind the desk just wouldn’t seem to listen.

“Age?”

“26. Maybe 27? They don’t talk about their birthday much because they hate being the center of attention and never want folks to make a fuss.”

“And you are?”

“Their neighbor.”

“Just a neighbor?”

“A friend.”

Beth squeezed her hands together. She needed more caffeine.

“Look, are you sure he didn’t just go out of town for a few days without telling you? I mean, it’s not like you’re family,” the cop said, fake sympathy dripping from her voice.

That was it. Beth had had enough. She slammed her shaking hands down on the desk in front of her.

“Look, the kid has OCD, okay? They don’t break their routines, not for anything or anyone. So when I say Jay didn’t meet me for tea and crosswords this morning I’m not saying that I miss them. I’m saying that they’re MISSING. If you don’t let me file a Missing Person’s report whatever happens to them is on you.”

***

72 hours.

Beth cursed under her breath as she left the precinct. 72 hours before the police would do anything. 72 hours before anyone else would even care. Beth tried to hold out half a hope that Jay’s fancy-pants computer job would notice when he didn’t show up in the morning, but she was too angry to think straight.

Jay was in trouble and she couldn’t help him. All she could do was wait.

Months passed. Beth had never felt more useless. Somedays her godawful mugs were filled with more whiskey than tea.

Then there was a knock on her door in 342 B.

“Elizabeth Martinez?”

The man in the suit eyed Beth warily, but remained professional. Whoever he was expecting, it obviously wasn’t an overweight 38-year-old secretary. His hands were full of papers and he was backed by stiff security guards.

Beth straightened her posture. She wouldn’t intimidated without a damn good reason.

“Yes,” she said, parking her body in the middle of her door.

“You were listed by Morgan Security as Jay’s emergency contact.”

The words almost made her knees buckle.

“What happened? Did you find him? Is he..?”

“He’s alive.”

Beth breath wooshed out of her in a rush. She felt something like relief for the first time in months and it terrified her.

“We’d like to discuss the details,” the suited man continued. “May we come in.”

Beth stepped back from the door.

***

Torture.

Beth’s hands gripped her mouth and her chest as they told her. Jay had been TORTURED. Apparently they’d held up well, hadn’t given up anything. Beth couldn’t care less about that. She just wanted to spare him that pain. That agony. Jay was just a kid. They didn’t deserve…

She shook her head and turned back to the conversation. That train of thought would take her nowhere. She couldn’t help Jay then, but she could as hell help them now.

Morgan Security didn’t want this to go public. Their clients’ trust in their company was paramount. The business didn’t want it shaken by a scandal like this. They offered to pay for all of Jay’s medical bills, rent for a house out of the city, a generous stipend for Beth so she could take care of Jay full time.

Remuneration, they called it. Thanks for Jay’s hard work and loyalty.

Beth called it Hush Money.

She still signed on the dotted line.

“Jay’s mother?” She demanded before the deal was done.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s sick. Lives in a psych ward at Felicity General. Jay always spent a considerable amount of their salary to keep her cared for and comfortable.”

“Certainly,” the suit said. “We can continue those arrangements.”

“Good. Now when can I see Jay?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Beth squared her gaze and prepared for a fight.

“Jay’s parents are out of the picture. Their father is dead and their mother can’t tell a hawk from a handsaw. What do you want to bet that Jay put me down as primary carer on his medical forms too? Wait, I bet you already know that. So if you want to try to stop me from tracking that kid down and ramming 12 lawsuits down your throat, be my guest. I think it would be easier if you took me to him. Now.”

The suit straighten his tie and cleared his throat. He nodded.

Beth grabbed her purse to follow him out the door when she heard a soft murmur from the security guard behind her.

“All this trouble for one broken computer tech…”

Before she knew it, Beth was at the man’s throat, finger pointed firmly at his nose.

“You will never call Jay broken again, you hear me? They may be hurt. Hell, they may be hurting for the rest of their life. But they are a person, not a thing you can toss on the ground and just leave. They gave everything for you and even if they didn’t, they would still deserve your respect.”

She spit in the guard’s face. No one else moved.

“Now come with me,” she said darkly. “I’ve got a job for you.”

***

A flurry of activity met Beth and the suit as they walked into Jay’s spacious hospital room. Guards were stationed at every entrance. Beth wasn’t sure if they were supposed to make Jay feel safe or to protect Morgan Security’s investment.

“What’s wrong?” the suit said.

“Jay’s asking again,” said a nearby nurse, walking by with a used IV. “We’ve tried telling them that the operation took 8 hours or that they slept on and off for 3 days. They’re still agitated. We don’t want to sedate them until after the doctor has examined their ribs.”

Beth breezed passed the conversation until her eyes found the hospital bed. Immediately, her hands went to her mouth and chest again.

Jay was hardly recognizable. Even at 6’2,’’ they looked small. Starvation had withered them down to a bean pole. The parts of their skin that was visible above the blankets was purpled with bruises that seemed to sink into their body like they were still being beaten. Their hands were suspended above them, encased in white plaster casts with splints everywhere that Beth could see.

Jay was clearly exhausted and disoriented. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed in the wildness within. They thrashed against their restraints, trying to meet the gaze of everyone around them.

“How long?” they asked, voice cracking. “How long?”

“7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” Beth said loudly. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. She kept her eyes planted firmly on Jay’s.

“You’ve been gone for 7 months, 24 days, and this morning,” she continued, motioning the security guard she accosted in her apartment to bring over a formidable cardboard box. “And we noticed, Jay. We missed you every second. We would never let you fade away.”

The patient’s struggling ceased. Jay looked back at Beth, still lost.

She went to the box and lifted newspaper after newspaper out of it, bringing all she could hold in her arms to Jay’s bedside. She held them up one by one so Jay could see the dates, the tangible proof that time existed outside of whatever cell he was held in, proof that they were out of there and that this, this was real.

“That’s today’s date, Jay-bird. That’s the date you are free.”

Jay, however, just kept scanning the page until he found the Sunday crossword.

“You didn’t do it,” they whispered.

“Of course not. I didn’t do any of them.” Beth said, gesturing to the box of papers. “I couldn’t. Not...not without you.”

She brushed curly blond hair back from Jay’s forehead as it tightened into a frown.

“But, I can’t...I can’t help you,” Jay said miserably, gesturing with his head at his splintered hands.

“Pfft, as if I ever let you write on my crosswords anyway!” Beth said gently. “Now will you settle down and let these doctors do their job? I don’t know about you, but I need a nap. Then you can help me with 12 down. It’s a stumper.”

For the first time sense the Faceless Men jumped them, Jay smiled. They settled back against the pillows, fading quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

@dragonyoudownwithme requested Anger Born of Worry. I’m pretty darn sure this counts!

I really wanted you all to meet Beth and (hopefully) love her like I do. Please let me know what you think!!!

Tagging the Broken Pieces Crew: (If you want to be added or taken off this list, just let me know!): @stoic-whumpee, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @whumpty-dumpty-fell-off-the-wall, @straight-to-the-pain, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @0idril0, @fallingstormphoenix, @whump-fantasies, @imagination1reality0, @whumpback-wail, @whump-tr0pes, @untilthepainstarts, @captivity-whump

#Whump #Hurt/Comfort #Broken Pieces #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Anger Born of Worry #Original Characters #Beth #Jay #quirkykayleetam writes #Hospitalization #Broken Bones #Aftermath

35 notes · View notes

princessofgayskull · 5 years

Text

dude, I think Thor just wing-manned you

A Catradora gym au for the She Ra Pride Exchange! @spop-pride-exchange

Summary: Catra just wanted to work out. Catra just wanted to bet the crap out of a punching bag before she had to teach yoga. She wasn’t expecting to come into the gym she worked at only to be nagged by her boss and then be approached by a strange dude who “supposedly” looks like Thor. And she doesn’t want to go out with his lesbian sister.

aka, when the God of Thunder/Lesbians is around, lightning strikes twice.

word count: 7.5k

read on ao3: x

dedicated to (and there was a little bit of a mixup so I’m just gonna go for it): @sweetlykissedadora - a lovely mutual, and @sweetlykissed just in case ;)

sfw, but warning for cursing

story under the cut!

“Ugh, Leon, you call that hit?”

“You call that keeping the fucking bag still, Ramon?” Whipping the stray curls catching the sweat on her face back, Catra bounced on her heels and curled her fingers deeper into the cotton tape coating her palms before throwing another punch. Her fist met hardened and coarse material, pain exploding in her knuckles and riveting down her arm as she threw another one with the other arm, and another, and another. Breathing in, she savored the rush despite the soreness settling into her shoulders and let herself fall into a pattern.

“Damn Catra, I’ve never seen you this sloppy.” Lonnie laughed as the punching bag rattled underneath her gloved grip. “You need to call it quits after twenty minutes?”

“You know for a personal trainer, you fucking suck.” Catra’s knuckles collided with swaying material ( keep the dumb thing still, Lonnie) again with a whap!

“I didn’t say I was your personal trainer, Leon.” she chuckled.

Catra rolled her eyes and stepped away from the bag, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her form may have been sloppy today- not that she was going to admit that- but Lonnie’s salty insults were so much sloppier. Hands falling to her knees, Catra took advantage of her lazy taunts to catch her breath. “Doesn’t mean you get to screw with me- or is that just something you do with all your clients?”

“Well my clients sure as hell aren’t as sloppy as you. You look like an old lady who just tried to go up a flight of stairs. You need your walker, Catra?”

“Fuck you Lonnie.” Catra panted as her arms wobbled and her grip on her knees tightened. Okay, maybe she would admit- when no one was looking or listening or could perceive her in any way- that she was new to this. Never before in her life had she cared whether or not she could throw a “proper” punch, not when it landed whatever pervert or bigot or combo of the two was stalking her in the hospital with a broken and bloodied nose.

Catra was fine with her preferred methods of expunging all her pent up anger: running until she vomited or dancing until she tore something. Course’ her professional boxing roommate and her room mate’s MMA fighter to be didn’t give a flying fuck about that and after two years of listening to Scorpia and Lonnie critique her “strength work” Catra doubled down and hit the punching bag, literally, before she hit one of them.

Scorpia had been the only person Catra trusted to instruct her with all this punching crap, cause despite being the assistant manager at the gym and a personal trainer, Catra trusted Lonnie just about as far she could throw her. Plus Scorpia was a gentle giant, praised for her soft yet constructive teaching style; after years as a gymnast, Catra was so fucking down with abusive critique and was ready to try the opposite.

When Catra walked into The Horde, their gym, forty five minutes ago to squeeze in a short lesson with Scorpia before her class that evening, she was met with Lonnie stacking branded water bottles at the front desk and the news that Scorpia had to rush back to their apartment because Entrapta set it on fire, or flooded it, or something . Honestly Catra zoned out after that to whack her head on the front desk and send Lonnie’s precious water bottle tower tumbling down.

Wrapping her hands with her teeth and fishing in her bag for her bluetooth headphones (cause fuck airpods) , Catra walked over anyway to the worn down Everlast in the sketchier part of the gym, hellbent on beating it for a while to Halsey’s new song. She’d done this with Scorpia enough times to know how to hit a dumb leather bag by herself. Except Lonnie didn’t think so, ‘cause apparently she decided she had nothing better to do than to abandon her shift at the desk and come nag the hell out of Catra.

“I don’t need your help.” Catra sneered as the sharp, familiar pain in her lungs began to subside, using her shoulder to shove the massive bag into Lonnie just to catch her off her guard and off her footing. Course she had to dodge. That no fun bitch.

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like that.” Lonnie crossed her arms and clicked her tongue. “You sure Scorpia’s teaching you right? ‘Cause I’m starting to think she’s being too soft on you-”

“You tell her that then. She’s your girlfriend, not mine, Ramon.” Muscles straining in protest, Catra pushed herself off her knees and brought her fists back up. Ugh, how much longer was Lonnie gonna make her do this? At this rate she was gonna kill her arms before her class, which meant she’d have to strangle Lonnie with her fucking feet. Afterall, it was just as easy as using her hands. Because Catra was flexible like that.

“Look, your problem isn’t your speed, your arc is too wide- here, let me show you,” Coming around to Catra’s side, Lonnie put her arms up in position and just barely whisked Catra’s nose- “WATCH IT!”- as she made a sizeable indent in the punching bag.

“Get it?”

Catra rolled her eyes. No she did not get it. The only thing she got was how dumb this shit was. Really, she had to know how to throw a punch? None of these doofuses could even touch their toes, but Catra had to know the right way to hit something so she wasn’t the embarrassment of the gym? What a fucking scam. “Yeah, it’s much clearer now. You’re such a good teacher. Scorpia is such a lucky woman.”

“Just hit the damn bag, Princess Sarcasm.”

Wham!

It was a good four or five minutes of Catra bouncing back and forth on her feet and driving her fist at leather she imagined to be the ugly ass face a certain former bitchy gymnastic coach before Lonnie gave up drilling holes into her form with bored eyes and chimed in with more cryptic advice. “Wow you suck at this. Were you watching my demonstration?”

“Ugh,” Catra threw her sore hands up. “yes, I watched your ‘demonstration.’ Don’t give me that look! It’s not like I’m Kyle, okay? Flinging my arms around like some incel spaz? No! And you- you suck at training! Seriously, is there no one else in this dumb building who can ‘help’ me?”

“Nah, Rogelio is re-cleaning locker rooms cause Kyle ‘cleaned’ them yesterday, so you’re stuck with me. I can go get the incel spaz himself if you want-”

“No!” Catra blurted out way too damn loud, turning the attention of everyone working out to her. Damn it. “You sic’ing Kyle on me is worse than having to do this for another thirty minutes.” Or an hour. Or two. Or forever.

“Yeah, you’d probably just end up hitting him.” Lonnie nodded, grinning at the prospect of watching their co-worker get the crap beat out of him via Catra. Grabbing her water bottle from where it lay on the floor, Catra nodded as she took an extremely lady like gulp, letting the water that didn’t find her mouth travel down her neck and into her cleavage, enjoying the cool feeling as she reminisced about giving Kyle a black eye. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d almost ripped him in half; failure to properly mop (seriously, what kind of fuckboy couldn’t even mop right?) the studio she was for a Zumba class she was subbing in for led to her falling less than spectacularly on her ass in front of a classroom of judgemental rich white woman; Not that those women would ever dare look at her wrong again after that class, ‘cause they all got the pleasure of watching Catra drag Kyle into the studio by his ear and then twist his limbs in ways only hers were practiced to bend. Rogelio was pissed. He stared her down after the class dispersed, all with vouchers for a free guest. No words were needed between them. All he had to do was glare at her as long as it took to send uncomfortable chills of guilt down Catra’s spine straight to her stomach.

So, Catra swallowed her pride, grumbled as she got some ice from the employee break room, and handed it to Kyle with a tight lipped apology (she never got one, by the way, for the giant pile of water her left for her to dance straight into) and it had abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with the fact that Rogelio could use his leverage with Octavia to get her fired.

Thinking back to Rogelio’s massive overreaction to the last time she dared mess with Kyle, Catra blanched in the moment and full on choked on her water. “Please don’t tell Rogelio I called his boyfriend an incel spaz.” she said, coughing up water violently between words while Lonnie threw her head back and fuckinng cackled.

“As funny as that would be to watch, I need you working here ‘cause I don’t know anyone else who can teach chair yoga.” Lonnie leaned into the bag after her obnoxious as hell laughter finally died down.

Running her tongue over her teeth, Catra soaked in the vindication. It wasn’t every day Lonnie could admit that Catra paid the bills at The Horde, ‘cause all anybody else could do was lift weights. Her skills were un-fucking-paralleled around here. “Speaking of chair yoga, how much fucking longer do I have punch this dumb bag ‘cause unlike you infelixable meatheads, I need every part of my body to teach-”

“Oh shit! There he is!” Lonnie didn’t just interrupt Catra’s super justified question, she did so by swinging the wholeass punching bag into Catra’s body.

“Fuck! What the hell Lonnie?”

Catra stumbled to get back on her feet as the bag creaked, swinging back and forth, but Lonnie didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. She just kept staring off into the distance with eyes sparkling and her mouth slightly agape. Letting out a dramatic, yet still unheard sigh, Catra made a big display out waving her hand in front of Lonnie’s face and asking, “Uh, what are you staring at?”

“He’s back! That guy I was telling you about!” Lonnie snapped out of her stupor long enough to explain what the hell was going on. Catra followed her direct line of sight only to find herself staring at just another muscley guy lifting weights and breathing in that awful, inefficient way that made her want to puke her guts out. All these ‘My Body is a Temple idiots’ but they treat their lungs like shit? Ugh, gross. Shuddering at the sound of another heaved groaned, Catra turned away from the weight section as the clang! of the bar hitting metal hit her ears. God, this is why she had her headphones in all the fucking time in the land of Grunt Central Station.

Catra put on a bored stare (it wasn’t hard around these idiots.) “So?”

If Catra was being completely honest, when Lonnie talked she did everything in her power to drown her out, so she actually had no memory of talking about tall, blond, and average straining under his weights over on the opposite side of the gym. Lonnie just wanted to talk about gym stuff like schedules or memberships or how Catra was not supposed to be looking on the local shelter’s adoption site at cats.

Or she wanted to talk about Scorpia because that’s how people in relationships operated. But the Scorpia talk made Catra want to scream, vomit, and tear her god damn curls out all at once; as begrudgingly happy as she was forcing herself to be for her friend and co-worker, their dopey, sappy relationship was a walking, annoying reminder that no woman would ever love a BPD nightmare like Catra and that she was going to die angry and alone, like everybody said she would. Sue her for tuning her boss out and missing the story about this random and fascinating stranger who looked like everyone else in their gym. Seriously, minus the affront to God that was Kyle and the occasional twunks in her yoga classes, there was not a single man in this building that did not have the same basic, boring-ass physique.

“Don’t you think he looks like Thor?” Lonnie waved her hand toward the weights like she was imitating Kyle that one time he accidentally did coke.

Thor? What? What the fuck, how much of that dumb conversation did I miss? “That depends, which one is Thor? God Lonnie, how many times to I have to tell you that I don’t give a fuck about the Avengers or the MCU or whatever it’s called!” Now that was a conversation Catra remembered, because they had had it a million times.

Lonnie and Scorpia were movie people; they loved to watch and marathon and discuss and dress up as characters. It was lucky they’d found each other, ‘cause Catra on the other hand, couldn’t care physically give a damn. She just couldn’t sit through them without almost dying of boredom. But since Lonnie and Scorpia started “going steady” as Scorpia so gag-inducingly put it, Lonnie would crash their apartment, kick Catra off the TV while criticizing her for watching only one thing ever (“I can’t help it if every TV show except Bob’s Burgers is moronic, okay?”) and put on some stupid movie.

If Catra could stomach it- the movie, the Scorpia and Lonnie, the Entrapta whispering notes in her phone like it was recorder, she would stay and watch, reveling in how her dumb comments pissed everyone else in the apartment off. Most of the time though she gave up before Scorpia finished burning popcorn in their microwave and went for a run/hang out with all the outdoor cats in their neighborhood. Lonnie and Scorpia, to gear up for that Endgame movie, had been streaming all twenty something gross Marvel movies for the past couple of weekends, so suffice to say Catra hadn’t spent a lot of time in her own freaking home. Catra couldn’t help it if she felt the need to be an asshole about the whole MCU thing; it was her TV and her living room too.

“Thor is the one with the hammer. Blond hair, chiseled jaw, played by Chris Hemsworth? Jesus, Leon you been living under a rock?” Lonnie lifted a judgey eyebrow at her and Catra rolled her eyes so far back in her head they almost got stuck. Well I definitely haven’t been living in my own damn apartment with you around all the time!

“Don’t they all look like that and have some stupid weapon or something?” snorted Catra as she reveled in Lonnie’s frustrated expression. Served her right. Catra was talking to the same woman who called her a nerd for three weeks after she’d memorized all 84 asanas.

This time Lonnie got to have a grand eyeroll. “You watched Ragnarok with us! The third one?” Of what? “You said you liked actually liked it and weren’t just saying that to make Scorpia feel better.” When Catra just blinked at her, fully enjoying Lonnie’s frustration- that’s what you get for not letting me punch shit in peace- Lonnie threw her hands up. “It’s the Thor movie with Cate Blanchett. Remember? You wouldn’t shut up about how hot she was? God, that was annoying.”

“Oh please, it’s not like you weren’t right there agreeing with me or talking about how you wanted the girl with a sword to step on you.” Catra took another swig of her water.

“No, that was still you Catra.” Lonnie shot back, “You’re the one with that weird fantasy about women with swords.”

“They’re hot, Ramon! Fucking sue me!” Catra brushed the comment off as she threw her head back, her tied back curls bouncing off the damp skin of her neck, throwing her water bottle back down on the ground. At least Lonnie wasn’t still riding her ass about her form anymore (she could thank Thor over there for distracting the trainer) and Catra’s near dead arms could just hang limp at her sides. Ugh, tonight’s class was going to be a bitch.

“Tessa Thompson can get it, don’t get me wrong- uh! You got me off topic! Damn it, Thor got up. Where’d he go? Hey, what do you think he was benching?” Lonnie swung around the bag straight into Catra’s face trying to look around for where this mystery man might have gone off to. Probably the water fountain, duh. Or a shower. Lonnie wouldn’t follow him in there, would she? Nah, she’d just throw Rogelio in there while she made Catra clean all Thor’s gross smelly sweat off the equipment.

Catra scoffed and pushed Lonnie back. “Like I care what “Thor” was benching. And if you’re so interested in this guy, why don’t you just look him up in the system?”

“Ugh, I can’t do that! Octavia says it’s illegal or some shit.” Lonnie sighed, earning a bewildered what-the-fuck look from her co-worker. “Rogelio and I tried to look up this chick who looked like Brie Larson in the system. Octavia found out and said it’s some kind of violation of privacy, which I do not get cause this is a gym! There’s no privacy here! I literally watch people take off their shoes and socks on in the freaking lobby almost every day. Disgusting freaks.”

“Ugh, why would you bring that up?” Now Catra was really going to throw up now. Like projectile vomit, blow chunks straight onto Lonnie. That brings back memories of gymnastics.

“Damn it! I really wanted to get a picture with him and rub it in Kyle’s face that I met Chris Hemsworth! What, he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference!” Lonnie protested when Catra sent her a smug look and snorted again.

“Whatever, Lonnie, he’ll probably be back tomorrow because he’s obviously a basic dudebro with nothing better to do than stare at his muscles the mirror all day, so you can probably just save your groveling until then.” Catra stuck her tongue out, leaning in to turn the mockery up to 11, before a dangerous thought flashed in her mind. One about how much Lonnie gushed over 80’s action figure’s muscles, something she did not normally do unless that muscled specimen was her girlfriend. “Ramon, you better not be going behind Scorpia’s back with this Thor douchebag,” Catra flashed her abnormally sharp incisors at the fitness trainer, “‘cause if you do anything to hurt her, I will fucking dismantle you in your damn sleep! I swear to fucking God you will wake up burning in insense and gasoline and tied up in every fucking yoga mat I can find-”

“Jesus, Catra!” Lonnie shouted, straight up pushing Catra into the bag as she went deeper and deeper off the crazy, neverending deep end of hers. “I’m not cheating on Scorpia! I just wanted a picture with the God of Lesbians, that’s all! Well, a false god ‘cause I don’t really think that was Chris Hemsworth. Guess I’m just gonna have to wait for our Comic Con roadtrip up to San Diego.”

“Lonnie, could you do me the amazing favor of standing here and then staying absolutely fucking still so I can hit you, instead of this emotionless sack of leather?” Lonnie’s dumb story about their Comic Con trip- like Catra needed anymore reminding of that- shut up anymore dangerous thoughts about cheating or affairs or exercise equipment that was flammable. On a second, more rational thought, Catra doubted Lonnie would be the kind of person to cheat. Yeah, she annoyed the crap out of Catra, but she took Scorpia as she was, something not a lot of people even tried, not because she pitied her or had some nasty ulterior motive, but because she legitimately enjoyed spending time with her. And like Catra, Lonnie hated pretty much everybody else.

Catra doubted she’d ever find something like Lonnie and Scorpia had. Lightening only struck once, and this time it struck two people that weren’t her. Well deserving people, but still, it fucking sucked. Ugh, she was gonna die alone. Her hypothetical cats were all gonna fucking eat her.

“Ugh, Leon, you’re no fun! Why can’t you appreciate how cool it is that a fake Thor is coming to our gym?”

“Because that’s literally the lamest sentence I’ve ever fucking heard and I am a bartender who has to teach yoga because I still can’t make my damn rent!” No longer were any of these gym rats allowed to give her shit about that when they were stalking celebrity look-a-likes in their free time.

The next time Lonnie or Rogelio or Octavia or Kyle, if that vaping asshole had a deathwish, brought up how she’s actually a giant softie ‘cause she liked doing yoga- something Scorpia recommended she start in place of therapy (none of them could afford it) after she the epic mental breakdown of the century her senior year of college and set Coach Weaver’s car on fire, as well as a bunch of other shit- she was going to bend herself into a flawless handstand, ask them if they’d stalked Chris Evans yet, and walk away, backwards, on her hands sticking her tongue out.

“Pfft, it’s not lame.” scoffed Lonnie. “You just don’t know how to have fun. Is there a yoga pose that will get that stick out of your ass?”

“Why, so I can shove it up yours? Seriously, how the hell is watching random people exercise fun?” Catra practically screamed, running her nails down her face like she was trying to claw all her skin off.

Lonnie crossed her arms and planted her feet, 100% committed to her stupid crusade at this point. “It’s not a random guy! I’m talking the fake God of Lesbians! That’s basically your whole religion, Catra! Hey, maybe he can help you get a girlfriend since you’re always bitching about being alone and all.”

“What?” Catra squealed with as much indignation as possible. How dare Lonnie bring up the harrowing fact that she was single and refused to mingle ‘cause that was fucking gross and picky as hell and also a nightmare of a human being “I don’t need anything from the crusty ass, dick for brains, piece of-”

“Uh, Hello?”

Shit!

Whirling around straight into Lonnie at the sound of an unfamiliar masculine voice, Catra tried to keep the fuck together when she realized who had audacity to approach her while her back was turned. Are you fucking kidding me? Tall, blond, and basic had decided to make a surprise appearance just to scare the shit out of her, sweat drenched towel draped over his moist Nike shirt and airpods in hand.

Catra did her best not to visibly gag; whether it was the musky smell (why did she work at a gym again?) or his pit stains about to make her barf water and stomach acid at his feet was completely lost on her. Despite the kind-of-sort-of friendly smile on his face and his relaxed posture, all Catra could do was stare at his extended hand like it was the deepest offense in the world.

“Hey, you’re Catra, right?”

“Uh-”

“Yeah, this is Catra.” When Catra turned her head to look at Lonnie, she was met with a traitorous smirk and devious eyes that said this is what you get for talking shit about the fake God of Lesbians! How dare you besmirch our lord and savior!? For a split second, Catra wondered if Fake Thor might enjoy watching her murder her boss in cold blood.

“I’m Adam.” Fake Thor introduced himself and once again, pushed his hand forward. Ballsy, considering the daggers Catra was staring into his empty skull. Oh, she could take this ‘Adam’ down in three fucking seconds; less, if he did what Catra thought he was about to do. Okay, what’s it going to be, Mr. Bimbo? You came over to ask me to come look at your collection of Dave Matthews vinyls in your Star Wars theme man cave or invite me to happy hour at a dirty TGI Friday’s? Ugh, these fucking meatheads are so predictable they take all the fun out of it.

Catra yawned and leaned back into her hips. “Okay?” At that moment she swore she heard Lonnie’s jaw drop. Oh, this? This was fucking sweet. Lonnie stalks him all day- possibly for longer than a week just to get a stupid picture with someone who wasn’t even who they thought he was- and he approaches Catra instead. Lonnie’s precious God of Lesbians picked a whole ass, different lesbian- to be a disgusting, horny man with, but still, Catra was going to be rubbing it in her dumb face that she got to turn fake Thor down, not any of these other lame idiots!

“You teach the yoga flow class right?” he flashed a perfect smile at her and Catra, miffed he wasn’t reading the do-not-fuck-with-me vibe she was oh so famous for, swallowed and showed him the canines in her own mouth. Why was he asking her about a class? There was no way ‘Adam’ had ever stretched into any warrior pose ever without pulling something. And Catra would have remembered him sauntering into the studio and knocking everything and everyone over with his giant, sweaty body.

“Yeah? Why do ask?” Catra glanced down at her fingernails. This was taking too long.

“Um, so I haven’t taken it,” yeah, that much was obvious, “but my twin sister has a couple times.” Adam- and Lonnie- perked up at the mention of his sister. Oh my God. That must be where this dull, useless conversation was going at a snail’s pace towards.

“She’s actually taken a couple of your classes, like restorative yoga and another one that escapes me, oof that’s embarrassing.” Everything, from the carefree movements of his shoulders to the wild gesturing of his hands, plus his chill tone, showed Catra that he was just gonna go ahead and act like they were close friends. What the hell is his game here? Catra wondered.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know if you know her, she usually stays in the back ‘cause she’s not very good and she has like, a perfectionist problem. And an anxiety problem. That’s why she’s taking yoga in the first place, you know, to be less high strung. Anyways, got a little off track there, but I wanted to tell you that she thinks you’re a really great teacher.” Adam broke his spiel off there with a wink.

What the HELL does that mean? Catra curled her fingers into tight fists. To keep from indenting Adam’s perfect jawline or to indent Adam’s jawline, she had no fucking idea.

While she was trying to keep her own sneaker out of this strange guy’s ass, Catra tried to think back to her classes the past few weeks ad searched her memory for a woman that looked like him. A blonde, young woman in the back. There was no way, Adam was fucking with her. Catra definitely remembered blue eyes that deep and the kindest smile that made her forget that the world was a fucking cruel and intent on killing her.

Adam, hellbent on screwing with her more, then way to casually added, “She talks about you a lot, whenever she gets out of class. I think she kinda has thing for you.”

Of course Lonnie- who was still just standing there for some reason- just had to burst out laughing and then scramble to turn that noise into a cough before a) Adam and his flawless eyebrows suspected anything, and b) Catra kicked her in the shin and earned a disappointed lecture from Scorpia for hurting her “Lonnie-Boo.”

“Anyways…” Adam continued, narrowing those baby blue eyes of his before relaxing into that annoyingly cordial posture, “I overheard you guys mentioning you were lesbians? I mean, I wasn’t eavesdropping but-”

“We were just being loud, we get it a lot.” Uh, no we don’t! This is fucking weird! Catra indulged her panicked thoughts as Lonnie cut Adam off. Then, to take things to an even weirder level, Lonnie leaned her way and whispered “Oh my God, Catra, he is the God of Lesbians.”

“Well, Adora- my sister- she’s also a lesbian. And- and she’s single.” Catra sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. How were Lonnie and Adam both looking at her with the same eager as fuck expression? And how could she knock both of them unconscious at the same time? And god fucking damn it! Why couldn’t Catra remember this angelic, goddess, gay twin of his?

“She had a friend emergency today, but she usually works out the same time as me. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Lonnie just had to speak up, she just had too. Because the universe hated Catra and took every opportunity to make her life shitty. “Oh? I think Catra will be here the same time tomorrow too.”

What. The. Actual. FUCK?!!?

“Awesome!” Adam gave a little fist pump. “I gotta go, but it was nice meeting you, Catra. And uh, you too.” He finger gunned in Lonnie’s direction as he pirouetted on his sneakers, walking backwards towards the exist. Mouths agape, Catra and Lonnie watched him stick his airpods back in and jog out the sliding doors, like this was just another normal day at The Horde.

The fake God of Lesbians left behind the most fucking awkward silence between Catra and her boss/improtu and unwanted personal trainer. They must’ve stood there in disbelief for at least three minutes, the only sounds of people working out behind them Catra wanted to speak- she really did before Lonnie started talking some serious bullshit- but no matter how many she played recent events in her head could Catra come up with anything to say other than "Uh, what the fuck just happened?”

“Dude,” Lonnie smacked her arm and cackled, “I think Those just wingmanned you!”

“So are you gonna do it?”

“Uh, do what?”

“Work out with the the God of Lesbian’s gay twin sister?”

“Leave me alone, Lonnie.” Catra whined into her hands.

“Woah, woah, woah, wait- the God of Lesbians? You mean Thor? He doesn’t have a twin sister.” Scorpia interjected. Ugh, when did she get here? “I mean, recently in the comic books the mantle of Thor has been given to a woman, but I don’t think Marvel has confirmed her sexuality.”

Fuck me. Catra couldn’t even get a moments peace after her studio class that her co-workers always seemed to forget included her bending over a fucking chair in multiple, unnatural ways for a whole hour. Probably because none of these asshats could do it or even bothered to try. Legs pulsing with pain, she slammed her yoga mat down on the Welcome Center desk and stole Rogelio’s empty chair five minutes after she dismissed everyone in her class.

Rogelio could stare her down all he wanted when he got back, Catra didn’t care at this point. She just wanted to fucking rest before she had to get her aching body out of the chair and go work the closing shift serving alcohol she couldn’t even drink (dumb stabilizing meds) at Erelandia but Lonnie was, apparently, not going to drop this whole idiotic Thor-thing. Didn’t help that Catra’s brain hadn’t dropped the topic either; she was completely spaced out trying to teach, too busy scanning the attendees for a familiar hot blonde.

It also didn’t help that Scorpia was also here, probably to pick up her loud mouth girlfriend.

As Catra moaned into her hands again, she heard a fucking weasel pop out of nowhere and loudly insist “They didn’t make Thor a woman!”

“Uh, yeah they did, Kyle.” Lonnie countered back without missing a beat. Catra looked up only to open her eyes to the horrifying sight that not only had Kyle shown up, but Rogelio was there too nodding in agreement with Scorpia and Lonnie. Great. Now everyone was here.

Channeling his inner asshole, Kyle demanded to know “How would they even do that?”

“She was given the hammer, Kyle!” Scorpia said, like it was obvious. “Whoever holds melnor, mielnar, mjiler-”

“Take your time, babe.” Lonnie rubbed her girlfriends arm as her face scrunched up trying to pronounce whatever stupid name Thor’s hammer. Just to show what she thought of the whole conversation, Catra let out a long, and loud, dramatic sigh.

“Millie…your?”

“No you guys,” Oh so now Lonnie was going to elaborate. “not the real Thor!”

“Melanin?”

“Uh, duh, he’s not real.”

“Shut the fuck up Kyle.”

“Melon baller?”

“I’m talking about that guy who looks like Thor. You know the one that’s been coming to our gym for awhile?” Lonnie clarifications sent a ripple of “ohhhhs” through the group. “Turns out his name is Adam, and he has a twin sister! He wants to set Catra up!”

A sudden force over took Catra and almost threw her out of the chair the second Lonnie finally shut her blabbermouth. One minute Catra was fine, she was relaxed if not irritated with her choice of friends, the next minute she was being suffocated by Scorpia’s giant mutant arms. “Oh Catra, this is amazing news!”

“GET…offme!”

Scorpia ignored the squealing and squirming, taking the obnoxious show of friendship up an unnecessary notch by rocking her limp body back and forth. “You have finally have someone to go out with! And she’s probably hot if she’s related to Thor!”

“Fake Thor.” coughed Lonnie as a reminder.

“We can finally go on double dates-”

“Auggh!” Catra twisted Scorpia’s arm over her, “I’m not going out with Not Thor’s gay sister!”

Scorpia’s face fell into that pout that always made Catra feel like she’d punched in the stomach. “What- why not?”

“‘Cause she’s not real, duh! ” Catra threw her hands up, her curls flying everywhere around her head like a crazed halo. Look, Catra understood that she was suspicious to the point of like, actual paranoia, and that it just came with her brand of crazy, but she also knew when someone was flat out manipulating her, i.e. lying straight to her face. She’d only dealt with it her entire gymnastics career.

Adam didn’t show picture and only said his sister’s name once. Catra, whose studio was full of wall to wall mirrors that allowed her to seeeverything, would’ve remembered a stunning lesbian copy of him. This was bullshit, is what it was.

“What’s her name again?” from across the desk, Kyle asked with piqued interest.

“Adora, or some other obviously made up name.” Catra rolled her eyes so far back in her head it hurt, “God, he didn’t even try-”

“Found her.”

“WHAT?” In a quick and graceful blur, Catra, Lonnie, and Scorpia rushed over to the other end of the desk were Rogelio was bunched over Kyle typing into the computer.

“Yeah, Adora Smith.” Kyle shrugged, pointing to the monitor where Adam’s sister’s information was pulled up in their membership database. “It looks like she mostly comes as a guest with Adam for the past few weeks- huh, Adam’s last name is Walker, what do you guys think that’s about? Oh, here’s her picture.”

Kyle didn’t have to gesture to the screen. Catra was already staring. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And so his twin. Piercing blue eyes, blonde ponytail, amazing flawless skin. Stunning, warm smile that almost Catra melt right into a puddle right then and there. Pull it together, Leon! Try not to act like you’d throw all these people under an actual bus just to get to know her.

“Not my type, but she’s pretty.” commented Lonnie.

Pretty? She’s the reason faces were invented, you idiot!

“Well, that’s relief-”

“Oh my God, shut up Scorpia, I remember her!” throwing her hand back, Catra’s hand met Scorpia’s boobs- Catra was aiming for her mouth, wasn’t her fault her room mate was 6’2”- and pushed Kyle out of the seat and onto the floor, making Rogelio squeal in horror. “Remember, Adam said she was taking some of my classes but that’s why I thought it was total bull, ‘cause of course I would have remembered her!”

Catra gestured wildly as Scorpia and Lonnie raised their eyebrows in tandem. “But Adam was right, she was in the back and I remember ‘cause she kept needing extra help. She was like a baby penguin trying to learn how to walk! Like she fell on her fucking face, twice. It was awesome!”

“Well it sounds like she made an impression.” Lonnie smirked and Scorpia didn’t even wait a beat to pile on.

“Yeah, Catra! Dumb blondes, that’s totally your type! You should go out with her! Hey, I bet she needs some one on one help.”

“Not gonna happen.” throwing up her defenses without a second thought, Catra hissed back at her friends.

“‘Cause you’re a chicken?” Lonnie raised her eyebrow, just asking to be decked in the jaw. What a perfect opportunity to see if Catra’s training had come through.

“No, ‘cause-” I’m unstable. I’m fucking insane, medically speaking. I’m good at like, one thing. And, oh don’t forget, I’m completely, totally unlovable. “Uh, whatever, you guys probably don’t even care,” she muttered the last part under her breath, just in case Scorpia heard and made a big deal out of proving her wrong.

“Okay well, I’m gonna need you to come in around three tomorrow. Kyle’s calling in sick with mono again, that dumbass.” Lonnie sighed, leaning onto the desk.

“I am? I’m what?” blubbered Kyle as Rogelio pulled him off the floor.

Three? That’s around the time I came in today- ARE YOU SHITTING ME? “Seriously? Fuck you, Lonnie!”

“Melvin-jorge. That’s it!”

“I cannot believe you, Adam!”

After dragging her ass to the gym at exactly three p.m- because she fully believed Lonnie would have her fired and banned from the building if she didn’t at least strike up some form of conversation with this girl- Catra was trying her best not to think about twins or Thor or whatever disaster was about to go down as she halfassed wiped down equipment when she heard Adora walk in. At least she assumed it was Adora; she wasn’t sure who else would yelling Adam’s name randomly with like, that much annoyance.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that Adora!”

Oh, so it was Adora. Having a full on argument with her twin brother in the middle of their gym. Catra resisted the tormenting desire to turn around and forced her focus to the wipes crumpling in her hand as she ran them down leather seat of their ergometer. Don’t, don’t, don’t don’t you fucking turn around and stare like a creep Catra Maria Leon!

“We’ve talked about this,” wow, she sounds pissed. That’s hot. “You can’t go around setting me up with random woman you think is gay! Not every girl at a gym is gay, Adam!”

Having to literally sink her teeth into her tongue, Catra stifled a laugh. So Adora was upset about this whole thing too? Guess they had that in common.

“Catra is a lesbian! She was yelling about it with her trainer!” Adam insisted.

This is what I get for not keeping my fucking mouth shut. At least he didn’t bring up how we called him Thor and Fake Thor over and over and over again.

“Plus, you have a thing for her Adora. I know because you wouldn’t shut up about how pretty and smoking hot she was and how she smells like cinnamon! That’s way too much detail for me!”

The more Adam described how Adora had described her, the more Catra’s face was overcome with a tingling heat that spread from her face, to her neck, to her chest. Still, she refused to turn around. Even if she dying, dying to see the look on Adora’s face.

“By the way, how many times did you fall in class? Like seven times? Klutz.”

Adora scoff echoed all through the gym. “I’m not the klutz, you’re the klutz! And by the way, I didn’t fall on accident, my balance is impeccable! Coach Hordak once made me bounce a soccer ball on my head for a mile! And, get this, I did it for two! That’s how good my balance is!”

She was falling… on purpose?

“Did that man ever let you sleep?”

“No, he didn’t, and you know what, I’m not gonna let you sleep either after this! And you are so uninvited to Best Friend Squad Netflix nights!” Catra heard a whack! and Adam yelp.

“Glimmer will invite me back! And you have to get back out there, Adora! It’s been, what, like a year and a half since you and Serenia broke up?”

This time, Catra let herself turn around. Okay, she moved her neck to the side like three inches. Part of her was curious to see if they’d seen her. The other part of her just wanted to stare in wonder at Adora for pretty much the rest of her life.

“Ugh, don’t bring that up, this is not about that!” With every word Adora yelled at her twin, Catra came closer to making that 180 that would allow her to see the two of them. And for them to see her. “This about you being weird and just going up to random people to see if they wanna go out with me!”

“Look she’s right over there, why don’t you just go talk to her? Because I don’t think your face can take much more damage from you falling down in yoga , Adora.” Damn, Adam. Maybe I should introduce you to Lonnie ‘cause you’d be great friends. I kinda wanna be friends, what the hell?

At this point, Catra didn’t know what else to do with her body but stand there with her hip cocked and her arms crossed, an amused smirk on her face. Didn’t matter that her neck and chest were still on fire and her heart was beating like she’d just run a fucking mile.

Adora looked away from her brother, only to catch Catra’s waiting eyes, and given the way she squeaked, threw her hands in her face, and walked/tumbled back towards her brother, Catra maybe got the vibe she wasn’t expecting her to be literally right there.

“Hey, Adora.” Catra gave a little sultry wave, the corner of her mouth upturned, unsure of what the hell had just come over her. Seriously, was she fucking possessed? Or was Adora just so freaking cute and so much better in person that she could ever imagine and was maybe, maybe worth taking a chance on? Also, the chance to embarrass her just to see her face turn red was something Catra couldn’t resist .

A panicked whine slipped from Adora’s lips as she bumped into Adam’s shoulder. “I hate you, I hate you, and I wish we’d stayed separated.”

“Yeah, yeah, hate you too. Now go get her chief.” Catra didn’t see what happened next coming. But she should have, given that mischievous sparkles Adam got in his eyes. The next thing she knew, Adora was shrieking, Catra blinked, and then fell to the ground as a body slammed into her. Holy shit! Catra’s teeth caught her tongue as she hit concrete hard, pain exploding through her sore body. What the FUCK just happened?

When Catra opened her eyes, a nasty cocktail of shock and pain paralyzing her muscles from making any kind of move, she looked down to find Adora exactly in her lap, muttering “Ow, my ass.”

“Uh…”

Adora’s own shocking blue eyes flew open and in them, Catra could see the exact second she put everything together in that pretty little head of hers. “Oh, oh! I’m sorry, I- that was, ah man.” she scrambled away, out of Catra’s lap- hey, wait!- and let out another embarrassed whine.

Lifting her head up to glare at the ceiling, Adora whispered, “I hate you Adam.” before taking a deep breath. “I- hi, I’m, um, Adora.” she stuttered, blush overtaking her pale skin. Catra smiled. Oh, she was cute.

“Catra.”

“Yeah, I know I’ve been taking your classes- I, uh” Adora’s closed her mouth and fiddled with her fingers as she bit back a smile. A really beautiful smile. “I’m sorry, I’m really bad at this.”

Snorting, Catra added. “Trust me, you’re not the only one who’s totally out of her comfort zone right now.”

“Do you wanna just work out? Like together?” she asked, bright smile still on her face. Getting up on one knee, Adora extended a hand.

“Yes!” Catra replied way too quickly, having to slap on a less desperate as fuck approach, “I mean, yeah I’d like that.”

As Adora led her to the treadmills, Catra heard Adam claim in victory, “Yes! My work here is done. Oh man, where did my airpods go?”

Catra stifled a laugh. Some God of Lesbians/thunder. Hmm, thunder right and storms and shit? Catra thought to herself as Adora started going on about how annoying and intrusive Adam could just generally be, maybe with him around, lightning can strike the same place twice.

Thank you so much for reading! I hoped you enjoyed it Lily! Likes and REBLOGS are always appreciated!

and once again, thank you to those you organized this event! Happy Pride!

#spop pride exchange #spop #catradora #sweetlykissedadora #gym au #sconnie #catra x adora #scorpia x lonnie

133 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

For Your Safety, Chapter Eight (Branjie) - Kite

Potentially spoilery authors note.

A/N: I hope this heals some hearts tonight! Please enjoy x

***

Brooke sips her whiskey sour nervously as she settles into the luxurious leather arm chair beneath her. Even after all the times that she’s been here, she still feels self conscious. Small groups of people, mostly men, sit dotted around the room, but Brooke sits alone, wiping her sweaty palm over the material of her tight black jeans.

The lights dim and the music swells. Some of the men can be heard cheering, but most are silent with anticipation.

Then, the women walk out onto the stage.

Exotic dancers.

Brooke’s eyes flare wide and her breath hitches in her throat as the dancer she’s here to see catches her eye, then moves across the stage to dance in front of her. To dance for her. A tingle of excitement runs down her spine.

The woman is gorgeous, truly magnificent, and she knows it.

Her hands roam over her petite body as she maintains eye contact with Brooke, then she grins widely and runs her tongue seductively across her teeth. She’s toying with the hem of her shirt in a cruel, slow, tease. After a few minutes of dancing, she pulls the shirt off over her head and tosses it behind her, then somehow, in her killer heels, she manages to hop down off the stage to dance immediately in front of where Brooke sits.

She runs her hands through her long, curly brown hair and flutters her eyelashes, feigning a look of innocence that has Brooke practically clawing at the armrest of her chair. Brooke takes a long slip of her drink, never breaking eye contact.

When the dancer loses her skirt, leaving her in skimpy panties, a bra and suspenders holding up silky black stockings, Brooke is unable to keep the smirk from her face. She’s perfect. Her body, the way she moves, her fucking eyes, it’s all so captivating. The dancer moves closer to her and Brooke takes out a one hundred dollar bill from her pocket. A small price to pay for such a treat. Once she is inches away from Brooke’s chair, Brooke leans out and delicately tucks the note into the woman’s waistband, rubbing her thumb over the soft, smooth skin as she does.

Then, unexpectedly, the dancer nudges Brooke back into her chair and moves to straddle her, with her knees on the seat cushion on either side of her thighs. Brooke gasps softly. The girl takes Brooke’s drink from her hand and sets it on the small table beside her, then resumes her slow, seductive, dancing, now in Brooke’s lap.

“I bet you do this for all the girls.” Brooke teases, her breath coming out low and raspy.

The dancer smiles coyly and shakes her head. “Just the cute ones.”

“Does that mean I get to take you home tonight?” She asks leaning upwards, resisting the urge to touch her.

“Oh, I don’t know, ma’am.” The girl drawls, sending shivers down Brooke’s spine. She leans in so close that Brooke can feel her warm breath on her neck. “I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate somebody taking what belongs to her.”

Brooke’s eyes flutter shut. “God, Ness.” She moans, caving to temptation and bringing her hands to rest delicately on her thighs.

“Hi, baby.” Vanessa whispers, pulling back from the crook of her neck and flashing her a wide grin. “I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.”

“It’s been a slow night so they let me get off early.”

Brooke grazes her nails softly up the side of Vanessa’s thighs, knowing that it’s driving her wild. She’s careful to keep it light and subtle, as, if some of the bars other clients see Brooke’s hands on one of the dancers, they might get the wrong idea and start getting handsy themselves. But it’s so unbelievably hard for Brooke to have her half naked girlfriend girating in her lap and be unable to do anything about it.

“What time do you finish?” Brooke asks quietly.

Vanessa grins widely. “We can get out of here now if-“

She hasn’t even finished her sentence before Brooke is nodding quickly, smirking from ear to ear.

Vanessa gets down from Brooke’s lap, holds out her hand for Brooke to stand with her, leads her through the crowded bar then subtly through the doorway into the back.

As they navigate the corridors, Vanessa exchanges greetings with everyone they pass, making Brooke practically beam with pride. Vanessa is brimming with energy and able to make all of her friends laugh, even after hours of dancing. Seeing Vanessa with her newfound friends makes Brooke especially happy since it’s one of the many ways she’s been able to settle into life in Toronto. Brooke knows Vanessa is feeling more and more like she belongs every day.

Most of the girls know Brooke’s name too and say hello to her, which is a vast improvement from when Vanessa had started working at the bar and the girls were too weary of having a cop in the building to even give her the time of day. She’s glad that she’s managed to gain their trust over time.

“You gonna go see Nina while I change real quick?” Vanessa asks when they reach the dressing room door.

Brooke leans down to peck Vanessa’s cheek. “Sure thing baby.”

-x-

“They really like her, you know.” Nina smiles warmly from where she sits behind her desk.

Brooke chuckles. “Of course they do, she’s smoking hot.”

“Um, I meant the other girls, not the customers.” Nina smirks, raising her eyebrow.

Brooke’s face flushes red with embarrassment and she awkwardly clears her throat while Nina laughs. “Right, yes, of course.”

Brooke has known Nina since they were young girls taking dance classes together at the local community centre. Obviously, Brooke gave up on her childhood dreams of being a ballerina, but Nina took her dance skills and pursued an alternate career path. She’s now the owner of one of the most successful strip clubs in Toronto, so, when Vanessa had been struggling to find a job with her limited skill set, Brooke was glad that she’d kept in touch with her old friend.

Nina gave Vanessa a trial position as a dancer at the bar just over ten months ago and she has been here ever since.

The best thing about the job is that Vanessa is able to do something that she does incredibly well. She’s incredibly sexy and knows how to use that to her advantage. After a few lessons in dancing, she’s now able to take home a very admirable income.

Plus, Brooke can rest in the assurance that she’s safe. All of the girls look out for each other and Nina watches over them all. None of the customers are allowed to touch Vanessa, or any of the other dancers. She’s never alone with them. And she isn’t doing anything illegal, so the police can be called in an emergency. She’s safe. Knowing that is doing wonders for Brooke’s anxiety.

“Honestly though Brooke, she just lights up a room. And she’s making the bar a fuckload of money, so thank you for sending her my way.”

Brooke blushes and grins back at Nina. “She’s pretty special.”

“I’m really happy for you.” Nina says so sincerely that it makes Brooke’s heart ache. “You deserve this.”

Brooke is about to respond when she hears a loud knock at the door behind her. “I know you bitches are talkin bout me so I’m just gonna wait here till you’re done.” Vanessa yells brashly. Brooke chuckles and shakes her head affectionately. That’s her girl.

“Don’t let me keep you.” Nina tells her with a knowing smile.

Brooke thanks her quickly, promises that they can catch up properly soon, then leaves the office. She’s unable to keep the grin from her face when she sees Vanessa in the corridor. Her brown wig and heavy makeup are gone and she is wearing black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that reaches her mid thigh. She’s also swapped her stiletto heels for flat pumps, but since Brooke is wearing heels of her own, she seems much smaller.

“Come on.” Brooke grins, taking Vanessa by the hand and practically dragging her to where her car is parked in the alley behind the bar. When they reach the car, Brooke glances both ways to make sure that there is nobody around, then quickly opens the door and pulls Vanessa into the backseat.

“What are we-“ Vanessa is cut off by Brooke’s lips on hers. She’s quick to respond and she clambers into Brooke’s lap, kissing her back with equal ferocity. Brooke’s hands roam over Vanessa’s body, making up for the time spent inside being unable to touch her.

As they kiss, Brooke snakes her hands underneath Vanessa’s baggy jumper, curling one arm firmly round her waist and bringing the other up to cup her breast over her bra. Brooke moans as she realises Vanessa has changed out of her underwear from before and is now wearing her soft, white cotton bra. She can tell by the little bow in the centre, she could recognise this bra anywhere. It’s her favourite of Vanessa’s, after all.

Sure, lacy lingerie and stockings make Vanessa look like a goddess, but to Brooke, there’s nothing more sexy than simple white cotton. In her eyes, Vanessa doesn’t need anything, no lace, no frills, to enhance her natural beauty.

“You danced so good tonight, baby girl.” Brooke sighs against Vanessa’s lips between kisses, then drops her hand from around Vanessa’s waist down to cup her ass. Meanwhile, her hand on Vanessa’s breast nudges the material of her bra down so that she can toy with her nipple.

“Brooke.” Vanessa whimpers. “Please.” She grinds down in her lap for emphasis. “ Quiero que me cojas .”

Brooke never considered herself to have any kinks, until a few months ago when Vanessa begged her to be fucked in Spanish, and since then she can’t get enough of it. It’s drives her wild and the little minx knows it. “Fuck.” She breathes out. She moves her hand from Vanessa’s ass to her hip, where she dips her finger into the waistband of her leggings.

“ Por favor, Mami.” Vanessa drops her hands to the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head in one swift motion, then drops it, letting it fall into the footwell behind her.

Brooke can never keep the game of teasing going for very long, she’s just about to give in, but then a bright set of headlights illuminate Vanessa’s face from behind the car.

“Fuck.” Vanessa mutters as she scrambles to get down from Brooke’s lap. Brooke hears a thump on the roof as Vanessa hits her head, causing her to curse loudly. “Fucking damnit, Mary!”

Brooke laughs as she attempts to pull Vanessa into her arms and sink down against the seat so that whoever is behind them can’t see them. Brooke is still a cop, after all, and being arrested for public indecency because they can’t keep it in their pants until they get home would be less than ideal. “Shush.” She giggles, reaching for Vanessa’s discarded sweater as the smaller woman continues to grumble and rub her head.

She feels like a high school kid getting caught making out in the backseat. It’s so exciting and naughty, she can’t help but laugh as she wraps her arms around Vanessa whilst they slump low and out of view.

After a couple of minutes of waiting and sneaking a few more soft kisses between giggles, Brooke decides that the danger of getting caught has passed. As though on queue, she hears Vanessa yawning quietly against her neck. “Time to go home?” Brooke smirks, then drops a kiss onto Vanessa’s forehead when she nods.

Brooke leaves the backseat to get into the front, but Vanessa simply clambers over the centre console. She feels a gentle pang in her chest as she remembers the first time Vanessa was in her car, over a year and a half ago, when she’d climbed into the front seat in the same way.

Some things never change.

When she gets back into the car, she leans over and pecks Vanessa’s temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Vanessa beams back at her.

-x-

“Ness, we’re home.” Brooke tells her, shaking her softly to rouse her from her sleep. She dozed off against the window almost as soon as Brooke started driving.

Despite the fact that Vanessa loves her job, one of the problems is that dancing for hours and finishing late leaves her exhausted. Brooke tries to sign up for night shifts whenever she can, so that they can spend more time together during the day, but it still sucks.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you to bed.”

Vanessa yawns and stretches before nodding and unclipping her seatbelt.

Once in the apartment, they quickly set about their respective nighttime routines. Brooke clears up any mess that they’ve made whilst Vanessa puts out fresh food and water for the cats, scratching them both on the head as she does. They then shut the blinds, turn off the various outlets and lock the front door.

This is all done in relative silence as both are exhausted, but when they’re in the bathroom brushing their teeth, they stand side by side and making goofy faces at each other in the mirror.

“I think I prefer the duck egg blue to the sky blue.” Vanessa mumbles through a mouthful of toothpaste, reaching for the paint colour chart on the countertop. They’d decided to redecorate the bathroom a few weeks ago but had yet to decide on a colour of paint for the walls.

“Good choice, baby.” Honestly, Brooke can barely tell the difference between the two colours, but it’s important to Vanessa, so it’s important to her.

When she finishes brushing her teeth, Brooke moves to stand behind Vanessa and curls her arms around her waist. She then drops her face into the crook of her neck and kisses her softly. Brooke sighs deeply in content as she looks at them in the mirror, wrapped up in each other’s arms. “I love you.” She whispers and kisses Vanessa beneath her ear.

Vanessa covers Brooke’s hands with her own and leans back into her embrace, allowing her eyes to drift shut. Vanessa then tries, and fails, to stifle a yawn. “I think it’s time for us to go to bed.” Brooke chuckles.

They aren’t in bed for more than a few moment before Vanessa’s lips are on Brooke’s. Brooke grins into her mouth, drinking in the fresh, minty taste. She flips them quickly, so that Vanessa is pinned beneath her, and deepens the kiss. Usually, there’d be some sort of build up, but the combination of making out in the car and seeing Vanessa dancing has made Brooke insatiable.

After a few minutes of kissing however, Vanessa’s movements begin to slow and she starts to kiss with a little less enthusiasm. Brooke pulls back to look at her face and sees that her eyes are closed. “What’s the matter, baby?”

Vanessa shakes her head softly. “Nothing. Keep going.” She smiles, raising slightly for another kiss.

But after only a couple more seconds, her kisses begin to slow once more.

Brooke pulls away again, only to chuckle when she realises that Vanessa is falling asleep. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” Brooke smirks, moving to lay on her side next to Vanessa, who whimpers quietly at the loss.

“I’m fine.” She mumbles drowsily.

Brooke lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, then pulls Vanessa closer to her. Vanessa allows herself to be moved, nestling into the crook of Brooke’s neck, draping an arm over her waist and tangling their legs together.

She’s asleep within minutes.

Brooke really should go to sleep too, or she should lay here and enjoy the feeling of Vanessa cuddled against her, but unfortunately, she can’t help but let her anxiety take over.

Logically, she knows that Vanessa is exhausted and she didn’t fall asleep on purpose, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling self conscious.

She’s not worried about the attraction aspect. They’ve been together for almost a year and can still barely keep their hands of one another. Everything is perfect in that regard. What Brooke worries about is the thought that Vanessa might be getting bored of everything else.

She’s only just turned twenty six a couple of months ago and is tied into an incredibly domestic relationship. Brooke adores it, but what if Vanessa doesn’t? What if she worries that she’s wasting her twenties decorating the bathroom and buying brita filters when she could still be young and free?

It’s bullshit, Brooke knows it. She knows that Vanessa loves their life just as much as she does. But it doesn’t stop her from spiralling.

It doesn’t stop her from reaching to the bedside table for her phone, with the intention of proving to Vanessa that they aren’t old and boring. There’s still time for them to be young and carefree.

-x-

“Ness. Wake up.” Brooke whispers, her face on the pillow, inches away from Vanessa’s.

The morning sun streams in through the gap in the curtains, casting a golden light over Vanessa’s sleeping face. Brooke has barely slept all night, keeping herself awake with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, so the moment she saw Vanessa first begin to stir, she couldn’t resist waking her.

“Fuck off.” Vanessa grumbles, burying her face further into the pillow.

Brooke giggles and tickles Vanessa’s side, then trails soft kisses over her bare shoulder and collar. “I have something exciting to tell you.”

“They making a sequel to The Notebook?” She aks, squinting one eye open.

“That’s what you think is exciting? You’re such a loser. I love you.”

“Shut up.” Vanessa groans, stretching out her limbs, then she snuggles into Brooke’s side.

Brooke shakes her shoulder gently then tickles behind her ear. “Don’t go back to sleep. I meant it, I have something exciting to tell you.”

“This better be damn good, Mami, or I will whoop your ass for waking me up.” She murmurs into Brooke’s neck.

“We’re going to Aruba.”

Vanessa moves back just enough to raise her eyebrow skeptically at Brooke. “Right now?”

Brooke laughs and swats her arm playfully. “No not right now… next week.”

“Wait, bitch are you serious?”

“Completely serious.”

Vanessa sits up, now looking a lot more awake. “Like serious, serious? For real? We’re actually going to Aruba next week?”

Brooke nods and grins back at her, relishing in the sudden look of pure joy on her face. Vanessa beams, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why?”

“Think of it as an early anniversary present.”

“When did you-”

“I booked it last night. I wanted to surprise you but I couldn’t wait.”

“Damn, Brooky, couldn’t keep that shit a secret for even two minutes, could you?” Vanessa laughs loudly, tickling Brooke’s side. She nudges Brooke back into the mattress, peppering her with kisses, but then she pulls back again. “Wait, what about work?”

“The Sergeant owes me a favour for all the night shifts I’ve been covering, and I’ve already text Nina for you. It’s all taken care of. We’re going on vacation baby.”

-x-

“You’d better get that damn camera out of my face I swear to god.” Brooke grumbles as she checks her seatbelt for the fifteenth time. The air hostess has just finished the safety announcements, which were essentially just a list of all the ways that they could die on this flight, so Brooke’s anxiety is wreaking havoc on her mind.

Brooke hates flying, she always has. She doesn’t see the appeal of being crammed inside a metal tube that’s hurling at five hundred miles per hour through the sky. Vanessa, on the other hand, has been a bundle of excitement since they left the apartment four hours previously. Usually, she loves Vanessa’s energy and enthusiasm for life, but right now, all Brooke can focus on is the location of the closest emergency exit.

Plus, it’s six thirty in the morning.

“One more.” She pleads, flashing Brooke her best puppy dog eyes.

“One.” Brooke pouts, burying her face in the Vanessa’s shoulder when she tries to take the selfie.

“Brooke, you can’t even see your face in this picture, I gotta take it again.”

“Damn it Ness! This has got to be the hundredth photo you’ve taken this morning. Can’t we have one undocumented moment of this fucking trip?”

Vanessa’s smile falters momentarily and Brooke cringes as she regrets her harsh tone, then Vanessa lets out a short sigh as she smiles with her face full of understanding. “You take your xanax before we left?” She asks quietly, taking Brooke’s hand and rubbing her thumb over the knuckles.

Brooke lets out a deep breath and rubs her free hand over her face. “I did, but I don’t think it’s kicked in yet. Sorry for being an asshole.”

Vanessa shrugs and curls into Brooke’s side. “Its okay, I’ll try and tone it down until after the flight.”

Brooke shakes her head quickly. “No, you’re excited, you shouldn’t have to tone that down. I’m excited too, just feeling a little blehhgh.” She makes a noise like the verbalisation of a shrug combined with a grimace, but luckily Vanessa is fluent in Brooke.

“I know, baby.” She smirks, lacing their fingers together.

Brooke takes a few deep breaths to try and regain her focus, then turns to Vanessa with a smile. “How about we try taking that last photo again?”

-x-

The first thing Brooke does when they reach the room is take a shower to get rid of the grimy feeling that travelling always seems to give her, so that she can start to relax. But when she exits the bathroom, she sees that the entire contents of Vanessa’s case is strewn across the bedroom. Vanessa has a very different idea of relaxation.

Brooke crosses the room, traversing the various items of clothing on the floor. “Jesus Ness, how many swimsuits did you bring?” From the looks of it, Vanessa will be wearing nothing but swimsuits all week, not that Brooke would mind that.

She sees Vanessa on the balcony. The mid afternoon sun bounces off her hair and illuminates her skin, and the sheer kaftan that she’s wearing is just translucent enough to show an outline of her bikini underneath. Brooke’s breath hitches in her throat as she walks to Vanessa and wraps an arm around her waist from behind, holding up her towel with the other.

She’s incredibly glad that she paid more for a room with a sea view. It couldn’t be more perfect.

Vanessa turns in Brooke’s embrace, so that they’re facing one another, then unashamedly drags her eyes down the length of Brooke’s body. “Hi.” She whispers, dropping one hand to Brooke’s waist and bringing up the other to trace patterns on her exposed collarbones.

“Hi.” Brooke says softly back.

“You feelin better?”

Brooke nods and sighs deeply as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind Vanessa’s ear. “So much better.”

At that, Vanessa smirks devilishly. “This balcony is might private. I don’t think nobody is seeing what’s going on up here.”

“It sure is.” Brooke grins, running her tongue slowly over her teeth.

“So if I do… this” She swipes at Brooke’s towel, pulling it from her body and letting it drop to the floor. “Nobody can see.”

“Nobody but you, baby.” Brooke whispers, leaning down to kiss her.

Their kiss heats up quickly and Vanessa begins shedding her clothes as they step backwards towards the conveniently located double sunbed behind them. They tumble onto it together in a passionate frenzy of lips on lips, lips on skin, skin on skin.

Maybe it’s something about the sea air, or the excitement of being on vacation, but they went from zero to one hundred in an instant.

It’s tantalizing.

-x-

“Fuck.” Vanessa breathes out as she lays on her back, looking up at the sky.

Brooke kisses back up the length of her body and settles down beside her. “That good?” She teases and tickles Vanessa’s side as she tries to catch her breath.

She nods between pants, grinning widely.

They lay together, basking in the sunlight for what seems like an eternity, until Brooke eventually decides that they ought to make the most out of their vacation. “How about we get dressed up and hit the clubs later?”

Vanessa looks at her sceptically. “The clubs? You hate clubbing.”

“No I don’t!” Brooke says, probably too defensively. “Please, baby. I want to.”

Vanessa shakes her head and chuckles, then shrugs. “I guess so.”

Brooke doesn’t hate clubbing, she just isn’t a fan of excessive drinking and sweaty, over crowded dance floors. She’s certain she can enjoy it for one night, since she’s so desperate to prove to Vanessa that she can be young and fun still. She knows that she doesn’t need to and that it’s just a needless goal she’s set herself based on anxiety fuelled over thinking, but it doesn’t stop her from being determined.

She quickly realises whilst they’re out that she’s made a mistake. Sure, she’s enjoying the mixture of tropical cocktails and Vanessa is making her laugh so hard she keeps snorting, but she’s also exhausted. Her feet are sore in her heels, the edges of the room are faintly spinning and the beat from the music is ringing in her ears. She’d much rather be hanging out in a quiet bar with Vanessa rather than this club.

God, if Vanessa knows that, she will think Brooke is such a loser.

So Brooke forces herself to keep going. To keep dancing. Keep drinking.

Shots. Followed by more cocktails. Then shots again.

“Did you know tequila is the the only alcohol that isn’t a depressant.” She slurs into Vanessa’s ear after they finish another shot each.

Vanessa laughs loudly back, resting her hand on Brooke’s chest. “Hoe, you told me that like six times now.” She yells over the music.

“Oh.” Brooke pouts, then sees Vanessa grinning so bursts out laughing too. She isn’t even sure what they’re laughing at, they’re just giggling uncontrollably, holding onto each other like they’re the only two people in the world.

Brooke buries her nose in Vanessa’s hair, inhaling the scent of their fruity shampoo. “You smell pretty.” She hears herself slurring, but she doesn’t register saying the actual words. Weird.

“You drunk as fuck, Mami.”

Brooke shakes her head. Or at least, she thinks she’s shaking her head. The room is spinning so much it’s hard to tell. “No you’re drunk.” She retorts, like a petulant child, causing Vanessa to erupt into brash, gravelly laughter once more.

“I can’t argue with that.” She yells over the music.

“We should… get more alcohol?” Brooke suggests with a grin. “And more tequila. Did you know tequ-”

“Don’t you start that shit again.” Vanessa cuts her off before she has the chance to finish her fact. Brooke sticks out her lower lip in frustration. “One more shot.” Vanessa grins, tickling her side.

One more shot turns into two. Then three.

Brooke hasn’t been this drunk in years. It’s so liberating. Nothing else in the world matters. Nothing in Aruba matters. Nothing in the club matters. Just the feeling of Vanessa’s body pressed up against hers as they sway messily in time with the music.

Vanessa is her whole world.

“I love you. You’re my favourite person.” Brooke yells over the noise, leaning in close to Vanessa’s ear.

Then gradually, the sounds and lights around her fade to nothing.

-x-

When Brooke wakes up, the first thing that hits her is her blinding headache. She tries to move her hand up to press against her forehead but the motion makes her stomach churn. It’s too bright to open her eyes. Her mouth is as dry as sandpaper.

She may genuinely be dying.

“Morning sunshine.” She hears Vanessa’s booming voice somewhere in the room. Brooke groans in response.

She stretches out her legs, only to realise she is wearing shoes, so she forces herself to finally open her eyes. Vaguely, she recognises their hotel room, then looks down and sees she’s still wearing her dress from the night before. She groans once more and rolls over to bury her face in the pillow. “I’m dying.”

She hears Vanessa laugh as she walks across the room, followed by the sound of something being set down on the nightstand. “You aint dying, Mami, you hungover.”

“I’ve been hungover before, this is not a hangover. It’s death.”

Vanessa laughs again and Brooke feels the bed dip beside her, then Vanessa’s hand softly petting her hair. “You gotta drink this water.”

Brooke takes a few deep breaths so that she can be sure she won’t throw up, then turns round to face Vanessa. She’s wearing a matching pyjama shirt and shorts set, and looks as fresh a daisy. Brooke grimaces as she realises how awful she must look. Gratefully, she takes the water from Vanessa and takes three long gulps.

When she’s finished, Brooke sets the water back on the table, wipes her mouth ungracefully with the back of her hand, and flops back down onto the bed. “What happened last night?” She groans, dreading the answer.

She looks up and Vanessa chuckles. “You just had too much to drink, baby, that’s all.” She moves a little closer and presses the back of her hand against Brooke’s forehead. “You feeling okay?”

Brooke can only grimace and shake her head in response.

“You might feel better after a shower.”

The idea of moving from the bed sounds like the worst thing ever, but she also feels disgustingly sweaty and sticky and desperately needs a wash, so reluctantly, she agrees. Once in the bathroom, she winces at her disheveled state in the mirror and Vanessa laughs loudly as she comes to unzip her dress.

“Why am I still wearing this thing?” She grumbles as she toes off her shoes and lets Vanessa nudge her straps off her shoulders.

Vanessa looks up at her through the mirror and quirks her eyebrow with a grin. “You don’t remember?”

Brooke shakes her head and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on it nervously.

“Bitch you were slapping my hands away all crazy like, telling me you got a girlfriend so I wasn’t allowed to undress you.”

Brooke’s cheeks burn red with embarrassment. “Oh god.” She groans.

Vanessa laughs and nudges her playfully. “Drunk Brooke sure is loyal, that’s for sure.”

“Hey, sober Brooke is loyal too!”

“Yeah but like, drunk Brooke is extra loyal. Even when you were so out of it you couldn’t recognise my face you were still thinking bout me.”

“I’m always thinking about you.” Brooke tells her softly. Genuinely.

Once in the shower, Brooke begins to feel the grime of her hangover drift away. Vanessa leans up on her toes to wash Brooke’s hair and cover her chest and neck with kisses, and Brooke all but purrs in content. She tries not to think about how embarrassed she is about not only getting blackout drunk, but being the only one to have a terrible hangover.

Afterwards, they wrap themselves up in the largest towels they can find and head out to the balcony, where they lay tangled together, baking under the mid morning sun.

“Last night was different.” Vanessa laughs. She lays on her back with Brooke’s head on her chest and traces delicate patterns on her back.

“Good different?”

Vanessa chuckles again. “I had fun.”

Brooke can sense Vanessa is holding something back, so she worries that maybe it’s because she’s embarrassed. Or maybe she realises that Brooke is a complete loser who can’t handle her drink properly. Either way, it brings that sickening anxious feeling to the pit of her stomach.

“We could go out again tonight, if you want?”

Vanessa sighs deeply. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. What do you mean?” Brooke stammers. Vanessa untangles herself from Brooke’s arms and sits up, so Brooke props herself up a little too. Brooke’s eyebrows furrow with worry and she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.

“All this.” Vanessa gestures around them. “Booking a vacation without planning it first. Getting drunk then tryna go out and do it again, even though your ass been dying all morning. This isn’t you.”

She doesn’t really know why, but tears spring to the corner of Brooke’s eyes. “It can be me, if you want it to be.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?”

“I can be fun and spontaneous. I’m not old.”

Vanessa laughs loudly and Brooke’s face is flush with embarrassment. She’s about to get up to go back inside when Vanessa grabs her wrist. “No, baby, I’m not laughing at you.” She says through giggles. “But that’s what this is about? You think you’re old?”

“Too old for you.” Brooke murmurs and suddenly Vanessa’s face is a little more serious.

She’s sighs and leans in to cup Brooke’s cheek with her hand. “What’s brought this on?”

Brooke shrugs and looks away, desperately trying not to cry. “We’re just so domestic and comfortable now. I don’t want you to get bored.”

Vanessa shakes her head and smiles in disbelief. “Brooke, do you think that if I wanted to spend my life drinking and acting the fool and doing stupid shit that I would’ve fallen in love with you? I love our life. Nothing is more exciting to me than picking out tile patterns for our bathroom or taking care of our kitties. I never thought I would get a life like this.” She’s stops speaking when she sees Brooke crying, and pulls her tightly against her chest. “It’s okay, baby.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that you’ve got to do all kinda shit to make me happy, when all I ever need to make me happy is you.” She kisses Brooke’s forehead gently. “I just want to spend the rest of this vacation with the real you, okay?”

“Okay.”

And that’s exactly what they do.

They visit the open air spa and get luxurious massages. They have long, gentle strolls along the beach, taking photographs and picking up interesting sea shells. They visit the local village in the day time, then spend the evenings curled up in each other’s arms on the sunbed of their balcony, watching the sunset on the horizon.

And they talk, really talk, finding out new things about each other every day. All the little things that they haven’t learnt over the past year.

It’s perfect.

Brooke never wants it to end.

On their last evening, Brooke sits with her back propped up against pillows on the sunbed, with Vanessa’s head in her lap. She fell asleep almost an hour ago and Brooke has been playing with her hair ever since, weaving her fingers through the strands and dragging her nails gently over her scalp, in the way that she knows she loves.

Idly, she tries to think about her life before Vanessa, but she genuinely can’t remember what it was like. Who did she talk to when she couldn’t sleep at 4am? How did she spend her weekends? Where did she channel all the intense, unconditional love she feels burning inside of her?

This has been the best year of her life.

Way back when they met, Brooke could’ve taken a different turning and never seen Vanessa on that street corner. Or when she was getting worked up about their relationship, if Vanessa wasn’t so resilient, she could’ve pushed her away for good. The thought just doesn’t bare thinking about.

On some level, Brooke likes to believe that even if things would’ve worked out differently in the beginning, they still would’ve ended up where they are now. She’s never been a big believer in astrology or fate, but maybe she can get on board with the idea that two people destined to be together will always find their way to one another, no matter the difficulties.

Brooke and Vanessa are perfect for one another. They balance each other. They complete each other.

After a little while, Brooke notices Vanessa stir as she starts to wake up. Her eyes twitch and Brooke strokes her cheek with the pad of her thumb as she comes to. When her eyes open, there’s a very brief flicker of confusion, but then she catches Brooke’s eye and her lips form a huge, dopey grin.

Her eyes are heavy with sleep, but still she smiles, flashing her perfect white teeth.

It’s breathtaking.

Brooke realises in that moment that she could never, ever, love anyone more.

“Marry me?”

“What?” Vanessa mumbles sleepily.

She didn’t hear her. Brooke could say something different, it’s her chance to take it back. To make sure this is what she really wants. They’ve only been together for a year, it’s way too soon to propose.

No.

This is right. It feels right.

Brooke is certain.

“Marry me?” She asks again, more assuredly this time.

Vanessa’s grin widens and shakes her head in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

Brooke sits up properly and Vanessa follows, so that they are cross legged in front of one another, with their fingers linked in the middle.

“I didn’t plan this. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll get you one the minute we get home. Any ring you want.”

Fuck. She’s rambling about the ring and Vanessa hasn’t even said yes yet.

“I love you.” She continues. “I love our life. And I know we haven’t been together long, but I will never love anyone as much as I love you. I’m so fucking sure about this. So, Vanessa Mateo, will you-“

“Yes!” Vanessa blurts out, then crashes their lips together.

Of course Vanessa would be too excited to let Brooke finish the question.

Brooke wouldn’t have it any other way.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #smut #lesbian au #police au #kite #tw alcohol #submission #for your safety

60 notes · View notes

statusquoergo · 5 years

Text

Luckily for us, after the debacle that was last week’s episode, this one really has nowhere to go but up.

Aside from pretending that that big dramatic fight at the end of the previous episode never happened, they didn’t do too badly with it, either.

First of all, because Donna prides herself on keeping the firm together, Faye calls her to inform her that she’s fired Samantha, and Faye knows that when everyone acts against her, “it won’t be through proper channels,” and if Donna doesn’t stop them, the firm likely won’t survive the year (another reminder that the senior partners threatening a mass resignation was utterly toothless). That’s a good and true point and all that but I have to ask, did Donna move into Harvey’s place at some point and I missed it? Why wasn’t that a bigger deal? Or is she just over there like, all the time?

That’s a pretty minor concern, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just been bugging me. Anyway Samantha goes to Robert because after she was fired, she “didn’t know where else to go,” and Robert, who already knows about the outcome of the Mike Ross case because of course he does (even though it wrapped, like, yesterday), tells her to sit tight because her partners are probably already at work on a plan to kick Faye out of the firm and get Samantha her job back. Samantha isn’t so sure; “Harvey’s the reason [she] got fired in the first place,” after all. And he doesn’t trust you anymore, you mean, mean lady.

Harvey, Louis, Donna, and Alex are, in fact, meeting on the Rooftop of Major Decisions to figure out how they’re going to get rid of Faye and get Samantha her job back (that was quick); they agree to “find something” in Faye’s apparently spotless record that’ll prompt the NYSBA to remove her (even though a special master is under the purview of the judiciary…). In a lingering shot that's definitely not foreshadowing anything, Donna elects to respond with a nervous expression rather than a verbal agreement (despite the fact that reporting Faye to the NYSBA was, as of about a minute ago, her idea).

Hey, did you know this show is sponsored by Lexus? Lexus would really like to remind you that Suits is sponsored by Lexus. So as Harvey steps out of his dramatically center-frame Lexus, Robert accosts him to give him shit for not getting Faye out of the firm fast enough, even though it’s been about two days, and they came up with a plan last night. (Truly this show exists in another realm of time and space.) Harvey defends himself for yelling at Samantha for lying to his face (specifically counter to Robert’s assertion that he yelled at her because her fabrication was an attack on Mike, which, hurtful), and Robert clues him in that Faye fired Samantha because she saw them fighting in the middle of Samantha’s office. Because him dragging her down to the file room would’ve been way less suspicious.

Apparently Katrina’s amazing idea to delete Brian’s voicemail wasn’t so amazing after all, because if she’d bothered to listen to it, she might not be so blindsided to find him in her office with a suit against Katrina’s client, Kurt’s Coffee, on behalf of his client Kurt, who’s decided he was forced out of the company even though Katrina is quite certain that he left of his own volition and was fairly compensated. She threatens to have Brian thrown off the case due to conflict of interest, being that he represented Kurt’s Coffee when he worked at ZSLWW, but he asks her not to do that on the grounds that his move “hasn’t gone great” and he really needs this to impress the partners. She declines to have him removed but will nevertheless be filing a motion to dismiss, which he’s totally fine with. That’s so almost professional of them, I’m so proud.

Overtly demonstrating how truly unnecessary it was for Robert to threaten Harvey, Louis arrives at Harvey’s office to opine that chatting up Faye’s ex-husband George is their best bet for digging up shit on her, except that the divorce settlement is sealed and he might not talk to them. Harvey dismisses the issue by saying that they’ll make him, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s being overly confident, or depressed and uncaring.

Next up, Alex takes a truly bizarre reading of Faye’s behavior when he approaches Donna to play the lead plaintiff in a suit against Faye on the grounds that she has a problem with strong women. To wit, she tried to strip Donna of her vote (point of order, she would have been equally satisfied to accept Harvey losing his vote), she took Gretchen from Louis against her will (point of order, Gretchen offered her services so Donna could go on a date with Harvey), and she fired Samantha without proof (point of order, she saw Harvey and Samantha yelling about fabricating evidence and when confronted, Samantha cleared Harvey’s name but not her own). Alex probably just forgot to mention the part where she took Louis's managing partnership. Donna refuses to “go after another woman on false pretenses,” which I guess is our feminism quota for the…season, and clarifies that she didn’t actually join in on the rooftop agreement to do “whatever it takes” to get rid of Faye, not to mention the fact that “shit like this is exactly why she’s here in the first place.” Alex immediately apologizes, fessing up that he feels bad for not warning Samantha that Faye asked him to spy on her out of the suspicion that she would do “exactly what she did.” Donna helpfully points out that Faye spying on them isn’t exactly a secret, Samantha chose to “cross a line” anyway, and if Alex really wants to help her, he should probably go stop her from doing whatever stupid shortsighted thing she’s going to do to make things worse.

Speaking of, Samantha is meeting up with her old buddy Tom, who you’d be forgiven for forgetting was introduced in “Managing Partner” (s08e10) as the dude who enlisted Samantha as an FBI informant against Jarvis, Ellis, and Green (former owners of the firm currently known as Rand Kaldor); Samantha wants to cash in her chit to get the FBI to dig up some dirt on Faye, but Tom won’t let himself be burned twice, so he demands information on her client Gavin Andrews in exchange. Samantha argues that any information she knew before yesterday is covered by attorney-client privilege, Tom conveniently forgets about the crime-fraud exception and orders her to “get some shit on him starting today,” she frets that Andrews doesn’t trust her anymore, and Tom says that the terms of his offer are non-negotiable. So take that.

You know what show had a cute and not-offensive take on the whole “two people of the same gender being understandably mistaken for a couple” trope? Parks and Recreation. You know what show does not so much? Suits. Harvey and Louis apparently secured their meeting with Faye’s ex by posing as a couple purchasing a term life insurance policy, but George calls bullshit on that immediately because Harvey is way too hot to be marrying Louis. So…yay, equal rights. George explains that the line he crossed was over-billing his firm’s three biggest clients and using the surplus to fund some class actions, and Faye reported him to the Ethics Board as soon as she found out, but boy isn’t it weird that she “squeezed every nickle” out of him and then let him keep his license?

Susan approaches Katrina at the copy machine, the firm’s second most appropriate and third most common place for people to accost each other with requests for favors (less appropriate than the offices but ahead of the bathroom), to offer her services in the Kurt’s Coffee suit, and Katrina eventually admits that she wants to be “armed to the teeth with case law” when she makes her motion to dismiss. Susan seems rather pleased, and I gotta say, I’m liking this dynamic.

Lo and behold, George was telling the truth about the divorce settlement: Faye cleaned him out. But! Louis doesn’t trust him, and his story doesn’t line up with the Faye they know. Fair enough, but wait a second— “It’s easy to not care about money when you have it.” George’s testimony won’t be enough to prove that Faye took the money to pursue her dream of becoming a special master, but Louis knows where to start.

Alex finds Samantha in the gym demonstrating some truly lackluster boxing skills and offers to help her with whatever plan she’s devised to get back at Faye, but it seems that turning Gavin Andrews in to the FBI is too batshit insane, even for him, because the “list of shit” Andrews has on her will land her in prison for sure. Samantha yet again brings up her tumultuous childhood, and silly me thinking she was going to say something about the firm feeling like a real family, the problem here is actually that she promised herself that once she aged out of the foster system, she’d “never feel that powerless again.” She and Alex figure out that the one person in the world Andrews trusts less than Samantha is his niece, who owes them one on account of the fact that they previously told her that Andrews was using her name in his tax evasion scheme (not sure I follow that, but okay), so they’re going to do…something. Sounds good.

Apparently Louis and Harvey think Faye did more than just screw over her ex-husband; they think she “manipulated the Ethics Board for personal gain,” and they need Gretchen’s help to prove it: They want her to reach out to her contacts at her former place of employment for any dirt she can dig up on Faye. She agrees…on the condition that Harvey throw Louis a baby shower. Because he wants one. And like, I can see how this might seem cute or sentimental or whatever, if you’re into that sort of thing, but it’s also mild emotional blackmail (not as bad as Donna gunning for COO, but still), or at least extortion, and definitely wildly inappropriate workplace behavior, not the least of it because they’re her superiors.

Part II

#suits usa #s09e06 #season 9 #analysis

3 notes · View notes

eerythingisshaka · 6 years

Text

#Fictober Day 29

“At least it can’t get any worse.”

(VoodooKing!T’Challa)

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Violence, death, examples of racism

A/N: Giving you some Get Out style themes here. This was inspired by Stephen King’s ‘Thinner’ a lil bit too.

Summertime opens the Earth up to warmth, sunshine, and the beauty of nature awakening with full colors and life. Along with such good sights, people travel far and wide to enjoy them at their peak abroad. This is usually a perk for the traveler but for the people of their desired destination, it’s kind of a mixed bag.

T’Challa looked off into the golden plains of Wakanda with burdens on his heart. Tourists would be entering parts of the land to shop and observe the ‘third world’ experience. Of course, more robust areas of Wakanda’s city would still remain hidden, but the white people seemed to enjoy the goats and huts just as much.

“T’Challa, are you sulking again?” Niyilo sat next to him, tossing her locs over her shoulder .

He shrugs. “A little. It’s not a crime.” He mutters under his breath, chewing on some seeds.

Niyilo bumps his shoulder. “Ahh, come on then! This isn’t our first rodeo! The first group of tourists were ok enough.”

“Yes, their trash was a welcome goodbye present, and all of the broken furniture we had to fix. The reckless, good for nothing-”

Niyilo kisses her teeth. “What do you expect? People do not go away to be on their best behavior, this is just the business we are in. You just make sure the alcohol is flowing so I can bring the suckers in for a reading and I can finally get Toku that hoverbike he has been wanting forever!”

T’Challa nods half-heartedly. “Yes, things are replaceable. At least it can’t get any worse.” He made his way to the winery to fill some gallon glass bottles with drink from thefermenting barrels. The sun was high as noon came, a sticky humidity settled in the air as he took a handkerchief and wiped his bow and neck dry.

Toku runs up through the crowds of Wakandans scuffling around their little village excitedly. “T’Challa! Do you see it! The boat, it’s coming!” His little voice was adorably high pitched as he pointed in the direction of the boat.

It was hard to miss as it pulled towards Wakanda’s shores. The people they get are visitors from a multi-country tour of African nations and the way to Wakanda is across a river separating them from their previous location.

“Ahh, I see it. Make sure you cleaned up your mother’s area in time for them to be here. They won’t give treats to a lazy boy.” T’Challa warned with a finger wag. Toku beamed as he ran back to Niyilo’s hut to do as he was told. Toku loved the tourists because they would see his face and just melt at his cuteness, buying him sweets or giving him a coin to keep. T’Challa found it to be humiliating and degrading, but he let it slide since they were showing some level of kindness.

When the boat docked, its passengers spilled out, chattering with phones out and bags in hand. Men awaited them to help if needed to make their way to their dwelling areas. Polite thank yous were given, some money exchanged as the white people came into town, reddened by the sun but smiling nonetheless.

T’Challa sees Toku darting out towards the tourists with flowers in hand as a welcome gift.

“Wamkelekile!” He said happily, as some women awed at his kindness, patting his head and pinching his cheeks. One woman with her husband reached into her purse, appearing ready to give him something.

“Oh please, Carol! Haven’t you spent enough money on this trip already that you have to give it away to these island people!” The man bristles looking at Toku with disgust.

She looks at her husband pleading. “Oh John! Could you be more compassionate! He is just a child, and we are not on an island!” she exclaimed, handing a small token in Toku’s hand.

“Enkosi!” He says with a bow, running away happily to T’Challa.

“See, you just made that kid a millionaire, I bet. Should’ve gave the mongrel a puka shell or something. This place is a damn poverty palace.” He takes his hat off to wipe his bald spot of sweat.

Toku shows T’Challa the useless American 25 cent piece in his hand, talking about the nice lady who gave it to him.

“What about the man, was he kind to you?” T’Challa asked, already knowing the answer.

Toku just nods. “He didn’t want me to have it but his wife did anyway. He’ll come around once he sees how good we are!”

T’Challa runs the boys head before sending him off to do chores. He had a bad feeling about the man called John, but took solace in the fact that their stay would only be one day according to schedule.

When night fell, The band was like on drums, cymbals, and guitars playing lively sounds of the region to entertain the guests. Performers in traditional garb stepped and moved to the beats as the crowd clapped for them, joining when the spirits flowing in their glasses hit their mind. T’Challa watched the crowd, filling people’s glasses when they looked low so their moods stayed high and wallets open.

“Hey, c’mere with that sweet ass, baby!”

T’Challa looked to the right of him to see the man called John sitting front row and wide legged reaching for the skirt of one woman performing. She smiled and tried to dance away from him but with the choreography, that was proving difficult. His wife sat behind him, nursing a drink and looking sick.

“John, stop embarrassing me! They are not here for that!” She scolds him quietly.

He looks back at her like she was a stranger. “Maybe you should get up here and learn a thing or two about this, huh? Keep your man happy the way the natives do! That’s why we our forefathers couldn’t leave them alone!”

T’Challa watches as Carol scoffs and walks away from him as that was the last straw. At some point finding her way back to her hut, Niyilo intercepts her.

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright? You are looking so blue,”

Carol sighs, coming up to Niyilo. “It’s just...my asshole of a husband is bringing me down and I apologize on his behalf everywhere we go, but I’m sick of it!”

Niyilo nods knowingly. “I see, do you mind if I….” She holds her hands out, bracelets jingling.

Carol nods giving her hands to Niyilo who examines her palms. “Mmm, I see…”

Carol looks at them like a book. “What, what do you see?”

Niyilo lets them go and shrugs. “Many things, some good...some bad. But I wouldn’t stress too much about it. Not until you get back to your home anyway.”

Carol puts her hands together pleading. “Could you tell me what you saw? I could use any help I can get, and I can tell this is important!”

Niyilo turns, her gold and purple skirt flying up and following her along the ground. “If you would like a session with me, it will cost you, but I am afraid I am closed for the evening.”

Carol digs around in her purse. “Please, I’ll give you extra, just this one fortune telling and I’m out of your hair. Is this enough?”

Niyilo takes the loose Wakandan bills counting up the amount being three times her asking price. “This will work, follow me.”

Niyilo leads Carol into her hut to sit at a table draped in a dark cloth. As they sit, Niyilo takes a velvet bag and dumps its contents of feathers, bones, vibranium pieces and leaves on the table.

“Oh, you don’t have a ball or cards?” Carol asks nervously.

Niyilo ignores her question as she waves her hands above the materials, breathing in deeply and muttering to herself.

“I use this to confirm my first impressions of clients, and it appears I was a little off…” Niyilo says, closing her eyes tightly in concentration.

“Oh! Am I better off than you thought?”

“No, worse….that husband of yours is so evil. You excuse his behavior to stay with him…”

Carol bristles at her comment. “Well, look, he’s a good guy for the most part. He always gives some donation to the Salvation army on his taxes-”

“Silence! He is ill, his heart blackened, growing more so by each passing day. If you don’t want to face his same fate, you must get rid of him.”

“How? I can’t divorce him, he wouldn’t leave me with a dime, especially since we don’t have kids.”

Niyilo hold a finger up. “The universe can right wrongs, though it may take longer.” Her eyes snap open and she jumps up to standing. “Bast!”

Carol looks at her confused as she turns to see John stomping towards them. “Carol! I didn’t think I’d have to watch over you like a child, yet here you re wandering off!” Carol leaves the hut, pressing her husband to go away.

T’Challa has left his post at the party to have a quick smoke of the Earth’s finest when he sees Toku playing from a distance.

“Toku! What are you doing, boy? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Toku runs up to T’Challa. “I couldn’t sleep, and neither could the fireflies! I wanted to catch them!”

T’Challa puts out his roach, standing up. “Fireflies do not have bedtimes, you do. Let’s go back to your mother’s.”

Heading back to Niyilo, T’Challa hears multiple voices yelling. It was hard to see in the dark, but once he could he broke into a sprint. John was hunched over Niyilo, arm flying up and down towards the ground where Niyilo laid still.

“Give me my money, you black witch!” John sputtered drunkenly as Carol whimpered helplessly.

T’Challa tackles John to the ground, holding him down. “What is the meaning of this, huh? You attacking a woman, for what?!”

John scoffs. “That ‘woman’ is a thief. Couple that with my wife being an idiot and I’m out $500 bucks.

“Mama!” Toku says sorrowfully.

T’Challa looks behind him to see Toku kneeling by his mother, moving her arm to wake her, tears soaking his cheeks. T’Challa gets up to look over his friend, but can barely recognize her face bruised and bloodied.

T’Challa picks her up and takes her inside, praying he wasn’t too late. John gets up dusting himself off. “Serves her right. I suspect you can get my money back then, huh puka?” John asks Toku who is bawling.

T’Challa comes out of the hut pulling Toku behind him. “You are sick, a devil incarnate. Keep away from here!”

John laughs. “The heathen telling me about what is righteous in the world! That is something special!”

“John, let’s go!” Carol insists.

“I’m going back to the party. You go home, I mean it! I don’t wanna see you until the boat comes back!” John looks back to T’Challa, arms wide. “I expect my money on my pillow next to a mint, man.”

As he strolls away. T’Challa stomps back into the hut, looking pitifully at Niyilo. “Toku, your mother will be ok, I promise. Niyilo, can you hear me?”

Toku puts a pillow under his mother’s head as T’Challa pats her hand to wake her. Suddenly she awakes coughing.

“Bast! Niyilo! You are still with us! Tell me what to do, so you have something here for your injuries.”

Her head moves slowly side to side. “Don’t call anyone….stay here.”

T’Challa nods. “Anything. Tell me what you need.”

Her one good eye opens as she looks to T’Challa. “I need you for a favor. I will die soon…”

T’Challa looks quickly to Toku and back. “Don’t be nonsensical. We will get a doctor to see you. Toku, go-”

“Don’t!” Her voice rang clearly that moment. “I said stay. T’Challa, brag the clear bottle on the bottom shelf behind you.”

T’Challa does so, bringing it back an opening it as Niyilo continues. “Toku, you will have to be a big boy now, ok? I want you to listen to T’Challa, whatever he says.” Toku nods, wiping his tears.

“T’Challa, this is my last ask of you. I will drink of this bottle, as will you. You will repeat my words three times so that you can carry out my final request.”

T’Challa nods. “Anything, whatever you need.”

Niyilo smiles weakly as T’Challa tips her head forward to drink from the bottle, and he follows. Niyilo says some words that he remembers as a nursery rhyme of evil when he was a boy, with some additional words. He never knew this was a spell, for what would soon be revealed. He felt his spirit shake within him as his head snapped backward violently, his vision went black.

---

John walks to the party surveying his hand, cursing Niyilo’s face for bruising his knuckles. He sits at a table, snapping his fingers to be served.

As a glass is filled and handed to him, John takes it, but in process the server grabs his arm tightly. John looks up to see a man dressed in a vest, bare chested, tattered pants and sandals, holding an elaborately engraved walking stick adorned with feathers and bone.

The man bends down face to face to John. His grey eyes had dark circles around them as his teeth necklace dangled between them. “John Williams, you have the nerve to still remain on these grounds, drinking our fairest grain alcohol?”

John swallows hard. “Who do you think-”

He pulls him John up to standing by his shirt one handed. “You come here and make a mockery of our culture, make perverse remarks, and abuse us? We will not have it.”

John squirms. “I will have the military here to destroy this whole outhouse you call a country if you don’t unhand me buddy!”

He drops John to the ground. “You cannot understand because you have not seen, you do not know. Tsk.” John coughs, bringing himself to his feet to give the voodoo man a piece of his mind, but he had disappeared in thin air.

John plops on his chair, heartbeat cracking his chest bone from this excitement before taking a swig from his glass. He spits it out.

“Gah! That literally tastes like piss. Waitress!”

A woman comes to him asking how things are. “Can you fill this with some rum and coke, I don’t know what this shit is.”

The woman cocks her head to the side in confusion. “I don’t understand…”

John has had enough of this and stands in her face. “I said I want a DRINK! A proper one, not this horseshit that voodoo creep came and poured, and ice for my hand while you’re at it, toots!” He holds his fist up to her face.

“Aye! Man, what’s your problem?” A male worker comes to the waitresses aid.

“Oh please MON, keep your distance. This doesn’t include you.”

The male worker talks to his co-worker. “Where is he from, I thought they were all American.”

John fumes. “I AM AN AMERICAN! How dare all of you, take me to the embassy. This is beyond what you people can help me with now.”

The man talks slowly in English. “Where are you from? Do you have ID? Or someone with you who speaks English?”

John stammers incredulously. “I am speaking English! Are you too dumb to understand! I can hear you clearly!” John puts a hand on the guys shoulder who shoves it away. John pushes him back, causing a scuffle. Other workers see this and break them up, telling John to leave.

“Oh, shut up! I’m going! When that boat comes back, I’ll be the first on on it!” John says staggering away.

John decides to walk back to his hut to call it a night but gets lost along the way. Peering through the trees, he sees a tall dark figure, looking to be carrying a stick.

“You! You, get back here! Tell me what the hell is going on!” John tries to run toward it, but he’s gone as soon as he appeared. John continues on until he sees lights in the distance to indicate civilization again.

The snap of a twig takes John’s attention as he looks back to find two glowing eyes peering at him in the trees. A low growl begins to rattles his bones as he makes a feeble attempt to run away. A branch smacks him in the face, causing him to fall into a large puddle of muck. The animal’s steps can be heard clearly as he staggers to stand up and run out of the forested area. John’s body was not used to this much activity as he heaved, chest burning as he tried to catch his breath, he makes it to the row of residential huts. He wipes his face, regretting it as he forgot about the muck he fell in coated his hands. He still couldn’t tell what hut was his so he knocked on a door to request help. He heard people inside but they didn’t come to the door. He yelled out for help, but still none arrived. John was exhausted, limping as his ankle got twisted during the run, he sees a child walking up the street ahead of him.

“Hey, hey kid! Help me out will ya! Which hut am I supposed to be in.”

The child turns around, appearing startled and begins to run.

“Wait! Come on, I won’t hurt ya! Give me a break, I’ve had a long night!” John limped at a light jog as he caught up to the boy knocking on a door.

The door opens as the boy runs up hugging Carol. “My God, Toku! What are you doing here, you should be home taking care of your mother.”

Toku turns around to point at a muddy and batter John. “Carol, thank God. Listen, you gotta-”

Carol holds Toku tighter stepping backwards. “Who are you, what do you want?”

John remember his appearances and tries to wipe the dried mud off him. “Carol it’s me, John. Don’t be scared honey, you know how I get sometimes.”

Carol puts Toku behind her. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you stay away from me, ok?”

John is almost inside now, becoming impatient. “Carol! Dammit, quit acting crazy-”

Carol screams pushing him out, making him fall on his back. Other neighbors come out of their huts, clambering around to survey the commotion.

John gets up slower than ever, looking around the crowd. “What is your problem? Why is everyone treating me like some other? Can’t anyone help me?”

The face of the crowd peered at him horrified, some running back inside their huts.

“No! No! I need some assistance, dammit. That’s it! What kind of people are you, I earned my way on this trip just like you. Carol!” He walks back to her who cowers against the hut. “You’re starting a damn scene, acting so stupid!”

BANG!

A shot rings out, startling the crowd as a hunter appears, walking towards John who has crumbled to his knees.

The crowd questioned what was that? What did it want? The hunter assured the crowd that everything was under control as John laid dying. Calmly, everyone walked into their homes.

The hunter kneeled, looking over the gaping hole in John’s chest.

Spitting up blood John says, “The hell is wrong with you? How could you shoot me? I didn’t hurt anyone and you shot me like an animal.”

The hunter looked at him with his grey eyes. “You’re a liar, John.”

John coughs some more. “You understand me? No one else could! Please, is there help on the way.”

The hunter become clouded in a static haze as his gear turns into the vest and stick carrying fellow he ran into before. “John, you have not lived a fulfilling life. Leaving many people broken and worse for meeting you.”

John couldn’t believe his eyes. “You bastard! And that witch, is she behind this? She has a hex on me?!”

He kisses his teeth. “Worse. You are just beginning to feel the wrath of having killed a voodoo queen in cold blood. That was your wife’s reading, that she paid for. But you control her with an iron fist so much, that reason is foreign to you.”

John is coming in and out of consciousness as he lay dying. The voodoo man stands. “You were shot dead like the animal you portray yourself as. You will die here, your body becoming shell of an unknown creature since foreign things anger you so. Your soul will not rest, being crushed, you will feel your bones break freshly every moment of your eternal damnation to equate the pulverizing nature you thrust on others without regard to their humanity.”

John tries to talk but chokes on his blood.

“As for Carol, she will believe you to be missing, never seen again and eventually declared dead. Your assets are hers and she will finally begin to heal from your ways and serve communities that you hated so much.” Kneeling next to John, he whispers in his ear, “And there are no refunds.”

As soon as John gave his last passing breath, the voodoo man convulsed, crumpling to the floor. Toku ran out of Carol’s hut looking over him.

“T’Challa! Are you ok?”

T’Challa sits up rubbing his head. “I’ve been better, but I’ll live. You?”

Toku runs up to him, hugging him tightly. T’Challa stands up with him in his arms, looking at the rotting corpse of some animal sitting before him.

“God, what is that?” Carol looks at it disgusted.

“I’m not sure, but I will get someone to retrieve it.” T’Challa says, taking Toku away.

“Sir! If you see my husband, just steer clear. I’m sorry for his behavior today, I will cover any bills the fortune teller has to recover. It’s not enough, I know, but it’s the least I can do.”

T’Challa looks back at her blankly. “You can see me later about that, sure. And I won’t want to be where your husband is if you paid me.”

#fictober18 #black panther fanfic #t'challa fic #fanfic #shakafic

26 notes · View notes

diyunho · 7 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Mother”

The Joker doesn’t have a past: nobody knows who he is or where he came from. But he has a Mother and God help the ones finding out the secret: they won’t live to see another day. Even if she is a mystery herself, The King of Gotham wouldn’t trust anybody else because a long time ago Mother proved him wrong when he thought nobody cared.

“So what do you say, Mister J? Would you like to close the deal?”

The Joker takes a deep breath, pretending to weight in the offer, then swiftly answers:

“I don’t do human trafficking.”

“Oh, come on Mister J, there’s such good money from it,” Lex points out towards the piles of $100.00 bills scattered on the negotiation table. The other 6 men in the room nervously watch The King of Gotham, hoping he will change his mind. They need his territory to expand the business.

“Allow me to show you something,” Lex continues, signaling Jase and the gangster leaves for a couple of minutes, returning with a woman he pushes inside the room, cussing at her as she fights his grip. J is silent, observing the scene without any trace of emotion on his face.

“Take this one for example,” Jase slams you against the wall, telling you to behave. “We got her last night. A little bit on the older side, looks like she is in her mid 30’s, but you know, some clients would still prefer her over the younger ones: she’s beautiful and we can get a few productive years out of her.”

You shiver, disgusted, being so cold you can barely think straight.

J stares you down and the mobster keeps on going:

“One of my men wanted to sample the merchandise this morning and she knocked his lights out. As a punishment, we kept her in the shed outside for hours; almost below zero in this crazy weather. That ought to teach her who’s in charge! It usually does the trick, ain’t that right, honey?” he winks and they all laugh, except The Joker.

You bite on your blue lips so you can feel them again: you were in that shed for so long without a coat, just jeans and a sweater. Frozen to the bone, you can’t control your shaking. You hug yourself in a faint attempt to warm up.

“Cat got your tongue?” another one snickers, thrilled at you present situation. “Mister J,” he turns towards their guest,” would you like to evaluate the assets before you say no the deal? She needs a lesson and you are perfect for the task: do whatever you want with her. I bet you like the feisty ones, don’t…you…?” His smirk turns into a grimace when J gives him a demented glare.

“And how the fuck do you know what I like?” The Joker growls, displeased with the assumption while tapping his fingers on the table. “I’m not a rapist!” he snarls, cracking his neck.

The guys are all fast to talk, realizing they upset him; they had no idea this will take such an unexpected turn.

“No way, Mister J!”

“By all means, we didn’t mean to offend you!”

“She wants it for sure: it’s her job. That’s what whores do!” Jase concludes, trying to convince J of their goodwill.

“And how do you know she’s a whore?” The Clown Prince of Crime smacks his lips, sighing with annoyance.

“Sir, you know that…”

J interrupts, muttering through his clenched teeth:

“The fact that you kidnap somebody and force them into prostitution doesn’t make them a whore!”

The wannabe business partners have no clue on how to reply and why this is sliding on such a dangerous slope so fast: they thought they had it figured out.

“You there!” The Joker shouts, making you gaze his way. “You wanna have sex with me?”he bluntly inquires.

You nod a no and a confirmation is expected:

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes,” the reply fallows without hesitation.

“She said no,” J becomes even more imposing as soon as he adjusts the collar of his long, white furry coat. “If I force her it’s rape and I am not a rapist,” he underlines the last word, getting pissed.

“Mister J, come on now. We just thought…”

“You thought wrong!” he raises his voice and gets up from the table, stepping towards you, not excited about this stupid evening.

He stops in front of you and takes the coat from his shoulders, placing it around you.

“Are you OK?” he asks, looking you in the eyes.

“U-hum,” you sniffle, already better since the fur is so cozy.

“One of these days you’ll get yourself killed, or worse…” he leans over to whisper in your ear.

The men are getting impatient; something is off.

“The girls are here,” you announce in a low tone, resting your forehead on his chest. “All my children are here; I saw them last night when I was brought to this place.”

“What’s going on?” Jase moves his chair and the others follow.

“SIT. YOUR. ASS.DOWN !!!!!!” J commands with such ferocity they have no choice but to execute his request.

“Who…who is this, Mister J ?” Lex suspiciously brings up the concern they all share.

“This, gentlemen,” he promptly turns towards them, softly caressing your back, “is my Mother. THE Mother,” he emphasizes the statement and it suddenly makes you warmer. It’s the first time in so many years he referred to you as his Mother.

The gangsters exchange quick glances, panicking.

“This is Mother?” Lex holds his breath, hoping it’s all a misunderstanding.

The wild grin on your face and the fact that The Joker admitted to the connection between the two of you confirms their fear: at this point they know none of them will live to tell.

*****************

Nobody knew where you came from. Almost 26 back then, you already had a whole underground network going. So much mystery and secrecy surrounding your existence, so many rumors and assumptions about who you really were. Not a single soul was even aware of your real name; everybody just called you Mother.

Why? Because you helped and cared about those that didn’t matter: the ones living on the streets, the ones abandoned by society or deemed to insignificant to take into consideration when they were abused, went missing or forced to perform unspeakable acts simply because they were considered worthless.

You worked bellow the grid and often used less than orthodox methods to accomplish your missions. Even the authorities used you when they had no leads for different unsolvable cases, especially regarding human trafficking. All done behind closed doors, of course: Mother’s name never came up in any reports or in the news when there was an unexpected breakthrough. How could they admit they got help from someone like you?! It would have been such a scandal if the public knew the truth.

Many times you would go undercover yourself, having your crew ready to take action when you gave them the signal. Some other times you would actually be the bait, walking alone at night in less than respectable neighborhoods, especially districts with high volume of kidnappings, allowing yourself to be abducted if the occasion arose.

It was an opportunity to infiltrate the complicated maze of human smuggling in order to try and save as many as you could. It was your choice and you had your reasons, despite your team’s efforts to make you change your mind.

What you did was very dangerous, that’s why you changed your physical appearance very often: you never looked the same for more than a few days at a time, never stayed for too long at any hideout. Always on the move, hardly traceable or recognizable if you didn’t want to be.

**************

The first time you met him was on a Friday. He hesitantly stepped inside your office at your main hideout and looked nervous noticing all the security around the place. You were sitting at the desk and Kai was standing to your left; he wouldn’t have abandoned that spot even dead.

“How old are you?” you asked the young man, trying to figure out what’s going on with him. He had long brown hair back then, almost elbow length and his blue eyes were a lighter shade than today.

“22…” he muttered.

“More like 19-20,hm?” you called him out on his obvious lie. ”Anyway, what’s you name?”

He struggled to answer.

“I need a name, I don’t care if it’s your real one or not. Make up something!”

“Umm…Jack,” he shortly replied.

“Jack in the Box!” you snorted, amused by the first thought you got when you heard the name. Definitely not the real moniker but it was fine.

You took out a cigarette from the pack and Kai was quick to snatch it.

“You have enough bad habits, Mother,” and he put it inside the jacket of his suit, knowing you are not going to be happy.

“Are you kidding me?! Give that back!”

Kai pretended not to hear and you weren’t excited:

“You’re fired!”

“No I’m not,” he calmly replied and you were about to start giving him a piece of your mind when he just took your hand and kissed it to shut you up. It worked.

“Stop it…” you grumbled, returning your attention towards Jack that was watching the scene without any clue on how to react.

You exhaled, frustrated.

“What do you need help with?”

“Umm…I need a place to stay…”

“Runaway? Bad home?” the interview kept on going and he felt uncomfortable. “I can always tell anyway, no need to confirm,” you cut it short. “You don’t talk too much, do you?”

He really didn’t back in the day.

“I’ll help you as soon as I can verify your story,” you signaled him to get out. “Can’t afford any spies around.”

“I’m not a spy…”

“Said no spy ever,” you sarcastically smirked.

Jack didn’t say anything more before exiting the room.

“What do you think?” you addressed Kai and he leaned over to kiss you.

“I’ll have someone check, babe,” and was already reaching for his cell when you stopped him.

“First give me back my cigarettes!”

“Nope,” and he dialed the numbers while you got pissed. “You’re fired!”

“You can’t fire your boyfriend,” Kai winked and you kicked his leg, annoyed.

“Never say that laud, you know the rule!!!”

“I’m sorry, Mother, don’t get mad,” he mocked and you really wished you could have fired him but you loved that man too much anyway.

****************

Jack wasn’t a spy; far from it. His background check brought up a bunch of unfortunate events that ending up with him requesting your help. Who else but Mother would have cared about somebody like him? He was actually a bright one, just stubborn and defensive: typical for those having it tough at early ages.

He mostly ran errands and commissions, being quite trustworthy as a courier to your own surprise. Jack also got a place to leave at one of your shelters, away from the past he was trying to escape.

The first encounter with the brutal reality of what it meant to be the Mother of Gotham occurred about after 5 months you took him in. He happened to be there when your crew was able to recover some young girls that disappeared without a trace. They never made it back to the orphanage you placed them at after school. But you didn’t let that slide: you never turned a blind eye to such things.

When your people opened the back of the truck and you saw them, your heart stopped: they looked beaten up and scared to death, clinging to each other like it was the last thing they will ever do. After a few seconds they realized it was you.

“M-Mother?…” one timidly uttered, not believing you were real.

You opened your arms, waiting and then another girl cried out:

“It’s Mother!”

“Mother!” they got the courage to move and jumped out of the vehicle, rushing in your arms while you tried to comfort them: seven girls between the ages of 14 and 16, finally finding some reassurance after being through hell.

“My poor children,” you kept on whispering, distressed, attempting to reach and embrace all of them. “What happened to you?”

A few began to sob and some averted their gaze, whimpering and you just knew.

“Goddamned assholes,” you gasped for air, staring at the grey skies.

“Mother,” Kai approached to report and you signaled your men to take the orphans to the SUVs parked on the side of the road. They were desperate to stay close to you but you convinced them to obey. “They were planning to move them on the West Coast tomorrow morning; great market for the young ones there. We managed to catch a few of them,” he briefed you, showing you the armed van a few steps away.

You stomped and opened the heavy doors yourself, glaring at the men inside, all tight up with gags in their mouth.

“You like innocent young girls, hm? You think because they have nobody you can do what you please with them? In case you didn’t know, they are not alone: they do have a Mother !!!!” you yelled, rabid and panting with indignation. “Grenade!” you requested one from the men close to you. He handed you a hand grenade and you were fast to pull the pin and toss it inside, quickly sealing the door. The detonation was quiet, the armed truck containing the blast. Blood started dripping from inside and you just barked at the goons:

“Make sure this disappears!”

*************

One night you were traveling between hideouts without escorting cars; so rare for you to do that but you were in a big hurry. Kai was driving and he noticed you were being followed.

“We have several tails,” he accelerated and you called your men for an emergency intervention.

“We are being followed: deploy a convoy right away. I’m on Mulberry Hill, heading west! Hurry up!!” You barely finished when two cars coming from the opposite direction slammed into your van, then the ones behind crashed your vehicle, forcing it off the cliff. Everything happened so fast you didn’t have time to say a word; Kai died on impact and you almost lost your life also, but your people found you in time. You didn’t wake up for a week: you had five broken ribs, a punctured lung, several fractures, bruises and cuts on your entire body.

Your crew turned one of the hideouts in a clinic since you couldn’t be taken to a regular hospital. While unconscious, so many came to see you, worried about your health: hundreds of souls you helped and still helping, aware that if you were gone, there was nobody left to fight for them. Not in the way you did anyway.

Jack has seen nothing like it before, finding himself admiring and envying the respect you were given.

Your most trusted men and women were there when you called upon them after you woke up. Jack and some young ones were summoned by the crew also, awaiting orders. You were in such a bad shape you could barely speak.

“Kai…is…is…dead…” and you started crying, heartbroken at the news you had found out upon your awakening. “And they couldn’t…” and you gulped, heartbroken, “…save my baby…”

“Mother…” Richard took your hand, holding it and you didn’t even feel it. The others were silent, grieving your loss too. Jack had no idea you were pregnant, just a few closer to you aware of the secret.

“I can’t have children … anymore…” you continued to mumble, “…but I’m not childless…I…have so, so many children…Every single one I help…is my child…” and the doctor injected your sleeping medication because you were in so much physical and mental pain. Your eyelids got heavy and Elsie encouraged the team to get out and let you rest. Jack lingered behind for a little bit, gazing at the broken Mother. He didn’t know why, but he remained by your side, planting a soft kiss on your swollen lips and whispered before heading out: “Try not to die you horrible woman.”

*************** It took a few months for you to recover but you weren’t able to do anything afterwards.You locked yourself up in one bedroom at your penthouse and refused to see any faces. You couldn’t get over your despair of losing the man you loved and your baby. From time to time you would open the door and asked for food or cigarettes, your bodyguards noticing a lot of Kai’s clothes scattered around and baby garments you would hold to your chest. You were in such bad shape they were seriously concerned about your wellbeing.

“Bring me a pack,” you would ask, rubbing your red eyes. “He can’t tell me I can’t smoke,” and you would close the door, bursting into tears and cry yourself to sleep.

So many needed help and you didn’t care. Your crew tried their best yet Mother was desperately wanted back.

** “Mother,” your henchmen would knock at the door. “Some of the young ones left: Jack, Kailey, Brian and Lara. They said they are getting out of town. We need new couriers; who should we hire?”

“I don’t give a shit! You can all go to hell!” you would hiss and they had to make it work the best way they could.

** “Mother, young girls and boys are missing from District 7! We got a trace, do we have green light to move?”

“I fucking don’t care!!!” you would shout, pissed they bothered you.

** “Mother, Mister Bruce Wayne is here!” someone would announce.

“He can go to hell too!!” you yelled and he heard since he was a few steps away. You liked to use the orphanages under his patronage to place your children in, they were the safest. Under the radar, of course, not too many knew about your connection.

“I’m so sorry sir,” your people would apologize, “She’s…not feeling well.”

“That’s fine,” he nodded in acceptance, aware of what’s going on with you. “I’ll be back.”

** “Mother, Taysha is here, she needs help.”

“Don’t care!!!!”

But the 10 year old started whaling at the door, pounding with her little fists against the heavy oak door.

“Mother!!! Mother, please!!!! My sister is missing, I didn’t see her in a week!!! Please, Mother, help me!”

There was no response and they tried to take her away while she was screaming and fighting them.

“Mother!!! Mother!!!!” the little girl didn’t give up and you finally cracked the door, telling them to let her go.

“Where was she last seen?”

***************

You slowly went back to what you were doing since you had no choice: no one else willing to take your place or aid those that nobody cared about. A few years went by and one night you were watching the news, when something got your attention: they were talking about The Joker, a criminal emerging from out of nowhere, accused of several acts of violence, arson, blackmail and robbery.

“Hm…” you tilted your head, deep in thought. “Kind of looks familiar…” and you held your pillow tighter, debating. “Oh my God!!!” it clicked. “It’s Jack in the Box! Honey, it’s Jack in the Box!” you turned towards Kai’s side of the bed, smiling. From time to time you placed his favorite suit by you, pretending he’s still alive and talked to him. “Remember the kid with long hair and blue eyes running errands for us? He looks sooo different but it’s him! You know I never forget a face!” You were pleased with the revelation and hoped you can twist it in your favor. You caressed the tiny yellow onesie on your tummy, a small token of your lost baby that you couldn’t part with:

“I wonder what happened to him…”

***************

Your first encounter was at a strip club where you infiltrated as a dancer, your sources telling you The Joker would be there that week. He showed up one night and was heading towards the VIP room for a meeting when one of the girls lined up for the customers got his attention. You gazed at each other for a few moments and he just knew: that was Mother standing there, playing with her pink, neon hair while giving him a small wink. You looked so different but he never forgets a face.

“I want a private dance first,” he sneered, halting in front of the dancers, pointing his cane towards you. The young girl besides you froze: no older than maybe 15, hardly holding in her anxiety: he didn’t seem friendly to say the least. Not that any of them ever did.

“Don’t worry, it’s not for you,” you talked loud enough for her to hear you over the blasting music and she swallowed the lump in her throat, relieved.

“I want her in the Gold Room,” The Joker made his request known and he got what he wished for.

“Of course, Mister J,” they obliged and you followed the green haired man in the private room, parting the colorful beads as he sat down on the chair in the middle, waiting.

You kept a fake grin on your face, not breaking eye contact while kicked his legs opened to get in between and started to dance for him.

“Hello, Mother,” J growled under his breath, enjoying the show nevertheless.

“Well if it’s not my favorite son, alive and breathing,” you grabbed his hands and slid them down your hips.

“I was never your favorite,” he sighted, annoyed.

“True,” you admitted, sitting in his lap. “Don’t blow up my cover; they have 2 cameras in here,” you pulled on his bottom lip, making it all seem normal since they were watching for sure.

“I will have to kill you since you know too much about me,” he yanked at your waist and there was such darkness in those eyes he probably meant it.

“Not if I kill you first,” you replied with such determination you probably meant it.

“Mister J, are you well taken care of?” one of the club owners peeked inside and you quickly squeezed J’s cheeks together, kissing his puckered lips.

“Yeah, I am. Get out so I can enjoy my dance!!!” he angrily threw his cane towards the man, making him apologize and back out in a frenzy.

“They brought in a shipment two days ago, the youngest girl 13 and the youngest boy 14. I came in so I can confirm for my team standing by for my signal. This time we have FBI coming in the next 30 minutes. Anonymous tip, of course, “ you stroke his pale forehead, playing your part. “Don’t go to your meeting, just leave after I’m done.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he sucked on his silver teeth, debating.

“Because I believe we can help each other. You know who I am and what I’m capable of. And you have connections I might have to add to my list. I don’t give a damn about what you do as long as it serves my needs. OK?”

“I’ll think about it…” The Joker slapped your butt and stuck a few hundred bills in your lacy thong when you got up and bent over in front of him:

“Don’t push it!” you grouchily admonished.

“You told me not to blow your cover. Make up your mind!”

*****************

“Are you better now?” J hands you over a glass full of whiskey and you close your eyes as a yes, sipping from your drink and watch the flames burning in the fireplace. You wanted to go to his penthouse after tonight’s incident and finally feel warm; you were so cold for so many hours.

“If you catch pneumonia and die, can I inherit your fortune?” J huffs, piling up a bunch of blankets and furs in front of the fireplace.

“No,” you snicker, crawling over on the made up bed, exhausted.

“Humor me: if you die, what am I supposed to engrave on your headstone? I need a name.”

“Mother is fine,” The Joker gets his elusive reply.

“You give me no choice: I have to kill you for talking to me like this!”

“Not if I kill you first!” you gesture for him to join you and he complies.

You snuggle to him and he’s silent before reprising his usual comeback:

“One of these days we’ll have to have sex so we can get it out of our system.”

“I don’t think so,” you roll your eyes and cover his mouth. He takes it and kisses it, purring.

“You borrowed one of my t-shirts and boxers tonight, I need payment.” “Ughhh, I liked you better back in the day when you didn’t talk too much,” you elbow him and turn away, getting comfortable.

“Hey, what about a quickie?”

“No,” you chuckle and he hugs you from behind, upset:

“How dare you ??!! I really have to kill you now!”

“Just try,” you yawn, “ keeping his hand captive, “ I’m telling your girlfriend you’re hitting on me”.

“Don’t start anything ! Women always side to get a guy in trouble,” he sniffles, outraged.

You probably would tell her.

“Then let me sleep and she won’t hear a peep out of me.”

“Fine, you teasing cougar!”

You burst out laughing, amused.

“Wooow, nobody ever called me that, at least not to my face,” you keep on laughing, repositioning yourself in his arms while he smells your hair, irritated.

The Joker doesn’t have a past: nobody knows who he is or where he came from. But he has a Mother and she is the only one to keep his secrets. Even if she is a mystery herself, The King of Gotham wouldn’t trust anybody else because a long time ago Mother proved him wrong when he thought nobody cared.