#what exactly remains in the wake of that decision that could be remotely worth it

[myrfing]

Yeah! In the end WoLs are very personal to the players so I try to remember and not to be too judgey about it! And yeah there are some WoLs I really love as well! And my own was originally just a vague self insert with the name of an old OC and then they took a life of their own so I renamed them .. xD

Regarding wishing there was more freedom in choices in 14: I think that as an MMO there are just some limitations people just have to accept. The msq is linear for sure though I don't know if that's just because 1) it's Final Fantasy first and foremost, 2) it's a jrpg first and foremost (different game design philosophy between JP and US?) You certainly can't have multiple outcomes, I think, especially not with 14's infamous spaghetti coding. And the team already have so many tasks... (reason why I'm just rolling with the gender unlocking of certain glams being slow)

Though, I've never played an MMO prior to this, and most western RPGs don't interest me. So my lack of frame of reference is probably another reason why I can't really fathom choice freedom similar to, say, Dragon Age, in an MMO in general, esp not one as linear as 14 ... poyo.

(I could do with more fiddling around with GW2 tho, I do enjoy it whenever I boot it up for fun)

HAHAHA YOU AND I BOTH if it's. not obvious that "gourd appraiser" wasnt meant to be. well. youre so right suddenly theyre alive what can we do but give them the reins.

and for sure. I'm really mostly okay with xiv's linearity and rigidity; I think they wanted to tell a certain story and told it. I actually dunno if that's a western/eastern design philosophy and don't think choice/branching narratives is necessarily not a jrpg element but the concept of it with games like for sure DA or UT or even older text rpgs whatever have really popularized it here yeah. in xiv theres obviously some parts where im like He would naht do/say that. or some parts I wish weren't in the msq at all. but for the most part I'm glad things turned out the way they did and I've never struggled too hard to work with it. i think it'd sit wrong with me if the story went another way, if the wol like, just said I don't owe anyone anything and everyone shouldnt ask a thing of me and ran forever.

but that's mostly because I fell hook line and sinker for the world so when anyone in the story is like do you want to keep going and keep this world alive I'm like of fucking course AND it's going to be fun you don't even need to ASK bro. while for others I do understand the sort of disappointment that comes with thinking this could have gone another way that they would have liked better, but the devs chose this way, so they feel like they were robbed of that different outcome. and to me they chose this one because they wanted to tell a story about caring about others and finding hope in others and struggling together towards a better future in a world that is largely hostile to that, that constantly gravitates towards its doom, and I really like that. I like how it reflects in their own dev experience having to reboot the game too! but some people feels like it rings hollow, or they don't really care for that sort of thing, or this spirit just doesnt reach them, and well...wat can you do.

and you're definitely right in that mmos simply cant handle diversity of choice in a game meant to support..well..massively multiplayer online play. at most you get factions which are notoriously clunky and seem to only function in games without a strong central narrative. if 50% of the playerbase said fuck off to minfilia, fuck off hydaelyn, you can't tell me what to do, and went to live a low-stakes life then. that's 50% of the playerbase that needs something other than all the dungeons, trials, deliveries, sidequests, raids, pretty much fucking everything to do, that aren't gonna be a part of the roulette. and they wouldn't have been able to pull off the concept of azem's magic either, the weird living idea that as players of the same character you all walk the same path and thus are always at each other's side. or the funnier route would be well everyone who wanted to play gets the kino ass "shepherd to the stars in the dark" shit and everyone who didnt to play can just sit on their hands I guess.

but i dont think people actually expect it to have branching paths, they just wanted the devs to choose a different one. but there's so many good and fun things throughout the entirety of the game that it'd honestly feel pretty lonely to lose all of this over a nebulous refusal to owe anyone anything and be owed anything, because the wol does go through some painful stuff and has some high expectations placed on them...AS IFFFF everyone in the story doesnt suffer and struggle against the same things while the wol has the privilege of controlling more of their luck, AS IFFFFFFFFFF choosing a path where you say fuck everyone else wouldn't have been empty and boring. as if the antagonists that apparently care about us more don't have wishes and goals and duties and lives of their own and are only made to love you in some made up but easier, purer, assured way.

and oh hee hee gw2...I saw a golden chicken in that game and logged off forever I was like this is it. but I'm playing gw1 (slowly) with friends and while it's still campaigns it definitely does excel in that look at this big ass world go do what you want thing. and yeah mmos are fucking...expensive and terribly difficult to make and keep alive. there's a reason they're just dying out

[kagebros]

Sanctuary (A Shockop Fic)

Summary: Months after Dark Cybertron, Shockwave wants to change their frame. Here's the introspection that comes along with that desire. Warnings: N/A Word Count: 1501

4 million years. It had been over 4 million years that they had felt something. That an emotion was remotely tangible. No longer having to grasp for it as it came back easily. 

No one said it was easy managing them though. When they felt angry, their frame grew hot, filials leaning back as their frame shook. Like an Earth chihuahua ready to lash out. When they felt sad, the hollowness and pain in their chassis would weigh down upon them, filials leaned back all the way, optic in a low golden light, but no tears were shed because they didn’t have the face for it. When they were happy, their filials would waggle back and forth, arms and servos moving frantically about, in a flapping movement like they did before the shadowplay and empurata, optic curled into a crescent to communicate their happiness. It was these little things that they didn’t exactly mind. But sometimes when they felt a surge of emotions, it was overwhelming and easy to feel flooded with static. It was mind numbing. 

The nightmares weren’t exactly the best either. Flashes of memories during the war, back when they felt nothing. Back when they were free to experiment in the name of science. Often in an unhinged manner that made the rest of the Decepticons shudder in fear or cringe in disgust. They’d wake up in the middle of the night. Frame cold, shaking in fear to the point where Optimus would use his arm to pull them close to him in a way to reassure them that this was real. That this was now. That that was then. And that they won’t go back to the way they were. They beat it after all. The shadowplay. There were times they missed it though. The comfort of not having to worry about upholding an image or composure. The comfort of avoiding grief, jealousy, anger, fear, _loneliness _altogether. But would they ever truly be happy then? Of course not. The shadowplay took everything away after all. They would have felt simply neutral. Nothing. They ask themselves every now and then why they would ever want to go back to nothing. It’s hard some days, wanting to go back to nothing. But then they look to Optimus. They look at him and they feel only the most wonderful feelings. It makes it all worth it. 

After all, what is not more wonderful to feel than love?

But the nightmares aren’t getting any better. And every time they look in the mirror it feels foreign. Like it’s not them. Like this frame doesn’t belong to them. Shadowplayed Shockwave may have had 4 million years to get used to this frame. But not now. Not this Shockwave. Not the one who had broken free of the shadowplay. They would have happily gone under a frame change_ under their own terms_. But this? This wasn’t their own terms. It was forced upon them. This was the Senate’s making. This was ultimately Proteus’ work. And Shockwave wanted none of that as acting as a reminder of Proteus’ cruelty. It never was about practicality or even vanity. As much as Shockwave had prided themselves of their looks in the past. It was a way to heal. Or at least start the healing process. Normal wasn’t exactly a standard they would ever meet up to anymore. That wasn’t their goal though. Normal never was part of their vocabulary in the first place. Changing their paint colours, having emotional outbursts that immediately branded them as “unbecoming of a senator”, taking in outliers to care as their own. To hell with normal. 

So when Optimus asks why they want to change, why they want to go back to their old frame, why they want to get rid of the cannon, Shockwave sits him down.

“It’s not a matter of wanting my servos back. It’s because I want to get rid of the weapon that I chose because I deemed it important and efficient for the war. When I was given the option to get my servos back, I opted for one servos and the other as a cannon, A weapon. A tool of war. But this isn’t the war anymore, this isn’t a world of violence as it used to be for the last four million years. And I most certainly don’t want to add to that. Not anymore.”

They sighed heavily in frustration. 

“I _hate _this frame, Orion. I hate what I did in this frame. All the monstrous deeds, all the memories that I should only see in my nightmares but it was a reality for me. Why would I want to stay in a constant reminder of all the horrific experiments I did when I wasn’t myself... I just want to change it. To look like something that isn’t Proteus’ work, to look like someone who didn’t do all of those awful awful experiments. Because despite how hard I try to look past it. That dead bastard is still looming in the shadows of my mind and those memories remain. Maybe this is a way to get him out. Or it’s just a way to lord it over him since well. I’m alive. He’s dead. Thankfully. And maybe I won’t hate looking at myself in the mirror if I were to do this.”

“Will it stop the nightmares though?”

“No, that’s absurd. Those won’t be stopping anytime soon. But this will put me in some ease at least. To know I won’t have the ability to harm again,” they glanced at their cannon, long decommissioned for their own safety and the wellbeing of others. “It most certainly won’t stop the pain I experience every once in a while but there are ways to work around that,” they said, waving their servos. “Just taking this… one step at a time, I guess. This step being my servos and my frame. Getting rid of the cannon will be a big relief, that I am certain. At least I’ll have some agency over myself again.”

“Well, for what it's worth,” Optimus then said. “I can’t wait to see that smile of yours again,” he smiled. Shockwave laughed.

“I think I’m going to be making all sorts of expressions, Orion.”

“Well, nothing I’m not used to,” Optimus chuckled.

“What does that mean,” they scoffed playfully, nudging his shoulder. 

“You made faces, whenever you were working, thinking about something,” he shrugged. 

“Aww, you paid attention to me that much?” Shockwave teased. Optimus only chuckled. They then sighed and leaned their helm against his, closing their optic. “I’m sorry you waited so long for me,” they then said. 

“Don’t be,” Optimus murmured. “It was worth it.” He then kissed the tip of their helm and their filials fluttered. They could hear the subtle purring coming from him and they reluctantly pulled away. 

“I have to go, my therapy appointment is soon,” they said, getting out of the chair. “After that, making the appointment for my frame...” they thought out loud. 

“Are you sure you want to go through this?”

“This I am certain, Orion,” they replied. They understood why he was concerned. He didn’t want them to go through this only to be disappointed in the end. 

“I’ll support whichever decision you go with no matter what. After all, there’s only one Shockwave I love. And that’s you.” ‘It will always be you’ was left unsaid. 

“You always manage to be such a comfort to me, Orion,” Shockwave said fondly. 

“What about me brings so much comfort to you,” he smiled lazily, resting his helm on his servos. 

“You simply existing, being here by my side,” Shockwave replied. This was a verbal waltz the two had every day. “After all you’re still my brightest hope.” Bringing each other up. Repeating the same phrases in a different variation as if to reassure each other that this was right, that this is what they deserved. Both of them. “Ok, you’re going to make me late!” they then laughed. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

Their frame appointment goes smoothly. When they return to the apartment Optimus and Shockwave share, they immediately enter and see Optimus napping in their berthroom. With a soft chuckle, they enter and slide in beside him, their arm propping their helm up as they look at him. When he stirs his optics online with a flicker, their blue dim at first before brightening. And he sees them. He sees them and they’re giving him the brightest smile, their golden optics bright and full of affection. The paint they’ve given themselves are white with lilac and mint highlights. 

“What do you think?” they asked quietly. There’s no response. Only Optimus’ servos reaching for the back of their neck and pulling them close in an embrace as he captures their dermas, kissing them ever so gently. Their optics flicker offline and the two stay there as Shockwave falls into his embrace. 

This can be manageable. Oh so very very manageable. 

[olkapippin]

hard to love | pt.6

pairing - chanyeol x reader x baekhyun

genre - angst

description - Who would want to be married off to a man they barely knew? Who would want to be married to a man who resented your very presence? You didn’t love him, your heart belonged with another, but how could you love someone who had hurt you so much?

series - part 1 part 2 part 3

The sky was dark, and the sound of thunder could be heard far off in the distance. The weather distinctly matched your mood. 

You were still in the process of packing your bag, three days worth of clothing and items, and you just couldn’t decide what to take. It was Friday, and soon you and Chanyeol would be in a car, driving to a family gathering somewhere really far away. It would be a five hour drive at the least, and if the weather didn’t calm down, it would take even longer.

You weren’t exactly overjoyed at the aspect of spending over five hours in an enclosed space, with a man who seemed to hate you more than anyone ever had. But, it had to be done. Despite the fact that you were slightly regretting the fact that you had agreed to go with him, instead of staying at home, you were looking forward to what would be at the end of the journey. You were intrigued to find out what the rest of his family would be like, and perhaps even make some new acquaintances, maybe even become friends. You desperately wanted to have more people to talk to, and you were rarely ever able to meet with people that were not in the family, so you hoped that this would go well. 

There was another thunder in the sky, and you grabbed the remote and flicked on the new channel, while you were folding some articles of clothing, and the news wasn’t good. Widespread flooding and hour long traffic jams. This was going to be one hell of a journey. 

——

3 hours later

For the past three hours of the journey you and Chanyeol had sat together in complete silence. 

Near the beginning of the journey you had attempted to put the radio on, but once you had succeeded Chanyeol promptly turned it off again. So you had resorted to looking out of the window and getting completely lost in your thoughts, eventually falling asleep. 

But nearly an hour ago Chanyeol had decided to wake you up, stopping at a service station. He had gone inside to get some food you had assumed, but when he returned, he was holding a packet of crisps in one hand, and a coffee in the other. 

‘What about me?’ you had asked.

‘What about you?’ he had replied, rather coldly, and began to eat the crisps himself, finishing the coffee in a few gulps. 

You had been mildly offended at this exchange and had decided not to talk to him for the rest of the journey. But nearly three hours in, the worst possible scenario happened. 

The car had been fine for the start of the journey, as most of the routes had been on the highways or through urban areas. But now the GPS led you away from the safety of the well lit highway and guided you down a more dark, dodgy looking place. The scene was perfect for the setting of a gothic novel, but not ideal for two people driving down for the first time, alone. The roads were much bumpier than before, and the car started spluttering and spattering. This produced more than a few curses from Chanyeol, who had to stop the car and go outside to inspect it. Just as he stepped out, the God of bad luck seemed to be looking down on him, and within seconds a downfall of rain began. You trying incredibly hard not to laugh at this point, earning a glare from Chanyeol who was stood outside.

‘Why don’t you just wait for the rain to stop,’ you called out through the window.

He didn’t respond and continued to fiddle with the engine, his efforts were obviously not paying off as the car remained silent, not making a single sound. You sighed, raising the window back up. It was eerily silent in the car, with the exception of the sound of the rain against the window and in the peaceful calm you drifted off to sleep. 

—–

Nearly an hour later you awoke in a frantic mess. The seat next to you was empty and there was no movement or sound coming from outside the car. Almost immediately you regretted falling asleep, if something had happened to Chanyeol, just because you fell asleep … You shook your head, you would have to go out and look for him. 

As soon as the car door opened, the harsh, cold wind pierced your face. By now it had stopped raining but it was night, the temperature was dropping rapidly and visibility decreased as well. It would only be a matter of time before both of you would be too cold to walk, and if no help arrived … you shuddered, trying not to think about what would happen. 

The car was parked in a small area beside the road, within just 10-15 meters, there was a forest. You just had to assume he had gone there. The trees were quite scarce near the beginning, scattered about like leaves, however, the deeper you went in, the denser it got. After about five minutes of walking in, surrounded by trees, you realised you were a complete idiot. In the spur of the moment you had made the stupidest decision you’ve probably ever made in your life. This was the kind of idiotic action that you usually ridiculed when watching horror films, and now you’d gone and done it yourself.

It was not only stupid, but frightening. The area surrounding you was dark and silent, except for the occasional rustle you hoped was just squirrels. The only source of light was the small beam from your phone camera, and as you shone it around, you almost burst into tears. Everywhere you looked, everything looked the same. You had no idea where you were. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of your chest and the beads of sweat dripped down your forehead. Chanyeol. You had to find Chanyeol. 

Snap.

Your eyes widened, and shivers ran down your back. You didn’t even have to look. There was someone behind you. 

For almost thirty seconds you didn’t move a muscle, the atmosphere was tense and you were trying to figure out what to do. It was dark, and there wasn’t a single soul around for miles … if Chanyeol was somewhere near, you certainly couldn’t hear him, or see him. 

Crunch.

The leaves broke into pieces under your feet, brittle in the cold weather. 

Crunch.

Again, the leaves, but this time the noise wasn’t you. As the beads of sweat dripped down your back, you slightly turned your head to look behind you, and out of you peripheral vision you could see the shadow of a figure pacing towards you. 

Suddenly, there was a loud thunder in the distance. You took it as your chance, breaking out into a run. Deeper and deeper into the forest you ran, swatting away the gentle branches protruding into your face. Breathless and tired, you ran, faster than you ever had before. The sounds of footsteps behind you grew closer and closer until the shadowy figure was less than a metre away.

It was at that moment your legs decided to give way, and you collapsed on the ground, to the surprise of the man behind you, who stumbled over your legs and landed on the floor next to you, close enough to hear his breathless voice whispering several curses. 

He scrambled to his feet, adjusting the hood covering his head and extended his hand towards you. 

Swatting his hand away, you rose to your feet, and stared at the hood that covered his eyes. For a second you almost thought it was Chanyeol, but then again, it couldn’t be. Chanyeol was in a suit, and besides, their height and build was completely different. 

Without a single thought you reached towards him and pulled the hood down, wondering why he wasn’t resisting. 

And then you realised why. 

You were stood staring into the the eyes of the man you had hated and loved. The man who you repulsed but at the same time longed to be with. The man who was loyal but didn’t hesitate to betray. 

‘Baekhyun.’

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 189

The very next day, the 23rd of November (two days away from your sixth anniversary with Tony), you were sitting down in your office. Sipping coffee in the early afternoon. Reading the various headlines that had come out of yesterday’s little outing. The usual heavy hitters were all in your favor. People were wondering what The Avengers were up to, but they trusted it was likely good things. Sleep had not come easy, again. About two hours. 

You were feeling yourself slowly slipping away. The anniversary was a pinpoint. A mark on the map. If you could just get there… if you could just do what you wanted to do- what you needed to do… it would make all of this worth it. It would make all the troubles melt away. 

There just couldn’t be any more nonsense packed into the next two days. That was all. A measly forty-eight hours. Couldn’t you make it there? Couldn’t the universe lay off? 

The phone ringing on the corner of your desk startled you. Because you knew. You knew that it going off was the universe answering you back. 

With a big, fat, no. 

 Your hands were only slightly trembling (something you attributed to over caffeination, stress, and lack of sleep more than fear) when you picked it up. “Yes?” 

“We have a problem in the lobby.” 

Always a good start to a bad time. Your cell phone going off next was a pretty big indication, too. “Give me a second, I’ll sort it out.” You put the phone down on the desk and then picked up your cell phone instead, knowing this was the same issue twice over. And- reading the ID- you lamented being you right now. “How can I help you?” Overly sweet as you answered. 

Coulson, on the other line, didn’t sound remotely amused. ...maybe that was his usual voice, though. “I need to come up. It seems since I was here last I’ve had my security clearance revoked.” 

“Hmn.” Humming with a dry air about you. “Yes, that might have happened after you promised me a report on a huge issue and just vanished into thin air.” 

“I have the report. I’m here to make a trade.” 

The shaking had worked its way up from your arm into your entire body. This was not something you wanted to deal with now in the slightest. But there was no putting it off. If you didn’t let Coulson up now, he’d find a way up himself. Really, he was probably just calling as a gesture of good will. Not because he actually cared to have your permission. “I’m in my office.” Hanging up quickly after saying so, and alerting security downstairs to let him through. 

There was about five minutes worth of decision making time to call Tony. And they were going very quickly.

It had been nine months since the attack on the UN. Nine months since Coulson had told you he would handle that situation, get to the bottom of it, and send you a detailed report when he was finished. Him surfacing now to do so was no coincidence- not with what had happened yesterday. Something was bugging him about your current involvement in whatever was happening now. Because it was always something-

Which meant the probability that he knew about the ATCU was extraordinarily high. That thought alone made your stomach twist into knots. Coulson was on your side- there was no way he would be behind something like this or involved with it now. It was more likely that he was working on a way to shut it down behind the scenes and your getting involved was too public- 

The time to call Tony to come to your side was over. Coulson was entering your office. 

You didn’t stand to meet him, instead pushing up a solid wall of defense. You were falling apart. He couldn’t know that.

Underneath his arm as promised, he held a manilla envelope. A very thick one, at that. And once he got close enough to your desk, he took a seat, and then put it on top. “Everything you need to know about the incident at the UN is in there.” Cutting right to the chase. 

Reaching for it, ignoring him, you tore the top and took out the hefty paper report, skimming the first few pages. Adamo Dioli- murdered. The Italian ambassador that- ...you remembered. The agent leading the mission- Marcus Scarlotti, in custody. The man behind the operation- Daniel Whitehall, a top Hydra leader actually known as Werner Reinhardt- terminated. 

His team had been busy. Something you had assumed. It wasn’t like Coulson had just been sitting around doing nothing. When he promised you he would handle this, you knew that to be the truth. But the radio silence and the broken promise over a prompt report were an issue. And, judging on the dates you were still looking over, he had had this in his possession and wrapped up for a long while now. Which made it inexcusable to not hand it over sooner. 

But just as you got midway through the report that detailed the weaponry used in the attack, he reached over and put a hand down. “Let me be clear about one thing. This is to be shredded when you’re finished with it.” 

He was lucky that you were able to resist rolling your eyes. “I used to work for you guys, in case you forgot. I know exactly what top secret means.” 

“Then let me be clear about something else.” The strangely warm way he said this drew your gaze towards his own. “I don’t think you should read this. And I don’t think Stark should, either.” 

That tossed about a dozen red flags onto the field. Coulson was feeling rather… protective. Why? Your brow arched. “Give me one good reason why not.” 

He stayed outwardly composed, as always. “How have you both been handling the events in New York?” 

Confusion wrote clear across your face. “That was years ago. Why bring that up?” 

His eyes then were steely. “Take a guess.” 

Little pinpricks agitated you- and you heard his voice- arguing with you and Tony- a memory from a little while back- what this whole report was even about-

What difference would it make? If I listed off ten alien races on SHIELD’s radar, what difference would it make? You don’t have any information.

That’s kind of the point, don’t you think?

The both of you had suspected this was alien weaponry. There was no way for it not to be. Now Coulson had gotten to the bottom of it. Dissected it. Knew what it was. ...and that information was sitting right in front of you. And he didn’t want you to look at it. 

“You think I can’t handle this?” There was little point in getting riled up, but self-defense was an easy go-to. 

“What I think is irrelevant. ...but, since you’re asking, I think there’s no reason for you to at this time. I came here to tell you to stop provoking President Ellis, and to leave the ATCU to me.” 

A scoff left as you shook your head. “I knew it.” 

“Of course you did.” Prompt as he sat back down. You let the report fold closed for the moment so you could put your focus better on him. “What’s in that report ties directly to what the ATCU is doing. Therefore, it’s an issue that you still left to me. And I’m working on it.” 

“Not hard enough. Soldiers attacked young girls a few nights ago. What would have happened to them if I hadn’t been there?” Bearing down on him now, a fresh wave of anger waking. 

Coulson, for once, gave a rare show of questioning. He didn’t have all the details, and that didn’t sit right with him. Maybe he thought he should know about that incident. “What girls?” 

“Mutants. But I think everyone is going around calling them Inhumans.” Cruel dig that that was. 

It took him a series of moments- moving from one emotion to the next rapidly inwardly, while his face remain impassive as he stared at you. Disbelief, unsure, then to confusion and then next to a little bit of smugness. “Mutants and Inhumans are not the same thing. I’ll forgive the mistake, I’m sure you weren’t aware of either until very recently. That must mean you went to Xavier.” 

This was a little too much information to process right at the moment. So instead of doing that, you clutched to the one thing you knew what to do with. “I did.” 

“He asked you to help him.” 

“He did.” 

“And you’re going to.” Saying this so knowingly. 

Instead of giving him the win, you decided to go against self-preservation. Something inside you told you it was better to give this to him and walk away. Play blind. Turn the other way. It would keep you where you were right now. And not further down the rabbithole of madness in this ever expanding universe. “What separates Mutants from Inhumans?” 

This he took his time with. Marinated. Really thought about- not only if he should answer, but if he did, how he would say it. You remained patient. That he wasn’t outright denying you an answer meant he would give you one instead of just reciting the whole back off play. 

Him sitting forward spooked you a little, but when he reached for the report again you let your hands off it. Sliding it his way and turning it, he flipped through a few pages, and when he finally  found what he was looking for, he pushed it in front of you yet again. But the two of you were left staring at one another. He was letting you know- 

Once you read this, there was absolutely no going back. Like always. 

You had a choice to be willfully ignorant. 

...but you couldn’t. 

The weapon that had literally turned Dioli into ash- had separated his atoms- was known as a Splinter Bomb. Hydra made weaponry. Built from the power of something called The Diviner. And this so called Diviner… alien tech. Left on earth by a race called The Kree. Thousands of years ago. The Diviners carried inside of them something called Terrigen Crystals- which played into experiments Kree were doing on humans- mutating them- the Terrigen Crystals emitted Terrigen Mist- which activated these mutated genes in humans through a process called Terrigenesis-  turning them into- 

...Inhumans.

Without the presence of the genes, the Diviners would rend human beings. ...which was what happened to Dioli. And countless others who had come into contact with them. 

Coulson was calling your name. You heard it. Barely. Echoing through a fog. There was a tunnel of white around your vision. 

Experiments? Aliens had been doing experiments on people? Thousands of years ago? They’d mutated them? Enhanced them? For what? Why? Where were the Kree now? What were they doing? Would they come back? 

...did this have anything to do with  you? Coulson was saying Mutants and Inhumans were different. Mutants had some sort of mutated gene that was verifiable. That’s how Tony knew you weren’t one. But these Inhumans- it seemed like they were dormant until hit with the presence of these Crystals- 

“Am I-” It took you too long to realize you couldn’t breathe. That you weren’t there. More questions arose. Had SHIELD known about this? If they did, how long had they known? SHIELD had apparently known about the Mutants and Xavier. Fury had some sort of deal with them to leave them alone. If they’d known about this, too- could it have- 

“You are not an Inhuman.” Him saying this helped secure your focus. 

Was that what you were going to ask? Was it even feasible? They’d clearly thought your powers had come from the Tesseract or something Tesseract adjacent, which you now knew to be these Infinity Stones ...something else you didn’t want to think about. But this Inhuman mutated crystal nonsense? “How can you be sure?” 

“Your alteration profile is different. Which means that if you’d been hit with that Splinter Bomb that day, you would have died.” 

A breath sort of wheezed out of you. “Thanks.” As if that really helped. 

“Anything to help.” 

Strangely, that sort of had helped. You felt a little more balanced. But your nerves were shot. “Where are the Kree now? When was their last point of contact?” It seemed like they’d done these experiments all those years ago and then left. For whatever reason. There was data missing, but it was probably just because nobody knew yet. 

But Coulson growing just a little bit uncomfortable shoved you right back onto that edge. “I’m going to be truthful with you. We encountered them again on this planet in 1990.” 

1990. 1990. Why was that year haunting you? What did that have to do with you? This was twice now. 

It was basically twenty pages all blacked out except for a single paragraph about the Tesseract- a subject number- a subject gender- and a date- 1990. Running theory… either she was another experiment. ...or she was you.

But Fury had gotten angry when you’d asked him about all this. And he’d told you- 

“What does this have to do with Carol Danvers?” Coulson moved to shock extremely fast the second that name came out of your mouth. Clearly he hadn’t known that you knew. This was your only chance. Fury had blocked your attempts to learn the truth about this. Tony had no way of getting to the bottom of it, either. But Coulson knew something. So you resorted to pleading. “Please, Phil. Please. I’ve been on a nightmare tour these past few months about how this all connects back to me. I know she was here in 1990. I know SHIELD knew about her- I know it connects to the Tesseract, but Fury said they weren’t doing experiments on her- but whatever happened was the reason they were able to single me out when I was a kid- and now you’re telling me Kree were involved too? If you know something you have to tell me. Please.”

He stewed in his thoughts. Long enough to finally, finally, have a third party appear. You knew exactly why Tony was entering into your office at that moment. You hadn’t called him. -...or maybe you had. Just not over the phone. He grew stormy immediately, seeing Coulson sitting in front of you. Some report on your desk. And you in shambles emotionally, no doubt. 

He always came when you fell apart. Because he knew. He felt it. Maybe on some subconscious level, in moments like these, you reached out to him without him knowing. 

“Looks like I’m interrupting something. Hopefully nothing important.” He tried to keep his own mask up as he closed the door behind himself and came over to your side of the room, perching himself on the corner of your desk. It was clear he was trying to spy on that report out of the corner of his eye, but you reached out, redirecting his attention as you took his hand in yours. 

Barely hanging on. 

As if Tony was not there at all, Coulson picked up where the two of you had left off. There was no point in backtracking, and there was no point in telling Tony to leave. He wouldn’t. Everyone in that room knew that. So, instead, Coulson finally opened up. “Carol Danvers is a human woman who was enhanced by the Tesseract. The blast was accidental. It wiped her memories. The Kree came upon her and treated her like their own- but they were holding her prisoner. Eventually she figured it all out. The Kree and the Skrulls were waging a war. Still are. And Carol and her Kree supervisor finished their battle on earth. SHIELD tailed her the whole time. Got close with her. She’s an ally. But she’s been away for a long time.

Whatever report you think you tracked down- I think I know the one- and for whatever reason- I think I also know that- it’s been redacted. Because of you.” He took a moment to really nail the sentiment of this as he stared at you. Tony’s emotions were going pretty haywire. You eclipsed him entirely. But now his brain was scrambling at a million miles a second to try and piece together why Coulson was talking about this right now so he could catch up enough to grill him about it the second it was over. 

But that wasn’t just yet. Coulson continued after another minute, “We assigned a researcher to that case after she left the planet in 1990. We got some base level information. About her powers and the Tesseract. He worked on it for a long time. Too long. We believe it drove him crazy. So… when one of his instruments picked you up, after the incident with your college professor… he went after you. Off the grid. AWOL. Fury knew his intentions were malicious.” 

You’re lucky you’re not dead.

You remembered Fury saying this to you on the phone. Your head dropped. “Fury killed him.” 

“Fury made a choice. It was him or you. He chose correctly. He dumped the files- anything the guy had on you. Anything to do with you-”

 Tony held a hand up. “Yeah. Except a prelim report and the only eyewitness account that mattered. Funny about that.”

 Coulson sent a dead-eyed stare up his way. “And as I understand it, both those reports are destroyed now. How about that.” He let that sentiment and all it was worth sit before addressing you again. “All the guy’s work work regarding the Tesseract was burned, too. And Danvers. Fury made sure no one looked into what happened to your professor any further.” 

Your gaze fell downward and you’d let go of Tony’s hand, putting both of yours on your legs. Kind of just… clawing absently as you shook your head. “Why?” 

“Because you’re an important asset. Fury knew that. And he was right. Look where you are. Look at what you’ve done.” Coulson was strangely trying to reach out to you even if not physically. It was clear he didn’t like seeing you like this. All… twisted up about this. But how could you be any other way? “Between the both of us… he was fond of Danvers. I think he was holding out hope you’d be like her.” 

A bitter ugly laugh shook from somewhere deep inside you. “Is that what it is? What? I’m a disappointment to him?” Is that why he was so rude? So mean and callous to you at every turn? At every opportunity? 

“Not a disappointment. Just not her.”  

Tony crossed his arms rather tightly. “I realize I’m a little late to the party but- you mind me asking- where is this supposed Wonder Woman of the 90s?” 

Coulson finally acknowledged him as a participant of the discussion. “Away. Far away. We have a method of getting in contact with her, should we need her, but it’s for emergencies only.” 

You absolutely could not help the face you made over this. “If she’s that powerful, why didn’t we call her during the Chitauri invasion?” 

“The Avengers had that handled.” He sounded so sure of himself. 

But this just… it pissed you off. Incredibly so. Your hands found their way flat onto the desk, not in a slam, but there was a pointed noise that arose as you lifted yourself out of your chair. “They almost nuked New York City- where was she then? Tony nearly died and you’re telling me you had an ace in your backpocket this whole time?” 

A flutter of nervousness emanated from Coulson. ...was he scared of you? But it was shadowed by the warmth pounding suddenly in Tony’s chest. Honestly- all this bullshit about this woman- and you- whatever it had to do with you, something or nothing, that was so small in comparison to the fact that SHIELD had a heavy hitter and they were keen to just wait it out while Tony put his life on the line-

If he didn’t need to do that- If they could have called her in? 

“You were waiting. Like always.” Not yelling as you spat this out, but serving it with ice. “Fury counted on Tony handling that nuke, and you guys counted on the Avengers handling it- but if Tony had died going into that wormhole and it hadn’t been enough- then would you have called her? How much loss of life would have been acceptable to you?” 

Coulson stared up at you and held himself very steady. “You’re arguing with me as if I made all those decisions. Let me assure you, I didn’t. No loss of life is acceptable, I think we can both agree on that. But Fury had faith that the Avengers had the situation handled. Disturbing Danvers is for emergencies only.” 

Tony found himself another spot in the conversation. “Because of the implication. What it would do. Sure. Calling what would look like an alien to earth to help out- SHIELD couldn’t handle the amount of damage control they’d have to do in that case. So they got comfortable letting other aliens tear us apart for the betterment of their reputation. Am I getting warm?” 

Coulson settled his hands together in his lap. “This is a completely pointless conversation and a waste of my time. Which has become very valuable as of late.” He directed his attention back towards you. “I’m not here to tell you I’ve always agreed with Fury’s methods. Or SHIELD. You know that’s not the case. Let me deal with the ATCU.” Circling around to the original point of discussion so quickly. 

You had almost forgotten that was even the point of all this. “You say that like you came here to ask me. You didn’t. You’re ordering me to step back.” 

Finally, maybe realizing he was going about this the wrong way, Coulson softened up. “I’m not ordering you to do anything. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. We both know that. I’m asking you to let me handle this. I already have a hand in this world. I’m already on top of it. And from what I heard, you and Stark were looking at retirement. Start trusting your team to do some work.” 

Tony’s head tipped a little to the side. “Are you part of our team? You’re the new head of SHIELD. We never hear from you unless something important is happening on your end. Like college kids that need money.” 

“If you want me to stay out of things you’re already doing, you need to start actually telling me what you’re doing. You realize that, right? This is getting old.” Tiredness seeped into you, having thoroughly exhausted yourself- ...and the few days without any good sleep wasn’t helping. Coulson telling you he’d take this off your plate? It was practically a godsend. And he was right. You and Tony were supposed to be semi-retired. You didn’t want to deal with this. You just had no choice. 

Up until the point he’d presented you with one. 

Strangely, a small smile came to Coulson’s lips. “That’s a valid point. I’ll make note of it.” He stood from his chair, signaling this meeting was a few seconds from being over. “I know the woman running the project. Rosalind Price. We’re working together.” 

Ah- you did recognize that name. One of the soldiers had said it. But, just to be sure, you sent a dark gaze up his way. “Not to cage kids, I hope.” 

“No. And I’d ask that you hold off on whatever PR work you’re doing for Xavier until we have this all sorted out. Just to make sure these worlds don’t collide any further.” 

Tony held a hand out. “I’m missing a few pieces, but I think I’ve got it. This has everything to do with alien life, doesn’t it? So Inhumans and Mutants aren’t the same. And now you’ve got a lot to deal with before you can let all this get out to the public.” A slight pause and then- “If you ever do.” Hinting at the fact that, like the predecessor before him, Coulson wanted to keep this quiet. 

Which was exactly why he wanted you to stop. Because that was the opposite of what you did. And certainly the opposite of what Charles Xavier wanted. Whether or not Mutans or Inhumans were the same- which, clearly they weren’t- it was all going to start getting swept up into superpowered soup. The average person wasn’t going to care who got powers from what source. 

All they were going to care about was that everyone was suddenly different. And scary. And that road… that road was going to be the most dangerous of them all. 

You had a choice to make here, and it was not an easy one. But. Maybe that was the point of all this. What your team had been saying. And now what Coulson had presented to you. He’d given you more information than he’d come here wanting to give up. And now… now he was asking you to let this go. Again. 

“This coincides deeply with my team. Our world. If this gets away from you in the exact wrong way, we’re all going to pay the price.” Laying it all out there for him. 

He gazed at you, waiting, and then, “I’m well aware.” This was him asking simply: do you trust me? 

Did you? 

A small breath escaped from you. “Fine. I needed time to figure out the Xavier thing anyway. But- I want a report. And not one nine months later when you’re finished. When you’re done you come to me. Is that understood?” 

This time he really did smile fully. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You held a hand up. “No. No. I don’t like that.” That almost implied… he was working for you. And that was a huge no. 

But he was already turning his back on you and heading out. Tony gave an empty wave. “Nice seeing you. Coming to the holiday party?” 

Coulson opened the door. “I’ll see if I can fit it in.” 

Then he was gone. The door was shut behind him. Leaving you and Tony and a big ugly report about aliens and other nonsense sitting on your desk. One Tony wanted to read very badly. You could feel it. 

You put a hand to your head. “Tony.” 

His attention immediately diverted to you. “Yes, honey?” 

“Our anniversary is in two days.” 

“It is.” 

“I’ve been trying to- I’ve been hoping that nothing was going to ruin it.” 

“Funny. Me, too.” 

“That report is going to upset you. It’s going to get your brain going. But if I take it away from you, you’re just going to stress about reading it until you get your hands on it. So.” Finally you looked up at him. “What do you want to do?” 

Leaving it up to him. Because this was going to impact him no matter what. Would delaying it be the worse thing? Or would reading it now and digesting it be the worse thing? Only he knew the answer to that. 

His eyes searched yours, maybe trying to understand just how bad that report was- clearly it was pretty bad, if your reading it had summoned him here shortly after. And he knew it at least had to do with all this alien talk- something that triggered him regularly. You didn’t want him to fall into a hole, but he probably would no matter what. So you needed to know when and where that was going to be. So that you could be by his side and help him. 

Just like how he’d come to help you. 

Reaching, he took hold of one of your hands in both of his. And, gently, “Let’s go away.” 

This was not exactly what you were expecting. “Are you sure?” 

His nod was firm. “Yeah. For a few days. Short anniversary vacation. And everything else… we’ll deal with it when we get back.” 

Feeling a little more secure and just… at home with him, even here, safe and protected from all of this, a smile found you. “I love you.” 

His own smile by comparison was so much warmer. Like a beat of sun shining down on you. “I love you.” 

Two more days. Two more days… and then you’d make it official. Proposing to this man would be one of the best things you’d ever done. Right next to marrying him, you were sure. Whenever that happened. 

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 47 - Inclinations

First chapter on AO3 This chapter on AO3

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Fereldan Civil War AU, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Demisexuality Chapter Summary:  After so long apart, Rosslyn and Alistair finally find a chance to talk.

---------------------------------

The eleventh hour came before Rosslyn finally decided to give up on working. She made it through the payroll and the duty roster, and even Gideon’s droning personnel report, but every time she glanced up, Alistair’s letters stared back at her with their secrets still sealed and waiting, and even if she couldn’t bring herself to read them – not quite yet – she reached out every time to reassure herself of their ink-and-paper realness under her hand. The thirteenth time was once too many. With a sigh, she kicked back her chair and cast aside the letter from the steward of her family’s holdings in Nevarra, snatched up the packet by its silk ribbon knot, and slipped it into her pocket. She would read them, she would, but first she would see Leliana.

As she crossed the camp to the infirmary, a blush began to crawl up the back of her neck no matter how she tried to push it down. The aloofness between her soldiers and Alistair’s had vanished from the day before, and in its place an easy camaraderie that spilled over into their greetings to her. She kept her chin raised. Of course they knew the prince had slept in her pavilion, the camp was too small for anything else and soldiers gossiped worse than washerfolk, but knowing it as a fact grated less on her sense of propriety than having to endure an army’s worth of tipped winks and indulgent smiles.

Leliana was not in the infirmary.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Your Ladyship,” Amell said, sorting a basket of fresh herbs into bundles. “She left quite early.”

Rosslyn frowned. “What happened to the assassin’s remains?”

“I’m not sure – try the armoury, maybe?”

“Thank you.”

The armourer’s wagon sat in the middle of the camp, pouring out smoke and the odour of hot metal from the small furnace built over the rear wheels. The smith nodded to her as she approached, and pointed over her shoulder before returning her attention to the belt buckle she was mending. Rosslyn followed the direction, her hand tight around Talon’s hilt, and sighed as she caught sight of familiar red hair tucked in the shelter of the wagon’s doorway. Marjolane’s body lay covered in a sheet behind her, out of the way and secure while a decision was made for what to do with it.

At the sound of footsteps, Leliana wiped her eyes. “Your Ladyship, I wasn’t expecting…” The smile she offered hid too many things underneath it, but Rosslyn did not pry.

“Shall we go for a walk?”

At first they stayed quiet, content to share each other’s company, until the silence strained too far and the whole of Marjolane’s history – and Leliana’s – tumbled out like a confession. Her time being patronised in the Orlesian court, relationships that thrived on a shared love of danger, a betrayal leading to torture and accusations of treason, all orchestrated by someone who cared for others only as tools to be used and discarded. After such a life, it was no wonder she had sought refuge in the chantry of a remote Fereldan village.

“I knew you were more than just a lay sister,” Rosslyn murmured, at a loss for anything else to say as Leliana reached the end of her tale and fell silent once more. “A bard. It explains your skill with a bow.”

“Bards use whatever tools they can to reach their targets while staying in the shadows,” came the reply. “An arrow to the eye through a dark window works as well as any. I am sorry that she came for you.”

She shook her head. “If not her then it would have been someone else, possibly someone who couldn’t have been distracted. You saved my life last night, I’m only sorry for what it cost you.”  

“It cost me nothing except a shadow I am glad to be rid of.” A muscle worked in Leliana’s jaw, but she dismissed whatever she was about to say with a huff and instead painted on a smile. “But perhaps it is better to dwell on more pleasant news, no? I heard this morning that Prince Alistair kept you company last night, and did not leave until this morning. It seems the two of you have reached an accord after your avoidance yesterday.”

Rosslyn stiffened at the merriment in the older woman’s eyes. “Nothing happened,” she said. “At least, nothing like I’m sure what a lot of people are implying. That’s –” Beyond me, she wanted to say. A river flowing back on itself. Even in the depths of her loneliness without his letters, a small part of her had breathed relief that he had turned away before she had to see her shortfall reflect with revulsion – or worse, pity – in his eyes.

Her friend placed a gentle hand on her arm. “I am sorry if my prying causes discomfort, I only meant that you look happy. Whatever troubles you, I am sure His highness would listen.”

For a moment, the memory of waking resurfaced and covered the blight of Rosslyn’s thoughts, eyes blinking, limbs heavy with contentment, warm and safe as Alistair’s fingertips tracked reverent paths across her skin, and the I love you dropped so easily from his lips as if he had said it a hundred times before. She wanted to believe her future lay that way, wanted it with a strength that made her ache. What would her mother have said? Or Oriana? If she spilled all her innermost terrors, where would Leliana’s guidance take her? The older woman was a friend, who had proven herself a dozen times over in the past few months, and yet the hand on her arm, the soft smile – those were bards’ tactics, meant to reassure and encourage shared confidence, too close to manipulation to stomach even though it came from a place of trust.

“I found out he didn’t stop writing to me,” she admitted instead, gaze distant. “He thought about me, all that time. I don’t know what, exactly, I haven’t read his letters yet, but –”

“What do you mean, you have not read them?” Leliana cried. “You have a more disciplined mind than I. I would have torn them open the instant they touched my hand, never mind whatever official duties might try to call me away.” She grinned. “You should go! Sit in the roots of a beech tree and read your letters with filtered sunlight falling across the pages and the wind stirring your hair. It makes for a very romantic image, no?”

“Not at this time of year,” Rosslyn observed wryly. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to retire to the stables instead?”

“If you insist on being so practical and Fereldan about it.  Ada will be pleased, at least.”

She frowned. “Morrence, why?”

“Because it means she still has a stake in the betting pool.”

“The what?”

“Be easy,” Leliana tried. “She has not laid money on you.”

“But others have?” Rosslyn persisted, feeling her face heat. “My private life is not a matter on which to bet like it’s some sort of race – especially not… that part.”

“I am sorry to have offended you.”

“You haven’t done anything. But it stops, one way or another.”

Surprised by the frost in her tone, her friend glanced down, contrite, and nodded. “I will see to it, but if it will make you feel better, this does not come from a bad place. Everyone knows you two have been giddy on each other for months.” The smile returned. “Though I think some are not so good at noticing the obvious.”

“Things were complicated,” she protested. “They still are.”

Leliana gave her a long look. “The heart is a complicated organ. But I think it may lighten a little if you were to put aside all other matters and see to your reading this instant.”

“Will you be alright?”

“As I said, Marjolane was a shadow.” A shrug. “And now I am standing in the sun.”

Still not quite convinced but unwilling to push the issue, Rosslyn watched her friend retreat back towards the infirmary, fishing in her pocket for the touch of paper and ribbon against her fingers. Her stomach churned to think what they might contain, but talking had steadied her, and she sighed as she turned towards the picket lines. Lasan would be grumpy she hadn’t brought him a treat, but she could make it up to him later. The horsemaster greeted her warmly when he spotted her coming around the corner, and offered her the dish of boiled chicken he had just fetched for Cuno.

“Sedative’s worn off, ma’am, and he’s much brighter, but still weak. Try not to excite him too much, and don’t let him scoff it all at once,” he said, before saluting with a hoofpick and turning to wander down the line.

She let herself into the roped-off stall where Cuno had been settled, keeping her movements quiet to avoid startling him out of his doze. The scent of the cooked meat made his nose twitch, however, and when he realised who had come to visit him, he wriggled out from under the deep pile of straw in which he had slept and tried to haul himself to his feet. Trying to keep the dish out of reach, she shushed him and came to sit by his head before he could move too far.

“Yes, yes, I’m happy to see you too,” she chuckled, pushing him away before he could lick her face. “Good boy. Now, lie down or you’re not getting fed.”

Cuno did as he was told, setting his chin and one heavy paw on her thigh to properly employ his charm, his tail wagging with every piece of meat he plucked gingerly from her fingers. He was clearly still queasy, but he was trying, and she smiled her relief down at him as he swallowed the last piece and flopped on his side, groaning in contentment. She ardently scratched his ears as she eased the letters out of her pocket. They had crumpled slightly, but the knot gave in to her fingers with ease despite the way they trembled.

“No boy, it’s not food,” she told the dog, who had roused at the faint crinkle and was leaning over to sniff at the packet.

She was glad to have him with her as she read, offering an anchor against the tempest that threatened to swallow her. Alistair wrote his moods without guile, and she teased them apart easily through worry and confusion and hurt, the attempts to re-engage with tales of his daily life, sketches he thought might make her happy, or provoke at least some response. When that fragile hope turned to despair, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes to think what he had been through. She, at least, had had a reason to think he might not be writing to her. The knowledge that he wasn’t beholden to Valesh Aeducan did nothing to calm the wriggle of jealousy that snaked through her insides, however. Every mention of the dwarven woman’s name jolted through her chest, the casual way it was slipped into descriptions of his lessons in the Shaperate, into Bhelen’s politics, into every bitter plea and word of censure that flowed from his pen. And as she read about what the two of them had almost done, she had to stop, and turn away, and close her hand over her mouth to quell the lurch of bile in her stomach. He had said no, but he had wanted to, and aside from the feeling of betrayal came that deeper, slinking fear, the one that whispered she wasn’t enough, that he would find her wanting and turn away.

“I thought I might find you here,” said a soft voice above her.

She swiped the stains from her cheeks, hoping he hadn’t seen.  

“How is he?” Alistair asked as he let himself into the stall.

“Enjoying the attention immensely,” she managed. Her voice sounded bright and brittle as copper in her ears. “Aren’t you?”

In reply, Cuno merely lifted his forepaw onto her arm to give her better access to scratch his chest. The repetitive movement grounded her, let her focus on something other than Alistair’s warmth settling beside her, his worried scrutiny and his hand as it found the small of her back.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “This is my fault. Some of the things I said –”

“Don’t.” She tried a smile. “You could’ve told me he burned them.”

“That wouldn’t have been fair,” he answered. “Not after I got to read yours. How, uh… how far through are you?”

She drew in a shaky breath, smoothed the paper over her lap. “Only a couple left. I suppose it changes the effect, reading them all at once.”

“I know what you mean – but I didn’t realise how much I missed you until I had your voice again. Does that sound weird?” A wisp of hair had come free of her braid, and his hand barely brushed her skin as he tidied it away.

“No,” she chuckled, but fiddled with the corner of the letter nonetheless. Her heart pounded “You and Valesh….”

“I didn’t know.”

She shook her head, tripped carefully around the words. “I know, but… Was there ever a moment when – did you never waver?” The question burned, as it had burned since Cailan had let slip his plans for his brother over the breakfast table, but only once the words were spoken did she realise the trap that lay in them. Ashamed, she dropped her gaze to her hands. “No, that’s not a fair question to ask. After some of the things I said to you…”

Alistair sighed as she tried to shift to give him room and laid his cheek against her shoulder. “Sometimes – there were moments, when I was just so angry, but… I should have had more faith in you, I should have – I don’t know – figured it out, asked.”

“Who would you have asked?” she countered, leaning into him. She didn’t want to read the rest of the letters, not now she had the relief of him next to her, real and solid and warm. “You couldn’t have said anything without giving up the secrecy I asked for.”

“This wasn’t your fault.”

She stroked Cuno’s ears, closed her eyes. “It wasn’t yours, either.”

They rested together for a moment, stulted by the direction of the conversation and the current of doubt still swirling beneath their relief. When Rosslyn blinked her eyes open again, he was watching her, and his hand had found hers, his thumb a feathersoft sweep over her knuckles. Tilting forward into a kiss was the easiest thing in the world. As he responded, gentle at first, delicate in his uncertainty as he closed the last of the space between them, she sank into the feeling without caring that there might be people to see. His hand came up to cup her face, bring her closer, and as she opened to him, the hungry push of his tongue into her mouth sent a shock of heat through her body.

One of the horses kicked over its bucket. Alistair broke the kiss, blushing, though his hands still held her face. With a self-conscious chuckle, he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I came to ask,” he managed, voice rough, “do you think you could get away for a little while?”

“I might be able to. Why?”

He stole another kiss. “It’s a surprise.”

-----

They emerged from a stand of trees a short time later to a view of a grassy bank dotted with late wildflowers and birdsong. A dilapidated water mill couched by a deep stream, its roof fallen in to blackened timbers and its walls choked with ivy where they hadn’t crumbled completely. Repairs to the adjoining paddock showed where someone had used it recently, and Rosslyn shivered to think this might have been where Marjolane had waited for her.

Getting away from the camp had been easy once Rosslyn’s duties had been handed off to Gideon and Captain Mhairi had been convinced of their good intentions. They chose caution, and brought their weapons, but no guards followed them, and for the first time in months the weight of scrutiny lifted enough that they might have been the only two people in the world. With a grin like a cat’s, Alistair dismounted and skirted around Lasan’s flattened ears until the was close enough to hold up his arms to Rosslyn.

“I can dismount my own horse, you know,” she grumbled.

His grin widened. “I know.”

Hiding a smile behind the roll of her eyes, she slackened the reins and lifted herself out of the four-pronged cavalry saddle. Strong arms slid around her waist as she descended, steadied her as she unhooked her foot from the stirrup.

“Do you remember the last time we stood like this?” he murmured, with a kiss to her left shoulder.

“You mean when I scolded you for not doing what I ordered and nearly collapsed from blood loss? It wasn’t very romantic.”

He chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know – there was candlelight, at least.”

“Those were torches.”

“Alright, spoil my fun if you must. Come on.” He let her go and reached for his gelding’s trailing reins, clucking it to walk on behind him. Together they fell in step and emerged into the sunlight. Crickets chirped in the grass and moths scattered beneath their feet as she slipped her fingers into his.

“You still haven’t told me why we’re here,” she reminded him.

“Would you like me to?” he teased.

Her eyes narrowed. “I think you want me to ask.”

“My lady is too clever for me.”

She squeezed his hand and bumped his shoulder.

“Now, it should be around here somewhere – aha!” He pointed to the far corner of the paddock, where a canvas bag was slumped against the gatepost next to a neatly folded blanket.

“A picnic?”

The smile he offered her turned bashful. “I thought it would be a good excuse to stay out here for a while – to talk – and… I know you well enough to know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“It’s a great idea,” she assured him. “It’ll be nice to take a break from being not-watched by an entire complement of house guards.”

“Or pulled aside by every minor squabble that needs a mediator,” he agreed. “Gideon told me some of what’s been happening. You deserve a moment where you get to be just you and not the Teyrna of Highever.”

She blinked, stopping in her tracks so abruptly Lasan jerked his head up in annoyance. That he would take the time to speak with her Guard-Commander, and know precisely how to lift the weight that had dragged at her heels for so long, prodded at the hole in her chest caused by his absence – healing it, she realised, even as he glanced back at her with a grin on his lips and such warmth in his gaze her reply died on the tip of her tongue.

“You can’t fault me for wanting you all to myself for a little while,” he said, letting go of her hand to lead his horse through the gate.

“I suppose not.” She kept her voice light, despite the sudden, growing realisation that the next few hours of solitude might offer her best chance for a confession of her secret, and the misgivings that had made her push him away only a few hours before. He deserved to know, to choose freely. And she would live with it.

She tried to put it from the mind and enjoy the silence as they untacked the horses. Though the beasts were glad to have the trappings off, the humid air had left damp patches of sweat beneath the saddle pads and raised clouds of midges to bother them as they stood tethered to the rail. Lasan shook himself with a grunt as Rosslyn rubbed him down, lipping at her sleeve and turning to blow sweet air against her cheek when she reached the sensitive spot at the top of his withers. She smiled, murmuring to him in Clayne. He had scars now, bald stripes crossing his shoulders and haunches that hadn’t been there when they set out from Highever, but it did nothing to detract from his confirmation, from the beauty of his gleaming bay-roan coat.

She blushed when she caught Alistair smiling at her.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse quite so besotted with its rider,” he said as she tossed aside the twist of grass she had been using as a brush.

“Are you jealous?” she asked.

“I don’t recall you ever scratching my neck like that.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“I, uh…” He coughed and averted his eyes, flushing so deeply she felt a twinge of regret for teasing him.

“My father bought him for me as a colt,” she told him. “My first real horse to train myself.” She unhitched the reins from the fence and walked Lasan around to turn him loose. “He was going to be my foundation sire.”

“What do you mean?”  

For a moment she didn’t answer, busying herself with the straps. “Before all of this, I was planning to raise horses.”

He was watching her again. “I didn’t know that.”  

“You’re the only person I’ve told,” she replied airily. “My family… I own an estate further east from Highever with perfect pasture land, and I thought I’d try to improve the stock. Orlais nearly destroyed the Forder breed during the Occupation, like they did with Mabari. I thought it would be a shame to let them die out completely. I was going to tell my parents, but then Loghain stormed out of the Landsmeet and rumours started about a civil war, and I decided it could wait for a less tumultuous moment. It’s just an idle dream now.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Alistair said, laying a light hand on her arm.

“No. When this is all over there’ll be too much to do rebuilding the teyrnir, and that’s more important.”

When he didn’t reply, she dragged her attention from where the horses were exploring the confines of the paddock to find his gaze unfocused, marred with a frown. Perhaps she had erred in mentioning the future, even obliquely. With so much still left to do, she had kept herself from thinking about it much, about how her life would be bound to her title, and her responsibilities to Highever’s people after all they had suffered. As she looked at him, however, a secondary image flashed across her vision, a glance of afternoon sunlight into her father’s study, falling across her, and across the book she imagined in Alistair’s hands as he lounged next to her, like they had been that morning when they woke up. She pushed it away before it could sting too much, and snuck a kiss from him instead.

“What was that for?” he asked, stunned.

She shrugged. “Being you.”

“Oh. Good.” He grinned. “I guess I’ll have to keep doing that then.”

“Shall we?”

He followed her gesture back to the gate, to where the supplies had been dumped, and smiled at her again, offering his arm. Together they scouted the meadow for a place to set down, Alistair with the burden of the canvas bag, and she with the blanket, offering the odd remark whenever they caught sight of something interesting in their path. The bluff they finally chose overlooked the stream, with a clear eye to the horses and enough distance from the surrounding trees that they could spy anyone who tried to approach. Rosslyn sighed, though she couldn’t shake her worry.

“I still don’t know how you persuaded Mhairi to let us wander off without an escort,” she said as they flattened the long grass into a springy cushion for them to lay out the blanket.

“She knows a little of what’s happened,” he replied. “I told her I needed to talk to you without being overheard. They had this place cleared out thus morning and I asked very nicely if she could talk to the quartermaster and set up some provisions while I came to find you.”

“We’re not entirely alone,” she noted, catching sight of a steel glint just beyond the line of trees.  

“No, well, Mhairi takes her job seriously. Which is a good thing I suppose, but not something we need to worry about right this instant.” He patted the space next to him and placed the bag of food in his lap, darting a quick kiss to her temple as she kneeled and peered over his shoulder to see.  

There couldn’t be much to expect from a harried army on the march in the middle of the mountains, but the quartermaster had clearly made an effort. Inside the bag, beneath packed plates and a pair of chipped horn mugs, they found bread, cheese, dried fruit, cured meat in waxed paper, and even a slightly squashed blackberry custard tart, along with basic cutlery and a bottle of elderflower wine. Each new surprise was laid out with a ridiculous level of ceremony designed to make her laugh, and as conversation warmed between them they picked at the fare, enjoying the sunshine and the respite from their usual lives. Swifts darted among the wildflowers as they talked about what had been the past few months, the summer campaign in the south and the wealth of knowledge in Orzammar’s Shaperate, news from the Clayne and knowledge of Anora’s secret desertion to her husband’s cause.

“I missed you every day,” Alistair confessed, searching for her hand on the blanket. At some point he had sunk into her lap and rested his head on her legs, eyes closed against the sun as she lazily carded her fingers through his hair.

She hummed. “I probably could have done with you, too, now I think about it.”

“Hey, you managed not to murder Baudrillard,” he pointed out. “That counts as a success.”

“Believe me when I say it was a close thing.”

The growl in her voice gave him pause, and he squinted up in alarm when an accidental twitch of her hand yanked at his scalp.

“What did he do?”

She watched a kingfisher flash from a dead branch into the stream. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Rosslyn…?” He levered himself off her lap, catching hold of her chin in an attempt to persuade her to look at him. The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.

“It was nothing more than words,” she promised. “At least to me.” She dropped her head against his shoulder and sighed. “And he’s gone now. It can’t have been much better having to put up with Eamon for so long.”

This time, Alistair did growl. His fist clenched. “When I found out what he did… I used to think he was a good man. I can’t believe he tried to separate us like that.”

“Yet here we are,” she reminded him, pulling back to eye him properly. “It didn’t work. The question is, what are we going to do about it? Does Cailan know – about what his intentions were?”

He winced. “Cailan. You… don’t know, do you? I didn’t mention it when I wrote?”

Bewildered, she shook her head, frowning when he cursed and shifted so he could take her hand in both of his.  

“Cailan…” His lips pursed, and he couldn’t meet her eye. “Cailan has plans to divorce Anora. I’m pretty sure the whole thing is Eamon’s idea in the first place, but his reason for it is so he can… ugh, so he can marry you instead, actually, as a way of distancing himself from Loghain without being tied to Orlais or the Free Marches. Eamon stopped the letters so I wouldn’t interfere.”

“That’s what you meant in that letter,” she realised. “When you asked if Cailan had…”

“Please don’t. I was an arse. Worse than an arse.”

“You were in pain. And he pushed King Bhelen’s sister into your path on purpose.”  Rage coiled in the pit of her stomach. For as long as she had known Eamon, she had baulked at the liberties he excused through his closeness to the Crown, his justifications for meddling in Cailan’s affairs, but withholding private correspondence from a member of the royal family went beyond mere interference. It was treason.

“You warned me,” Alistair recalled. “You told me not to trust him.”

“He’s spent a lifetime in politics,” she replied. “And he is the king’s uncle. You couldn’t have ignored him completely.”

“I used to think – ugh. For the longest time I was told I should be grateful for being allowed to stay in Redcliffe after my mother died, and he’s held it over my head all these years.”

She stroked his hair again, cradled on his shoulder, offering comfort and sharing in his anger, until he angled away with a deep inhale and brushed a kiss against her hair.

“If we tell Cailan, it would mean telling him everything.”

Around them, the late afternoon sun slanted long through the grass, drenching them in stripes of golden light and blue shadows that held the first chill of evening.

“I know,” she answered.  

“I – I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he pressed, pulling back so he could fully see her. “I love you. We’re stronger together, and I want everyone to know how I feel about you.”

The words hit her like a blow, a yearning so strong she leaned into him as if pulled by a string, thinking to kiss him, or hold him, or perhaps crawl into his lap and refuse to leave until the sky itself fell down. But this was the time; it would be unfair to lead him further than she could go. So instead of answering the tilt of his mouth she shuffled out of his reach and knelt, palms on her thighs, back straight like Aldous had taught her long ago, and mustered her voice from behind the sudden lump in her throat.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said.

Somehow it was worse that he waited patiently. She wanted to take his hand, play with it to distract herself, but the thought that he might pull it back made her pick at her own fingers instead.

“Do you remember the first night we were in Dunedyn – the conversation we had?”

“We did a lot of talking that night,” he reminded her, his gaze steady, but worried.

“The part about the lamppost,” she said. “When I told you I had never… been intimate with anyone.”

He smiled. “I remember. I told you I hadn’t either. That’s still true.”

“For me, there was more to it than that. It’s not just that I haven’t done it, it’s that I’ve never wanted to. That whole – I’m not –” Her heart thronged in her ears; nerves ran tingling through her hands. “Desire has never… had a place with me. Not to that extent. I don’t understand it. When I was growing up, whenever anyone talked about attraction or – or wanting to sleep with someone, I always thought they were exaggerating, I thought that was what people did, like it was a game and I was the only one who didn’t know the rules.” A sigh, steadying herself. “And then one day my mother’s friend, Lady Landra, accused me of pretending to be oblivious on purpose after… well. Her son made a suggestion that never occurred to me, and it made things awkward. And that’s when I realised I was…” Broken, her mind sneered. “Different.”

She started when a hand reached out to cover hers, but if she looked at Alistair now, if she lost her nerve and looked up and found him retreating, the ground beneath her might fall away entirely and take her with it.

“My family… had concerns for me,” she forced out. “Oriana used to say it was only nerves because I had no experience, and Fergus wondered if I preferred the company of women and just couldn’t admit it. my mother… she never mentioned it at all, but she kept inviting her friends to bring their very eligible sons with them whenever they came to the castle, or pointing out when someone showed me attention at the Landsmeet. In the end, I hated going there, smiling along with the innuendo, having to fend everyone off and lying about why.” She steadied herself. “Vaughan tried me – I broke his nose but he told me…”

“What?” Alistair asked gently, when she faltered.

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth. “He said in the end willingness wouldn’t matter. It was a parting shot, because he had blood pouring all over his brand new doublet, but it’s not like he’s the only one who thinks that way.”

“Rosslyn –”

“I’m telling you this because it does matter,” she interrupted. “What I feel for you is… more than I’ve ever felt for anyone, more than I thought I ever could, and… I love you, but as terrifying as it is to think I might not be enough, it wouldn’t be right to let this continue if you have expectations I can’t meet.”

Her voice cracked but she drew her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, determined not to cry. She could do so afterwards, once everything was left in ruins and she could crawl into the rubble to hide, out of sight of the man who left her more certain and more unsure of everything than anyone else she had ever met.

“Rosslyn.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

“No – love, look at me.” A hand brushed along her jaw, cupping the back of her head. “Is that why you froze this morning?”

She snorted. “So you noticed.”

“Look at me. I didn’t know what I’d done,” he admitted shakily. “I’m – I’m glad you told me. I’d hate it if we went further and I only found out after that you didn’t want to. And what you said about Vaughan… I never want to be that person, especially not for you.”

Startled by the tremor in his voice, she chanced a peek from beneath her eyelashes. His gaze wasn’t on her, but staring inward at some demon of his own.

“You could live with it?” she asked, voice low. “If we never…?”

“Breaking your heart would be worse.”

Her breath heaved like she was drowning. She had thought him lost, then lost again, but the sunlight that lanced across his face betrayed no lie in his eyes, only refracted through his irises to cast them in shades of molten amber like on that first morning when he had wrapped his own blanket around her shoulders. It warmed his skin to bronze, curved across slightly-parted lips, burned his hair beyond its usual tawny colour until it looked like spun copper. Her hands were numb.  

“I want you,” she said, blushing when she realised she had spoken out loud. “That is, I want to be with you. This morning, waking up next to you felt so right, and there have been times when I’ve imagined, uh, more… But it’s all so new, I hardly know what to do with myself, or how to act, or what to say, and… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Heyyyy…” He shifted onto his knees so he could reach her, slid a comforting arm around her waist. “I’m new at this too, remember? We can go slowly – Maker, we’ve faced down all sorts of things and come out just fine, we can work this out too.”  

The world faded away; there was only Alistair’s face and the hard beat of hope in her chest. Words would not come, though she tried to find some suitable, until all she could do was shake her head and throw her arms around his neck and bury her head against his shoulder. The laugh that bubbled up her throat was half hysterical, more of a sob than anything else, but an arm pressed around the small of her back, wrapping her up with a strength she never wanted to be without.

“I’m sorry this worried you,” he murmured.

“You said ‘we’,” she replied. “Us. Together.”

He pulled back to smile at her. “Of course. Nobody else laughs at my jokes, and kissing isn’t nearly as fun when you’re on your own.” He paused, inhaled, suddenly uncertain. “You do enjoy that, don’t you? The kissing? It’s not… too much?”

How could she not love him? She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing she might say could encompass every thought in her head, the sheer force of the rush in her blood. Her hand went to his cheek, her eyes to his mouth, and before she could think about it at all she leaned forward and crushed a kiss to his lips, with the pinesmoke scent of his skin bursting in her lungs and his hair soft as silk under her fingers.

“Only when it’s you,” she breathed, pulling back only far enough to bump her nose against his.

It was his turn to laugh. “In that case, maybe I should give you another one…”

[adrianodiprato]

+ “Great leaders, in contrast, are able to inspire people to act. Those who are able to inspire give people a sense of purpose or belonging that has little to do with any external incentive or benefit to be gained. Those who truly lead are able to create a following of people who act not because they were swayed, but because they were inspired.” ~ Simon Sinek | Author – Start with Why: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone to Take Action

Game Changers | Series One Reflection

In March this year I launched an educational podcast series titled Game Changers, with fellow host Associate Professor of Education & Enterprise Dr Phil Cummins. Game Changers is a podcast for those who want to change the game of school. We started Series One with the provocation “What is the purpose of schooling for today?”

When Phil and I started to record this series the coronavirus pandemic had not taken hold. Before I launch into a reflection of Series One I feel it is important to acknowledge and state that during this unimaginable time we find ourselves in, we in education have to be super conscious of our parents and families, who are balancing work, finances, a house and home learning, our remarkable teachers who have demonstrated amazing agility and adaptability like I’ve never witnessed before in my educational career and finally to our students. Who now find themselves without the huge benefit of the physical, on campus community and relationship connectedness that had brought them much psychological safety, certainty and comfort.  

Since then we have seen a new learning paradigm – learning remotely, online, distance, home campus – whatever you wish to call it, actually I prefer continuous learning, because the pandemic has amplified the notion that learning can happen anywhere and anytime. So, we live in interesting times. Coping with the complex changes of VUCA (Volatility, Uncertainty, Complexity, and Ambiguity) – but what do we do with this insight? For mine, this podcast has become a sign of our times. This series has confirmed that emotional competency and our inherent humanness is the new knowledge base, in a world that is increasingly automated, with artificial intelligence a more and more prevailing construct. And it has taken a virus for educators across the global to put a spotlight on educational models, amplifying the gulf between a model of schooling that has passed its use by date and a move toward a dynamic learning ecosystem for a new world environment.

It has been a real privilege to be in dialogue with this diverse group of educators and entrepreneurs. I am better for my encounter with their body of work, their passion, their thinking, their unwavering commitment to young people and above all, their humanity. When I think about all eight individuals I am remined of this quote from Parker Palmer’s landmark book, The Courage to Teach, he writes, “The connections made by good teachers are held not in their methods but in their hearts – meaning heart in its ancient sense, the place where intellect and emotion and spirit and will converge in the human self.”

Episode One | Stephanie McConnell

We then started Series One with foundation Principal of the Lindfield Learning Village in Sydney NSW, Stephanie McConnell.

Key learnings – We have to reimagine schooling to best prepare all young people to learn, live, lead and work for their future. And to this end Stephanie spoke about equipping young people with the mindset to thrive. That learning needs to be more around the contexts of young people, therefore relevance a prevailing construct. And that a thriving learning community or village is about true collaboration - learning with and from the local and global community. And that the individual learning pathway is central to the future of schooling.

Episode Two | Yong Zhao

Key learnings – We need to abandon the prescribed factory model. That we currently manufacture scarcity with our industrial model of schooling – life is not about fighting for a few spots. And that adaptive challenges however are less precise, intangible and are usually resolved through a more organic process of trial and error, as we have been witnessing many adaptive teachers during this pandemic. I particularly love that Zhao is strong advocate for students to become drivers of their own future, trusting in each young person to take ownership and agency. Believing each can create their story, for their own future.

Episode Three | Valerie Hannon

Nobel Prize-winning scientist Paul Crutzen first suggested, back in January 2011 in Yale Environment 360 online magazine, that we were living in the Anthropocene, describing the value of this new framing for our current Earth history. He stated “Students in school are still taught that we are living in the Holocene, an era that began roughly 12,000 years ago at the end of the last Ice Age. But teaching students that we are living in the Anthropocene, the Age of Men [Humans], could be of great help. Rather than representing yet another sign of human hubris, this name change would stress the enormity of humanity’s responsibility as stewards of the Earth. It would highlight the immense power of our intellect and our creativity, and the opportunities they offer for shaping the future.”

Key learnings – For mine, our conversation with Valerie Hannon was brilliant in highlighting that we are in exactly that, The Age of Human. And that we have a responsibility to craft learning communities that understand and embrace this stewardship of earth, where we see ourselves as part of nature, understanding how to live within and with the planet as a whole. It is less about a selfless approach to living and more about place and the other. And that educators and schools have a fundamental role to prepare future generations for this world that awaits.

Episode Four  | Henry Musoma

Key learnings – For mine, this conversation was the reason why I do what I do, teach. Henry reminded us all that authentic learning is a social exchange of the heart and of the mind. He reminded me of two key things:

Self-actualisation - When we do the work and invest in improving ourselves, we evolve all aspects of our being. Then, we take what we’ve learned and share that light and love with the other. This feeling of self-actualisation is worth actively working toward for true personal fulfilment.

For All -  Effective educators leave a legacy, and a tremendous influence on the life of the other. This is a privilege and gift. “Never regard study as a duty but as an enviable opportunity to learn to know the liberating influence of beauty in the realm of the spirit for your own personal joy and to the profit of the community to which your later works belong.” – Albert Einstein. This is the human act of giving. Therefore generosity, love and kindness are not impulsive reactions. They require a profound consciousness and concern for the other.

Episode Five | Catherine Misson

Key learnings – Today’s educational sector calls for adaptive leadership. It is a collaborative change movement that emerges in a non-linear manner from interactive exchanges. School leaders and educational sectors need to wake to the fact that control, order and certainty are fallacies and that agile and adaptive leaders read the patterns of life effectively, moulding themselves to the needs of the moment, the sign of our times. Catherine is one of those leaders who isn’t afraid to agitate for doing schooling differently, always with the wellbeing and dignity of all the centre of her decision making.

Episode Six | Peter Hutton

Key learnings – School leaders need to re-examine the purpose of education for today’s world and ensure that it is based on the facts and emerging predictions about the impact of the exponential change we are currently witnessing. It is our collective responsibility to expose young people to new experiences and possibilities, but if we want them to take charge of their learning, these experiences have to be worthwhile and applicable in the students’ lives… really applicable, not because traditional dogma says they have to know it.

Episode Seven | Madeleine Grummet

Key learnings – Real opportunities exist with private enterprise to partner with schools and educational sectors to codifying curiosity and connect young people to industry-based people. What a dynamic way to accelerate the work of careers practitioners in schools and scale up with entrepreneurs that are focused on empowering young women, across industries that smash gender stereotypes. I always love having a dialogue with wonderful entrepreneurs like Madeleine - because they are forever curious about learning, living, leading and working. So, ask yourself, how do you quench your thirst for curiosity?

Episode Eight | Mark Hutchinson

Key learnings – The heart of the matter is what matters most to Mark and his commitment to the formation of pre-service teachers. He spoke about the importance of congruence and a readiness of pre-services teachers having a greater sense of fit with the ethos of the schools they are joining. Ensuring that the preparation of future teachers to be re-situated in the learning ecologies of their particular practice.

The American marketing guru Seth Godin once said, “The cost of being wrong is less than the cost of doing nothing.” It is time. We can’t do nothing. We must act in creating a schooling model that has an explicit emphasis on the fostering of confidence, competence and character. Having said that, above all, this series has confirmed for me why remaining forever curious, highly adaptive and that when we make a commitment to our own self-efficacy and that of the other, these are all fundamental to thriving in this new world environment.

When we go back to school everything will be different – and it must be different. It is time to focus education on the flow of humanity and the importance of relational connection. And if that’s the construct of the new normal, the new mainstream in schools. A holistic education nurtures a student’s unique talents and shapes their awareness of the broader common good. We need teachers and school leaders who challenge the status quo, embrace diversity of opinion, acknowledge limitations in expertise, seek input, and most importantly who are not only able to as John Dewey as previously stated “learn from experience, but rather learn from reflecting on experience”.

Thank you to Stephanie, Yong, Valerie, Henry, Catherine, Peter, Madeleine and Mark for sharing your story and passion. And thank for reminding us all that each person in our learning communities is home to a life. It is as simple and complex as that. Born from the construct of love – of self, for place and the other.

Listen to our Series One: Epilogue via streaming platforms - SoundCloud, Apple Podcasts, Spotify and Google Play.

[godsofmonster]

Florida Kilos ≽ VII.

Reader x Bangtan- Drug Cartel

Word Count- 6,400

Warnings- drugs, guns, blood, prostitution, violence, abuse, sexual content, betrayal, character deaths, ect.

≽ Links to previous chapters can be found on my masterlist in my bio because Tumblr sucks now! You can also click on the ‘Florida Kilos’ tag!

From the time that I was a little girl, growing up in poverty, I decided that my adulthood would be different. At a young age, I was more sure of myself than most of the people around me. As a result, I made my way down to Florida where I began to both make and deal cocaine- alongside the man of my life. We shared our dreams, our bodies, our business. I was in a drug cartel with responsibilities and a lot of talent. I made dangerous partnerships, million dollar deals, and a lot of money; that is where this story continues.

There was a safe place I had created in the depths of my mind.

It formed long ago when I was very young and in need of an escape. It was dark, in complete isolation, but it was safe. Safe to be weak- to be real. I revisited this haven over and over again; watching how she, myself, laid in a pool of sorrow. The young fragile thing consumed by her own pain and the cruelty of the world she had been born into. Then, upon a group of unfortunate series of events, had finally pushed her- me to make a choice.

Stay- Remain where she’s only ever known; going day by day, merely existing in a war zone. Each day looking for any reason, convincing herself, that life was worth living.

Or

Leave- Desert the life I’ve only ever understood; looking for a purpose of my own to keep living. The chance to experience anything remotely good. The chance to have a better life or, at the very least, die trying.

Those two choices were what had split me away from that little girl. I decided that she was too young, too innocent, to have lived what she had lived and so- I made the decision for her. I, she, became the person that was never there. The help- the hope that she always longed for.

For the first time, in a long time, I revisited that haven and found her still there. The place she had never left. She took me by the hand, her bare feet patting on the black floor as she led me to the corner of the room. I sat with her on the ground, away from the light that came from essentially nowhere. I reached my hand up running my fingers through her ungroomed hair. She complained saying that she liked her hair that way. The contrasting light created shadows on the rounds of her face. The sharp light emphasizing the dirt and bruises that were revealed on the displayed parts of her skin. Yet, she smiled at me, maintaining eye contact, until the smile dropped- and she turned her head as if though confused. Then I innocently asked myself,

“Aren’t we supposed to be happy?”

-

I woke to the sound of emptiness. My head weighed a ton, as I lifted it from the pillow, and there was a dull ache that fogged my body. The room was cold and the warehouse just felt different without them. The light came in from the broken blinds of Jungkook’s room.

As much as I wanted to kick and scream, break down the very walls that kept me safe; I did not- I could not.

I slept above the sheets, my arms, and legs cold from the exposure throughout the night. I looked around the covers to find his shirt I had slept beside, taking it in my hands once again, and studying its material. Why did he always have so many white shirts? I smiled painfully and shook my head at the memories. Off in the distance, I picked up on a voice, that could only belong to Jimin.

“Yeah…I think it was something she discussed with Hoseok already...I’ll let her know when she wakes up then.”

I step one foot in front of the other, the cold tile matching my body temperature. I peered over the door frame looking into Jimin’s bedroom provided by its open door.

He stood there near his bed, his phone pressed against his ear, and his back turned to me. He was cleaned up in a fresh new pair of black slacks and a tucked in shirt. His hair was wet from a shower and the humidity of the bathroom could be felt from the hallway. He muttered a few last words into the phone before hanging up. Jimin casually turned around, his eyes glancing from his phone, surprised to see me standing by the door across the hall. He held his phone away; locking eyes with me and examining me from head to toe. Not knowing what to say, he greeted me with a simple, breathless;

“Hey.”

-

It was about two in the afternoon after I had taken a much-needed shower. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the steam from my shower fogged my reflection, my body hugged by a white towel. Tears of my blood dripped into the powder blue sink as I attempted to bound my arm in clean bandages. I inspected the bullet hole, stretching the skin around it for a deeper look, before wrapping it completely.

I didn’t bother with my wet hair. I dried my body off with the towel finding light bruises formed on both my shoulders. The image of Yoongi grabbing me flashed in my remembrance. With a single hand, I reached to my back, lightly pressing on the lower skin, until I felt the pain infliction; meaning there could only be another bruise.  

I sighed to myself. Thinking back to the only piece of advice I had ever gotten from my mother.

Keep it together, even, when you’re falling apart.

I slipped into a pair of high waisted, wide legged, black slack and a gray halter top.  After stepping in a pair of scarpin heels I opened the door and made my way out of the bathroom. The cold air hit me as soon as I walked out, looking down the hall for any sign of Jimin.

“There is food down here, (Y/n).”

I turn my head in the opposite direction, glancing down the stairs, spotting him calmly walking away from the white table. I made my way down, already, smelling the food that resigned in a brown paper bag. Jimin stood by the counter, once again, scrolling through his phone. I didn’t have an appetite, of course, but my headache warned me otherwise.  

“Any word from them?” I asked, hoping to ease some of the tension between us. Jimin and I never were close, but there was always a part of him that made me think that could practically read my mind.  

“Hoseok called a few hours ago after they landed- just to give me his new number.” He explained silently. I caught him looking somewhere across the room, pushing his hair with the back of his hand. There was a stillness, in which I knew he wanted to speak, so I refrained from saying anything. As I reached into the warm bag, grabbing onto something that smelled like fries, he spoke again. “You should see this,”

He hesitantly reached behind him, on the top of the counter, he took a hold of a newsprint. I left the food in the bag, watching as he walked toward me, placing the stack of paper in front of me. My heart stopped and my stomach sank.

New York Times: GUNMAN- GUNDOWN! WHO IS THE GODMOTHER?!

A black and white photograph revealed a mugshot of a younger Jungkook. I took the paper into my hands and my eyes scanned to read the article. I flipped the pages, finding the entire story, more pictures of the crime scene appeared.  

“They were able to ID him quickly. He had a record for simple assault, disorderly conduct, and possession of cannabis with intent to sell. All his arrests were made in Florida.”

I sighed heavily, just now, realizing the trouble this report brought. I rested my head against the palm of my hand. After everything, I didn't even stop to think what could happen if they identified him. His arrests being made in Florida gave the D.E.A agency more than enough reason to go there.

“It's not his fault, even if they arrested him, they still would have connected him back to Florida,” I said defending Jungkook's honor. “At least… they can’t make him talk now.”

“I know but Taehyung isn't happy about this,” Jimin explained. “He wants someone to take the fault.”

“Me,” I said, slamming my hands on to the table and standing to my feet. “I was the one calling the shots- I was overlooking the whole operation!”

“He knows it's not your fault (Y/n),” Jimin said shaking his head. My arms tensed as I rested them at my side. “The person at fault is the one who disobeyed your orders.”

Jimin said sternly and annoyed at my weak attempt to take the blame. I fell to the pressure of his stare, feeling like a helpless child, I took a seat back on the chair timidly.

“Jungkook died… isn't that punishment enough?” I said as a single tear rolled down my face.

“Look (Y/n),” He said placing his hands firmly on the table and leaning in to speak to me. His voice fell hushed but harsh. He stared me dead in the eyes, the way you do a when scolding a child. “I don’t know what's going through your head- but Jungkook is gone. Someone has to respond for his death and you know exactly who it is. You have to pull it together.”

My face flushed in a mixture of rage and embarrassment. I was angry with myself because I knew Jimin’s words were true. I was embarrassed that I had ended up back here after everything. After I worked so hard, what was the point of it all if I couldn’t protect the ones closest to me? I bowed my head but avoided eye contact in complete shame. “In this business- you don’t get to have a mental breakdown.”

“What is Taehyung planning to do?” I asked, sniffling and drying my tears away.

“Nothing, not yet at least,” Jimin said relaxing and moving to stand up straight. “Taehyung is going to talk to you when we get back. Now that the D.E.A has their connection into Florida, he wants us back first thing tomorrow night. You better have a damn good reason by then if you want to keep Yoongi alive.”

As much as I wanted to believe Taehyung would just do as I asked- there would have to be a catch. Taehyung could be childish but he was far from stupid. Especially alongside his brothers; they were still the most dangerous men in Florida. I couldn’t forget that because the moment I did- I would already be dead.

“What’s going to happen with Jungkook?” I asked after a moment of silence.

“His brother was called by the police after they identified him.” I couldn’t imagine getting that call. I didn’t know him at all but I wondered what went through his head. Did he see it coming? Was he prepared for that call after Jungkook had left? It hurt me to imagine that he was going to be buried and I couldn’t even be there. Who but his brother would be there? They had nobody else. “Taehyung doesn't want you to worry about it. He needs you focused so that we can get shit organized here.”

“It won’t be a problem. We have about 14 kilos to pack before we head out, with the guys helping us we should be done by-” He cut me off.

“Taehyung said to do it alone. He doesn't want anyone to know we’re leaving until we’re gone.” Like I said; Taehyung was far from stupid. At this point, his judgment was better than mine.

“We’re packing 14 kilos on our own?” I asked, knowing that we would have to be working all night.

“Not just packing, those kilos are untouched, so we have to cut them too.” Even though that sounded absolutely dreadful, burying myself in work, was probably my best option.

“No offense but do you even know how we cut our coke?” I stood from my seat, pushing the seat in, holding the back-rest in my hands as I stared at him. He ran his hand over his mouth, licking his lips, before answering me.

“No but I’ve seen it done,” He explained and I groaned internally. I had a lot more work on my hands then I thought. “Taehyung said you were an expert.”

“I am,” I could see a smirk threatening to relieve itself from the corner of his lips. I had a feeling Jimin was going to make this a living hell for me. “I’m only going to show you once so pay attention.”

-

We started with one kilo each at a time. Jimin and I pushed two of the white tables together creating a station of our own to work from. First, we will break up the packaged cocaine; changing it from its compressed form back to powder snow.

“Take your clothes off.” Jimin’s face flushed at my orders. His eyes shifted from my direction as soon as he saw me step down from the stairs. I had changed into barely anything but a pair of old cotton shorts and a bra.  

“W-what? Why? I thought that was only for the employees- to prevent them from stealing?” I rolled my eyes. I caught one of his glances and tossed him a black bandana left behind from Yoongi’s stuff. He didn’t react fast enough to catch it so the fabric sprawled under the table.

“We do but it’s also to avoid any residue on your clothes,” I said taking a bandana of my own. It was one I found in Jungkook’s room, it was red, and it smelled just like him. “Trust me you don’t want risk breathing any of this in,”

I wrapped the cloth around my nose and mouth, tying the two ends around the back of my head. “That's how you end up like Yoongi.”

He didn’t argue with me once he got a hold of the bandana. He stepped off into the corner stripping down into nothing but his boxer briefs.

-

From there we began to cut the single kilos into the proper ratio. Jimin was in front of me, across the table, where he separated his grams. As I worked, I watched him carefully, making sure he didn’t make any mistakes. I could tell that he was very hesitant in everything that he did.

“Aren’t you having fun?” I asked sarcastically.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to.” He responded, too busy to notice that I was poking fun at him.

“125 grams exactly, Jimin,” I carefully warned him as he was invariably adding and removing grams from the scale.

“125 grams seems like a really small amount to cut of the whole kilo…” He said, muffled by the bandana. I glanced up and watched him squat down and getting a better look at the numbers on the scale.

“The higher the purity of the cocaine- the more we can sell it for,” I explained, pushing away the rest of the 875 grams to the side of the glass mirror. “Another 125 grams of this cocaine was already cut back in Florida.”

There were only two reasons why dealers cut their cocaine. The first was to increase the weight of the product. This allowed the dealer to sell more grams without having to buy/make more coke. It was heavily done with low-level street thugs; it wasn’t uncommon to buy cocaine that its purity was below 20%. Which means only 20% of the product was actually pure cocaine and the other 80% was chemical additives. The second reason, the reason that we were doing it, was to increase the intensity of the drug’s effect. “125 plus 125 is 250- out of 1,000 grams, that's 25% of cutting and 75% purity.”

“If we want more purity why are we cutting it a second time?” He asked as he finished counting the final grams he needed.

“We only cut it a second time in New York because these people are so used to impure levels of cocaine. They are more addicted to the chemicals than the cocaine itself.”

-

Then it was finally time to do the actual cutting. I had Jimin separate the 125 grams into a steel baking bowl. The grams that we had leftover were placed on the glass mirror in front of us. I came from the back room pushing out a cart full of three labeled containers.

“Listen closely,” I called to him as he lowered his bandana so that it pooled around his neck. He used his forearm to rub his nose, avoiding contact between his latex gloves and his face. “These are the measurements you have to follow,”

I grabbed each container, opening them up, to reveal the identical image of white snow. I put them between us so that they would be within both of our reaches.

“This is methylphenidate; you measure 6 grams of this exactly. Then this, is levamisole, another 6 grams. And finally, that is pure caffeine- only half a gram of that.” I could tell that this really was Jimin's first time getting involved with the manufacturing of the cocaine. His jaw slightly hung out of discomfort.

“What was this cut with before in Florida?” He huffed, pressing his lips together, as he started with the methylphenidate.

“Procaine,” I answered simply. Procaine was a local anesthetic, a synthetic compound obtained from benzoic acid, commonly used during dental work. I never understood how someone who manufactured drugs could ever think about consuming their own product. We, better than anyone, new the harmful chemicals that went into making such a vice as cocaine.

“Christ, do these people have any idea what they are putting in their bodies?” He mumbled to himself. “I don't even know what this is.”

“Well you should,” I said completing the first 6 grams. “Methylphenidate is a stimulant that affects the central nervous system. Its chemical formula is C14H19NO2 and its molar mass is 233.31. Ironically, it's usually used to treat people with ADHD.”

I scooped up the 6 grams, mixing it on top of the leftover grams we were working with. The white substance easily blending in. Jimin follows in my actions before moving on to the next one. “Levamisole is a synthetic imidazothiazole derivative that is used to kill parasites and deworm animals. Its formula is C11H12N2S and its mass 204.292.-"

“I imagine you passed Chemistry class?” Jimin snickered, ignoring his comment and resumed unbothered.

“This is the additive that was making people's skin rot in the UK. Their cocaine purity is usually 20% and the other 80% is nothing but Levamisole.” Most dealers only used one or two additives to cut their cocaine. They were often large percentages to influence the intensity of the drug. We, on the other hand, had a formula of our own. Instead of using large amounts of only two, we used four different additives in smaller amounts, which increased the consumers' euphoria without killing them. Of course, it was more expensive to have all these different substances but we still made a profit with what we were selling it for.  

“Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen to our customers.” I watched him as he laid a bit more substance to the scale. His eyes leveling with the table to get a clear reading on the numbers. His eyebrows were furrowed under his hair that he was dying to push away from his face. He pinched out what could have seemed like an insignificant amount but every milligram counted.  Once he added it to the pile, he stopped and looked at me. “What’s next?”

“Next, is probably the world's most consumed psychoactive drug- caffeine.”

-

After cutting another set of kilos with Jimin, I switched over to start separating the grams in their correct vials. The glass vials were 4, 6, and 8 millimeters. There were 1.1 millimeters in one gram, which meant that in grams we were selling 3.4, 5.1, and 6.8. While in Florida, a single gram retailed for $80 because its purity was over 80%. Here in New York, after cutting it another 12.5% bringing the purity down 75%, the price lowered to  $75 per/gram.

“Keep track of what you are separating, Jimin,” I said taking a seat after my legs grew tired. I glanced at him from the other end of the table, he stepped back and listened as I spoke to him. “If we’re are cutting 125 grams out of each kilo, how many kilos do you have to go through to until those cut grams add up to a kilo themselves?”

“125 divided by 1,000 should be 8?” He said pretty confidently.

“Wow~ You aren’t just a glorified bodyguard after all.” I joked but just like how I had with him, he ignored my comment.

“So we are going to have an extra two kilos along with the 14.” He said adjusting the latex gloves around his wrists. He couldn’t see it but I smiled and nodded my head.

“Yes! That’s what’s called making a $150,000 profit.”

-

Until the moment that the sun went down, Jimin and I continued working. We only stopped to eat something around dinner time. Our conversations mostly consisted of work and everything that went along with it. There was always a strangeness to Jimin’s and I’s interactions. I didn’t know how to explain it, it was as if we had to be cautious of one another. Yet, we had no problem being forward to each other. It wasn’t about loyalty, or who worked for who, with him. Truthfully, I sometimes felt that he was the only one who was ever honest with me. For most of the night, I felt almost normal as if nothing had changed. Jimin and I were finishing organizing the final kilo into its vials.

“How is it that you remember all of this?” He suddenly asked me after a period of mutual silence. Even after working all day, making good conversation, even Jimin couldn’t keep the worrisome thoughts away.

“I’ve always been good with numbers and…” I hesitantly fell short; taking in a heavy sigh under the barrier protecting me from the poison. “There was a time that Yoongi was actually a very patient teacher.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Jimin mumbled under his breath. I agreed- it really was even, for me. He had noticed the question had brought unwanted memories.

Memories of Yoongi and I before the death, before the money, before the power. When we struggled to make a living but we were closer than could be. He told me I was always such an eager learner; I would ask him about everything multiple numbers of times but I was ambitious to make all of our dreams come true. I never knew that it would lead this far, all I ever wanted was to live a comfy life, I didn’t care for such a lavish lifestyle. “I just don’t get it...”

I also caught Jimin muttering to himself. He kept his head down and busy, still, slightly shaking it in disbelief. Even after everything- I came to Yoongi’s defense.

“The fault is not his, the drugs make him a completely different person,” I said angrily, slipping the complete vials into the slots of the briefcase. It was one of many, that was completely filled with rows of blow, ready to snow over New York.

“That’s not what I was referring too,” He said in a low tone. I looked back his way but he held his head down. The way his voice dropped sent me a feeling. I knew this conversation wouldn't be a pleasant one. He took in a deep breath into his lungs, his exposed chest rising with the heaviness. “I don't understand you.”

He clarified. There was less than half a kilo to finish packing, he pulled down his bandana, and I knew it wasn’t going to get done tonight. As I was gathering words in my head to speak, he spoke first. “You have to be the most complicated woman I've ever met. You- you just walk with this confidence, with this power, that nobody gave you. And yet-"

He took off his gloves, slamming the latex on the table, and looking at me with such a frustration. “And yet, you let someone like him get away with everything.”

“God, you sound just like Taehyung,” I said annoyed. I copied his actions and removed my bandana and gloves. “Maybe you're just trying to be a good wingman but-"

“Trust me, that's not what this is about. Taehyung isn't better than Yoongi by much.” He said stepping away from the table leaving the product to sit there.

“Then I don't understand why you care. As long as the business is running, my relationship with Yoongi shouldn't matter.” I said to him, crossing my arms over my chest, as my eyes glossed in rage.

“Why can't you see that he's holding you back?” Jimin stepped around the table. His hand brushed the edge of it as if to make sure he didn’t step too close. My body maintained his direction. I watched his every movement.

“I don't expect you to know how a relationship works- but it's not just roses and butterflies,” I said stepping up to him. My face flushed in a fit and I could feel my jaw clenching. “It takes real work and compromise to get through this shit!.”

“He's not working with you- he's working against you.” He spat as if he was taking it so personally. He spoke as if it was so simple.

“You don't know a goddamn thing!”I yelled with tears streaming down my cheeks. I held his stare and felt sick to my stomach. It was so easy for others to comment on your life.

“Neither do you.” Jimin's words were severe, along with the look his eyes gave. I didn’t know if he was trying to help me or hurt me. “He's going to drag you down and you'll drown at his side, (Y/n).”

I spared him another word. My body felt like collapsing under all of this emotion. I was sure that if I said another word to him I would break again. I made a rough turn on my feet and began to walk away from him. I stared straight forward, my destination was my bedroom, but that didn’t stop him.

“What is it about him?” Jimin continued to call. More tears ran their way down my face without him knowing. “What makes you think that you have to be with him?”

I refused to answer him and ignored his footsteps as they began to follow me. Grabbing onto the railing, my foot stepped onto the first step of the stairs, and his hand was there. It laid against my own to stop me from moving any further. “I'm talking to you.”

“Don't touch me!” I yelled, removing my hand from his touch. His actions weren't aggressive but he was almost desperate. I looked at his eyes and found them yielding at my voice.

He sighed and moved his hands back to his hips where they turned into fists. Jimin almost looked ashamed at his actions and his loss of control. And I couldn’t help but feel guilty because I’ve only ever pushed away the people who wanted to help.

“I just-” I shook my head softly not knowing how to express these feelings. Emotions I never bothered to explain to even myself. Jimin gazed up at me. “He's all I have Jimin and...we’re doomed to be together.”

I sighed, avoiding Jimin’s stare, avoiding his judgment. I took a seat on the step behind me, resting my head in my hands carrying the weight of this burden. I knew what Yoongi's and I’s relationship had become but I could never bring myself to leave him. The happiest moments of my life were spent along at his side; I didn’t know how to live without him.

“(Y/n)...” Jimin’s voice was gentle as he spoke to me. I raised my eyes from my hands to find him gazing at me. He locked his eyes with mine and he sternly said, “He doesn't deserve you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.”

Yoongi and I were an old married couple, who grew to hate each other but still, we only had one another because we were bitter and rotten inside. I cleaned my runny nose with the back of my hand. I stood to my feet, thinking that I had had enough humiliation for one night.

“Wait-" He said but I just shook my head. My eyes closed mildly as if pleading for him to let it go. I accepted a long time ago that the only thing that could separate Yoongi and I was death herself. Turning my back to him, I walked up the stairs, his presence still lingering over me like a shadow.

“It does matter, (Y/n).” He was persistent but he didn’t know anything. We made it into the hall, I glanced into my bedroom and still shied away from it. So I headed for Jungkook’s room when Jimin had placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Jimin please!” I turned back around, taking his hand in tightly, begging him with torture in my eyes.

“I’ve been alone all my life... I don’t wanna die that way.”

Then, with the hold I had on his hand, he pulled me in and his other hand wrapped around the back of my neck. Jimin pressed his lips against my own. I tensed at the action, the feeling of a foreign mouth, and yet I kissed him back. There was no thought, no question, in my head that objected. I turned my head, deepening the kiss, as he softened his hold on my skin. His touch was graceful and careful. He was touching something he knew he shouldn’t have and I knew it too.

I pushed him away when I needed to catch my breath. I pressed my lips together in disbelief, and out of pure confusion, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face.

Jimin’s head moved with the impact. My hand stung as I watched him nod his head. He licked his lips and shunned my gaze. His eyes dropped as if he expected this kind of reaction. I gulped, waiting to see if he would say anything or if I would say something. I don’t know what it was, the tension or the pain, but when he finally looked back at me- with those eyes- I only wanted one thing.

This time I reached for him bringing him onto my lips once again. He didn’t hesitate, not for a single second, he allowed his mouth to move against mine naturally. My heart raced, my hands gripping his bare shoulders. I felt his hands brush against the skin of my waist, he was still not sure, but I pressed my body closer to him as a sign of reassurance. Just like I knew he would, he understood, he gripped my waist and caressed my skin. His tongue running over my bottom lip for permission that I gave him. He hummed against my mouth with his tongue meeting mine. Blood rushed through my veins as they heated parts of my body that made me only more earnest. My hand trailed up the back of his neck finding the long strands of his hair. My fingers twined in the soft, dirty blond, locks.

None of it made sense. After all of the times Jimin and I worked together, the little conversations here and there, I never thought it could be like this. There were questions I wanted to ask but answers I didn’t want to know. I decided that for once in my life, I would not analyze the situation. I will ignore all of the things that would tell me that this was wrong; the consequences that I would have to face tomorrow morning. Even if it was only for tonight- I didn’t want to be alone.

-

I straddled his lap, my knees pressed against his hips, as he pressed my chest against his own. His hands caressed the skin of my thighs while my lips savored his taste. I made out the details of his face in the mood light that came in through his open windows. He gave me a breathless smile as he pulled me in closer. His hand reached up to pushed down the straps of my bra causing them to fall around my elbows.

“Jimin…” I stopped him. He looked up at me, worried that he had done something wrong, afraid that I would change my mind. “I...I thought you didn’t trust me.”

“(Y/n),” Jimin said gently, bringing his hand up to push a strand of hair behind my ear. That same hand cupped my cheek and examined my face. “There has always been something about you that’s made me question my loyalty. I... don't trust myself around you.”

I thought back to the first time I ever set eyes on Park Jimin. I could read him so easily just as he could me. I knew it then- that we were the same and that always created suspense between us. I took his words in deeply; understanding that he was as perplexed as I was. So I didn’t push any more questions on him, I simply nodded my head, and slowly leaned back in to kiss him. His hands unhooked my bra from behind and he mumbled against my lips, “You’re a dangerous woman.”

He tossed the artifact of clothing off of the bed. I gasped as his wet lips left trails down my neck. His mouth sucked bruises on my sweet skin. I rolled my head back, eyes closed to focus on his touch, as I allowed him better access. My body tingled in anticipation and desire. He continued to move his lips lower down my collarbone and between the valley of my chest. I felt him, feel me, as he grew beneath my hips. I moaned above him as he pressed me onto his length.

“Please don’t hold this against me, ”I whispered.

For the first time, in a long time, I felt seen. I felt seen as a woman instead of a boss. It wasn’t about ranks or power; we were just two people trying to become one. There was absolutely nothing lingering in the back of my mind. I could fully devote myself to pleasure. I felt safe and reassured in myself to perform such intimate actions. Everything that I needed was already inside of me.

Short breaths fell from his lips as I rocked my hips against him. I had the most erotic sight of him underneath me. His thick locks of hair covered his eyes from my sight but his lips peered through each and every time he placed a kiss somewhere on my skin.

Jimin’s fingers grazed down my spine making goosebumps erupt in the process. His hands came to rest on the very low part of my back, his skin coming in contact with the fabric of my underwear.

“May I?” He asked against my skin. His hot breath warming over my chest. I ran my fingers through the top of his hair revealing a pair of eyes that were clouded with desire.

“Yes…” I breathed, his eyes flickered, and then move back down my body. I watched his hands come around to the front part of my panties. As I had gone to sit up on my knees, to allow him space to slide them off, he took hold of the fabric in both hands and tore the material straight down the middle.

I gasped lightly, taken back by his actions, as he looked back at me. He looked at me as if he hadn't known why he had done that. Jimin was trying so hard to control his lust. A soft laugh fell from my lips and eased his worry, making him lean up to take my lips in his once again.  

With some time, we continued to remove all of the clothing that was left on our bodies. Skin to skin our cores pressed against each other. Whimpers fell from my mouth, violent pulses of bliss tensed my body, from the stimulation of my clitoris. Shaky pleas I whispered in his ear as our hips crashed against each other like waves of the ocean.

“No,” He said as I made an attempt, out of habit, to lay down on the bed. Jimin held me in place as he stopped his actions and looked up at me. His lips were flushed and swollen, his skin glistening in the moonlight, “Stay on top, please.”

I nodded my head before looking down at where our bodies would be connected. I raised my hips and allowed him to position himself against my dripping entrance. I held my breath, his eyes were watching, as he eased himself into me. My mouth opened, he stretched out my walls in a way I had never been before, my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

He took me to a paradise, an unknown rendezvous, that only belong to us. It was as if the pleasure was electricity that connected us with every movement. Jimin’s arm secured around my waist while my legs shook out of the intensity. My heartbeat was to its limit and I remember thinking that it could give out any moment. Groans and praises fell from his mouth. I felt like a goddess at the heights he was taking me, tears ran down my cheeks, and I begged for this euphoria to never end. Pants and moans echoed through the silence of the night. Every little movement, every touch, had a deadly effect on me.

-

The next morning. I woke up to the sound of the birds chirping outside of the open window. My eyes squinted at the gray light as the cool air of daybreak lingered in the air. I heard his light breathing behind me as Jimin remained fast asleep.

My legs were sore as I tried to move them, the covers were cold but I wrapped them around my naked body anyway. A small smile rested on my face as I thought back to the events that took place in this room last night. I had lost count over the night but each and every time was better than the last.

I adjusted my head on the nearest pillow that my arm held down. I started out into the gray sky and thought about the events that awaited me later today back in Florida.

[split-n-splice]

Last chapter of the prequel to The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie. Angst is my favorite flavor. Stabby stabby, huehuehue

[Chapter Guide]

Chapter 3

Shortly after midnight, fatigue had caught up to the captive again. She had slipped into a deep sleep a while ago. The captor had tried waking her earlier to tell her to scram, but the comatose minor hadn’t budged. So he’d sat there for a while at the vacant rest stop, thinking in silence before making his decision.

Impatient to make use of his time, the kidnapper now knelt uncomfortably passenger-side with a knee on the floorboard, sawing at soggy plaster with a pocketknife. It was no surprise the girl was in and out of consciousness now, but she was unresponsive, utterly helpless if not completely oblivious to her surroundings.

He was crazy. He told himself so. This wasn’t the destructive force he’d been banking on. This was some girl that needed to be nursed back to health in a hospital bed somewhere. He had to be honest with himself. He wasn’t equipped to handle a hostage, and he’d be damned if he’d be held accountable for her condition, or worse, her death.

He was glad the captive was asleep and couldn’t agree with his grumbles.

The cast was a lot more hollow than expected, and with leftover bottled water to soften it, it was almost a piece of cake to saw through it with the little pocketknife. Avoiding jabbing her was the tricky part. The plaster was weak enough that she could have busted it to pieces, but it didn’t surprise him she hadn’t tried. There couldn’t have been a whole lot of fight left in her. He supposed she’d probably figured it was a waste of energy. It had surprised him that she’d made a break for it earlier, but if he had to guess, it had taken everything she had left to do so. It was noticing a new dent in the cast, received in her tumble down the embankment, which had spurred this stupid impulse idea of his in the first place.

That, and he’d finally come to terms with his regrettable decision and decided he wasn’t cut out to cater to a hostage in dire need of medical attention.

When he cracked the cast open like a walnut, he saw why the plaster had become thin. It was charred and blackened inside. The man scrunched his nose at the burnt odor emanating from the shell. The girl hadn’t exactly smelled of flowers before, but the new smell made him recoil. He covered his nose with his sleeve, grimacing in disgust at the sight as he leaned back in to take a closer look.

He tentatively unfolded her clasped hands, and his stomach did a queasy flip-flop as her blackened skin cracked with the movement. With hands so blistered and discolored from burns, it would be a wonder if Subject B didn’t have gangrene. If he didn’t know she’d likely done this to herself, he would have jumped back in fear the open sores were contagious.

She made a small noise in her sleep and her freed fingers twitched, which was more than enough to send him jumping back to a safe distance anyway. When she didn’t stir again, he returned with caution, kneeling back in the car, tentatively taking a second look at her palms. “Yow,” he hissed. It was still as bad as it looked the second time. “You’ll never have to worry about leaving fingerprints.”

But upon closer examination, the blackened skin was flaking away, not unlike a shedding reptile or the ashen remains of burnt pages. Biological changes crossed his mind and he wondered if he’d seen that in the file somewhere. He regretted dropping the clipboard with her summary on it in the parking lot at the research center earlier.

He wasn’t sure what he thought he was doing by bothering to remove the cast. It would have felt wrong to leave the kid bound up, but from his standpoint as an aspiring rogue, shouldn’t cruelty have been a good thing? She was probably just as helpless given the present condition of her hands, but it had to be better than shoving her off with them still cemented together. She could at least use a payphone now to call her folks or someone.

He didn’t have to remove the collar, but his hands were moving on their own accord before he could think it over. He’d already searched the remote for a release feature earlier when he’d pulled into the deserted lot, and now he was searching the obedience collar itself for a button or a keyhole or something with no such luck.

The knife wasn’t particularly sharp, but it still made him a little squeamish as he put his knee up on the edge of the seat and brought the blade to the interlocking mechanism in the front to begin prying the collar apart.

He was too focused on not letting the knife slip to notice the change in her respiration, or her fingers beginning to twitch at the feel of fresh air. The knife was wedged firmly in the collar, threatening to bend and break on him, when he noticed the captive swallow. And like a fool, he ignored it.

The girl was coming around sluggishly. Her hands found each other before she could panic over not feeling her fingers woven. Sensations trickled back.

Cool air. Stillness. Distant crickets and traffic.

Something jiggling around her neck.

Pickle breath.

Her eyes cracked open.

She blinked lazily at the head hovering too close, but it took a few more blinks to comprehend a furrowed brow and grit teeth and – this person was too close if she could smell their breath – and – were his hands on her?

She started to stiffen up, needles running up her spine.

“Shit!” the man hissed through his teeth in the instant there was a snap and a jerk on her neck, and she caught a glimpse of something familiar and shining that screamed danger in her brain.

She acted before she could feel her body.

Practically spring-loaded, her arms and legs shot out, one hand snapping out for the man’s pocketknife and the rest of her flailing feebly. She’d barely noticed she’d snatched it from him – thrashing was more important as he grappled with her to reclaim the knife, demanding she stop being a pill and give it back. She hardly heard him above her own deafening screams. He leaned into the car after her when she tried to scramble back, and used his weight to his advantage, kneeing her cruelly in the stomach as she bent back across the seats to hold the weapon out of his reach. She almost threw the knife but didn’t know where to.

She decided right then that if he wanted it, he could have it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and lashed out with it, throwing all her limbs into the game of fighting back – and within a couple swings, his scream was cutting through her own as the knife connected with something soft and hard at the same time, and it slipped out of her grip, and then she was fighting against nothing.

Within seconds of jumping on her, her attacker had retreated.

Chest heaving, she scrambled back into the driver’s seat as the man collapsed outside, howling. She felt for the key in the ignition, but it was gone – she didn’t know how to drive anyway – and felt blindly in the dark at the door at her back to find the handle. She fell out and practically hit the ground running.

“I knew you were more trouble than you were worth!” shrieked the man some distance behind her.

Far enough in fact, that it felt safe to slow down to steal a glance back. She couldn’t have made it more than a hundred feet when she paused and doubled over, hands on her wobbly knees to catch her breath and stare quizzically back at the man.

He wasn’t running after her. Wasn’t hopping in the car in hot pursuit or to run her down. Wasn’t doing anything other than sitting on the ground by the car, pawing at his face.

He howled again, and the knife was thrown to the asphalt. He sat there, rocking, holding his face in his hands.

What littered the ground around him caught her eye.

The girl swallowed and reached for her neck, the absence of the collar finally drawing her attention. She glanced around, gathering she was at some rest stop or park area, the sparse lamps illuminating just one vehicle in the whole lot. Rubbing her throat with a now-free hand, she narrowed her eyes at the broken collar and discarded remains of the cast on the ground around the man. She took a second look around – there for sure wasn’t anyone here, not even any truckers on break. He could have done whatever he’d wanted and there was no one to hear her scream or witness a body being discarded, so why would he choose to take off the restraints, of all things?

Her legs were shaky and protested as she cautiously approached.

Her captor was still sitting on the ground when she stopped a good ten feet away. He was still rocking himself. He was hyperventilating through his teeth now, blood seeping between his fingers and down his jaw as he held a hand clamped over his eye. The dark trail stained the collar of the white dress shirt beneath his jacket.

“Why would you—,” she began, but his good eye snapped open and he exploded at her.

“Get out of here already!” he roared.

She took a hasty step back, her fists clenching and reflexively growing hot in defense. The man was clearly done with her, and it couldn’t be in her best interest to hang around pressing her luck. But as she scanned the deserted park and across to the silent road up a distant embankment, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be left here. She had her freedom, but there was nowhere for her to go except the road to start hitchhiking.

At the moment, that thought scared her more than the wounded young man moaning and groaning on the pavement.

The passenger door slamming made her jump. He’d gotten up off the ground, and was hobbling around the front of the car, and then throwing himself down into the driver’s seat.

The girl was back at the passenger side to peek in when suddenly the engine roared and the lights flared on. She jumped back as the car began to reverse out of the parking space. “Hey!” she called, taking long strides and then running, exerting herself to keep up as he began to roll away. “Wait!”

The car stopped, but not for her. He was shuffling in his glove box for a handkerchief. With the overhead light illuminating the interior, she could see a considerable amount of blood getting smeared across everything he touched. She threw a glance over her shoulder – the pocketknife gleamed in the lamplight behind her.

He remembered about her when she rapped her knuckles on the glass, but only spared her a passing glare out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re just going to leave me out here?” she demanded.

He slammed the glovebox shut. A hanky pressed to one eye, his other glared darkly out at her, boring into her for a moment before he threw himself back in his seat and grabbed the wheel with one hand. “Everyone for themselves,” he retorted, muffled through the glass.

“So that’s it?” she said, still baffled there was no catch. “No ransom? No evil plot to harness my—”

“Would you beat it?” he snapped at her, seething. He checked the rag again – yep, still bleeding – and began to drive away. He was still too distracted with dabbing at his eye to drive particularly fast or straight, staying just ahead of her but far enough.

“The least you can do is give me a lift to the next town, you jackass!” she shouted after him, failing to keep up.

“You attack me when I’m helping you and then think you’re entitled to a ride?” he shouted harshly out his window.

“Well I’m not afraid of you now!”

Her kidnapper floored it, leaving her in the dust.

She stopped running, chest heaving, lungs aching, legs about to crumple under her weight. Her shoulders hung in defeat.

Suddenly there was a squeal and she wasn’t watching the red glow of taillights anymore.

Suddenly he was driving straight at her and she was a deer in the headlights. And then there was another squeal, and the smell of burnt rubber filled the air, wind whipping at her grungy gown, and she blinked away the spots speckling her vision to stare at the car that had circled precariously close in a sharp U-turn around her.

The passenger window rolled down and he was leaning over into the passenger seat to glare out at her with one eye, teeth bared, blue handkerchief soaked through with a deep black stain. “Say that again? I didn’t quite hear you,” the man ground out through his teeth. He looked livid. He was trembling.

She opened her mouth to repeat herself, but he stomped on the gas, the engine revving. She was intimidated, sure, but she didn’t budge. She curled her fingers into fists, feeling warmth blooming around her hands. “I said—” the engine interrupted again. She grit her teeth in turn. “I said,” she shouted, “I’m not afraid of you!”

He sat back, his brow furrowing for a second, and shook his head. “How about I give you a reason to fear me?” he spat at her. His voice wavered.

But she brushed it off. How much worse could things get? So she’d struck a nerve and he’d used the car as a mere scare tactic. He could have run her over. He could have done a number of things – cruel things – besides taking off the restraints while she was unconscious. He could have left her to die in that research center, or dumped her body in a ditch somewhere by now if he was that malicious. He wasn’t one to be trusted, per se, but he did present a ride out of this island of light in the sea of dark. Given the choice between this failure kidnapper and hitchhiking – she’d take her chances.

“How about this,” she bargained, grabbing the half-open window. Her hands heated until a faint emerald glow emitted from them like little tongues of flames – and for the first time it didn’t burn the dickens out of her. She recovered from the baffling realization quickly, glaring back at the ill-tempered man. “I’ll let you go easy if you give me a ride out of here.”

He didn’t say anything. The man just stared at her, or rather at her hands, and then his jaw went slack. He was starting to breathe funny. Even the look on his face was weird. Ignoring her, he sat back in his seat and inspected the handkerchief again. Before she could demand his attention, he swayed drunkenly.

She jumped back when he slumped forward, falling face-first into the steering wheel, the horn giving off a jarring blare that split the night and silenced crickets.

The wary girl opened the door, deciding that if this was some kind of trap, she had the firepower to make him regret it. Kneeling in the passenger seat, she shoved his limp body back off the horn, but not without some trouble. Either he weighed more than she expected or she was weaker than she’d expected.

The man flopped back, head lolling, and blinked incoherently. The rag had fallen away, revealing the deep gouge down around his eye socket and over his cheekbone, and she felt the guilt grip her stomach for a split second before he regained some of his senses and swatted her away.

The car lurched suddenly as he put it in gear to circle back toward the restrooms at the far end of the park, parking carelessly across multiple spots. He fumbled with the key in the ignition and plunged them into shadows as the overhead light went out when the engine cut off.

“Dude, I think you need a doctor,” she noted uneasily, and then he was opening his door and falling out of it in a heap.

The man groaned wretchedly and picked himself up. “I. Am. A doctor,” he ground out strenuously, using the car to support himself as he made his way toward the trunk.

The girl met him there as he was fighting with his keys to unlock it. “Drop the charade,” she scoffed, mocking now that he was the one in a position of weakness. “Need me to phone an ambulance?”

He granted her no reply, but she was sure he flipped her the bird.

When the trunk finally opened, she stood aside, trying not to look at the blood dribbling steadily down his face. She swallowed bile. She’d done that. She’d really done that.

She watched him rummage through his belongings in search of something. Clearly the guy lived out of his car. She felt a twinge of pity, but not much. If he was willing to abduct people he thought could be used as a weapon, then he probably deserved it.

Her heart jumped when she spotted a couple of peculiar guns of some kind among the mess of clothes, maps, and jumper cables – but he didn’t grab them, locating a first-aid kit instead.

She raised her brow as he slammed the trunk, and watched him skulk away with the white box to tend to himself in the men’s room. He even shot a frown back to make sure she wasn’t following, to which she held her hands up innocently.

She wasn’t eager to follow him in there anyway. Her business was with the set of wheels. So while she had the chance, she went back to the passenger seat to wait so he couldn’t ditch her.

As she sat sidelong, toes on the cold asphalt, she studied her hands.

The healing burn blisters still stung. But the fire, when she called upon it and focused on drawing it into her palms, didn’t make them sting any more than they already did. She tried feeding the flames to produce more than just a thin layer, but the effort was exhausting, and with a sigh, she extinguished the green fire at will and hung her head. She’d have to try again when she was feeling better.

She was tired and sore, and sitting round feeling sorry for herself was going to get her nowhere. She was going home, and no one – no research team, no failure kidnappers – was going to stop her.

Not far off, the evidence of her captivity caught her eye once again. Namely a little red light.

Her loser kidnapper had the keys, so she made a mental note to learn how to hotwire should she ever find herself needing the skill again. The phony doctor was still busy in the men’s room. She could hear his angry indecipherable griping even at a distance and deemed it safe to leave her ticket out for just a moment.

She hadn’t been imagining it. On the collar, centered at the back of the broken ring beneath a little antenna, a little red dot blinked lazily up at her. She narrowed her eyes at it, her stomach sinking. A signal. It had to be. It indicated something, that much was sure.

It seemed important, something worth bringing up to somebody. Acting on impulse with collar in hand, she took a couple steps to go tell the only somebody available before she paused to reconsider. She smirked deviously to herself, contemplating planting it on him, maybe slipping it under the seat if it was, in fact, a tracking signal sending out a ping. But she reconsidered again, torn. Kidnapper or not, he had sprung her out of the joint and then set her free.

Getting shanked in the face was probably payback enough.

She didn’t owe the bastard anything, but she didn’t know how long they’d been here either. And if that research committee or whatever had anyone out looking for her, she didn’t want to hang around for much longer.

She kicked something on the way to the lavatory. She gave the bloodied pocketknife a passing glance, and went back for it after a few steps. If her fire wasn’t up to par and ready for a fight yet, then passing up the opportunity for a second weapon at her disposal would have been foolish.

The pocketknife was slick and sticky with blood, but she tried not to think about it.

The girl was reassured it was a smart idea to grab it when a sudden howl of pain echoed from the restrooms, followed promptly by the telltale shattering of glass. Her heart thundered in her chest. She held the blade behind her back as she approached, hearing the clinking and slide of glass inside, and the man’s grumbles, some sharp hisses, more pathetic whining.

She knocked lightly at the open door. There was a frustrated grunt, and she got the hint she was receiving the cold shoulder when there was no other reply.

“Hey, uh, Carrie. How’s it going?” she called in tentatively.

It seemed she had a knack for pressing buttons, and smirked to herself when the cold shoulder relented. “That isn’t my—,” he began furiously from inside, but cut himself short. “Oh.” There was a roar of frustration and she hazarded peeking in. He caught sight of her in the mirror through broken crooked glasses, and spun, throwing bloody bath tissue in her direction only for the wads to flutter to the floor like sad butterflies. “Why are you still here? Scram!”

He turned back to his reflection, working on mending his swollen cheek.

She almost threw up upon realizing he was crudely suturing it himself. The smell of antiseptic was suddenly pungent. She turned her gaze sharply away to some graffiti on the wall instead as she stood in the doorway. “You should hurry it up,” she warned coldly.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Fine, but if they bust you, it’s not on me.” She shrugged nonchalantly, turning the knife over in her hand behind her back.

His glare relaxed slightly as he weighed her warning for a second. Through the mirror, his eyes darted to her. “They? They, who? Global—?”

“I’m pretty sure I was bugged with a tracking—”

His face scrunched in another glare he was forced to smooth out in order to hastily finish stitching. “Oh great. Just great,” he groused, his face inches from the mirror. He tied off the thread and threw the needle down. “Nothing ever goes my way.”

“Well, sorry,” snorted the girl as he began angrily throwing things haphazardly back into the first-aid kit in the sink. “I didn’t plan on blowing my summer vacation on being abducted by lab geeks and then again by a loser.”

He grumbled a series of curses to himself as he gathered a few tissues off the floor to dispose of them in the trash can. “You are more trouble than you’re worth,” he reminded curtly as he shouldered his way through the door past her. “Goodbye.”

“Smell ya later,” might not have been the correct response, but it was what shot out of her mouth as she watched his back.

The kidnapper might have been her ticket out of the desolate rest stop, but she couldn’t make her feet move. Under a nearby shelter with one flickering overhead light were vending machines, a park bulletin board, and a payphone of questionable functionality.

“Hey!” she barked after the man, and his pace slowed briefly, sparing her a second to hear her out. “Can I get some quarters to call my mom?”

The man was halfway to his car when he paused fully. He reached up to rub his eyes only to flinch. He shook his head and continued on. She took that as a no, but cut across the grass in a beeline for the bulletin board anyway, hoping to find anything that could tell her where she was.

Before she reached it, the beep of a car horn gave her a start. Quick and intentional, unlike earlier when he’d fainted on the horn. He was waiting with an arm hanging out the window, engine idling. She made her way over to little blue rust bucket and he presented a handful of loose change.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said.

“No promises.”

He pulled back the change, narrowing his eyes, one of which was bruising badly and almost swollen shut. “Promise.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Fine. I promise. I’ll even lie and say you had a bag over my head the entire time.”

The man wasn’t convinced. “You’re crossing your fingers behind your back, aren’t you?” he guessed.

She wasn’t eager to prove him wrong, but he waited. With great reluctance, she extended the pocketknife to relinquish it in trade.

“You were planning to stab me again, weren’t you?” he balked, an edge of fear in his tone.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Just take your stupid Boy Scout knife and give me the money.”

He grunted irritably and made the swap. “Not a word,” he said, pointing sternly at her as he put the car in reverse.

Zipping her lips and throwing away the imaginary key, she gave the kidnapper a small wave before turning her back to him as he sped off.

She counted the change in her sore palm as she trudged back up the grassy rise to the desolate payphone, and she did cross her fingers, begging higher powers that not too much had changed in the past few months, phone numbers in particular. To her relief, on the last ring, she heard her big brother’s voice, and then he began screaming for their dad.

Within the hour, a helicopter was whirling overhead. Strange men in hazmat suits who came to collect her were bombarding her with questions when they were interrupted moments later by the family station wagon careening into the rest area like a bat out of hell, her mustachioed father wasting no time in diving out and barreling his way between the men who claimed to have custody of her. The paternal force of nature nearly launched himself into a brawl to fight for "custody" with brawn alone.

Her dad was followed by two of her brothers, the eldest of which joyfully throwing his arms around her while the runner up brother tentatively patted her back and smiled with misty eyes for a change.

“We thought we’d never see you again!” said someone, she was too fatigued to be clear who.

She’d begun to think she wouldn’t them again either. It was a relief to see Subjects A and C truly had been released for good behavior. If only she hadn’t been so hazardous and noncompliant, she could have joined them sooner.

“They said you weren’t doing so hot in there.”

“We heard the effects were making you really sick.”

She didn’t have it in her to argue that. “Not so tight!” she wheezed, discovering bruised ribs quite abruptly.

“Oh – sorry,” apologized her big brother, setting her down. He laughed and flexed an arm. He looked like he’d put on some muscle, but he was still rather spindly for sixteen. “Don’t know my own strength yet.” His smile faltered. “Sis – are you – whoa!”

She stumbled back into her younger brother, who yelped and strained to hold her up even as light as she was. The teen and preteen boys exchanged glances and looked across to their father still arguing with the agents, and then she was swept off her feet bridal style by her brother to be toted off to the car.

Before the agents could notice her missing, she was snuck into the back seat with her little brothers. The sleeping toddlers were enough to make her raise a brow. She didn’t have the chance to ask why they’d been brought along.

“What happened to you?” asked the oldest of her younger brothers, squeezing into the seat with her and clipping the belt over the both of them.

She’d heard of a growth spurt but wasn’t sure what to make of the opposite. Unless she’d had a growth spurt – which was doubtful. She squeezed her eyes shut and blinked hard, deciding maybe she was just tired and lost a grasp on how much of a little brother he was.

“Long story,” she said, sinking back and letting her head fall on his bony shoulder. “Maybe later.”

Her big brother took shotgun, as usual when their parents didn’t have both front seats claimed. “Looks like Dad’s signing papers,” he announced. “Release forms probably.”

She supposed so as she peered out the window, watching their father pass the papers back. The men went their separate ways, the agents returning to their helicopter and their dad returning to them.

“Congrats, sis! Looks like you’re no longer a detainee.” Her big brother flashed a dazzling smile back at her and reached over the seat to hold out a fist for her to lightly tap in turn. “Took long enough.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, her gaze falling over to her baby brothers.

Their dad climbed in. “All set,” he said gruffly, and paused before he buckled his seatbelt. “Anyone need a bathroom b—”

“No,” came the groan from the boys.

But she caught herself staring off toward the restrooms. There was blood in there. Broken glass. And there didn’t seem to be anyone doing an investigation here. Not that she was about to complain. It just meant she was keeping true to her word.

They hit the road. She almost nodded off against her brother’s shoulder again, but after several long minutes of everyone holding their tongues in uncomfortable quiet time, she fixed her eyes on the back of her big brother’s head and then looked over to their father. He didn’t seem particularly overjoyed to see her despite how quick he’d been to fight for her, but he was nothing if not emotionally constipated. Still. Her stare drifted over to her sleeping twin brothers. She couldn’t fathom why they were on board tonight. They should be home in their cribs.

“Dad?” she called up, breaking the silence. “Where’s Mom?”

The air became brittle, more so than before. Her brothers tensed, the younger’s wide eyes darting over to her and then back out the window. A feeling of dread grew rapidly like a rolling snowball in her belly as her heart sank. How much more could have changed in the last few months than a meteor and superpowers?

[mf-despair-queen]

Wet Dreams - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Pairing: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 9,680

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex, Oral (female receiving), Bondage, Daddy Kink, Spanking, Choking, Doggy, Wet Dreams (literally), Dirty Talk, Cowgirl, Rough Sex, Side Sex

Song: Dance For You by Beyonce

Notes: :) Thanks to @savage-stilinski​ and @malia--stilinski​ for suffering with me while I wrote. Partially the result of my talks with Julia and this ask from nonnie:  “Could you do a mitch imagine, where you’re moaning his name in your sleep, so he starts eating you out while you’re asleep, and when you cum you wake up and you hve rough sex.” I promise, it’s consensual.

“You’re home!”

Your body flew across the room into the entrance of your small home, arms latching around the dark-haired man’s neck, his feet stumbling under him with the new weight. His bag dropped from his hand, both muscled arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your head snuggled into his neck, uncaring for the fact that the door remained wide open behind him, rain pouring against the street in the late hour, while you only wore a thin, nearly see-through silk nightgown that ended just below your ass.

“You’re home,” you cooed again, hearing the man chuckle lowly.

“I’m home, baby,” he hummed thoughtfully, inching further into the house, kicking the door shut with a simple kick of the foot. His lips brushed your forehead, placing a firm kiss to it after a moment. “But, why are you awake? It’s late, baby.”

“It’s never too late when you are coming home finally, Mitch,” you whispered into his neck, goosebumps running along his arms. He smiled faintly at your words, a rare occurrence people saw aside from you. You were his pride and joy after all and only you could make him feel this way. His arms around you tightened, swaying you from side to side.

“It’s midnight, though, baby,” he told you, your head upturning to look at him. “You should be asleep. It’s not healthy for you to stay up this late.”

“But I needed to see you,” you told him, feeling your feet hit the floor. Your arms loosened from his neck, hands gently cupping his cheeks instead. His stubble had grown out in the weeks he was gone, the hairs lining his jawline prickling at your fingertips. Your thumbs traced his hidden moles, knowing the exact location of each one from years of admiring them. They brushed over his plump lips, his tongue darting out to wet them immediately after. “I wanted to see you. It’s been too long.”

“How long?” he questioned, knowing how you would answer.

“Three weeks, five days, seventeen hours, four minutes, and roughly eighteen seconds,” you told him. Mitch quirked an amused smile, letting out a small but deep laugh. “What? You asked!”

“I just love your exactness on this matter,” he hummed, taking your face in his hands, mirroring your actions. “You literally countdown the days until I come home from work.”

“Right. ‘Work’,” you giggled. “How did the business deal go down?”

Mitch shook his head, picking up on the sarcasm. You were well aware of his true occupation, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter that he would leave home for weeks, sometimes months, on end, risking his life to those that threatened others. You were proud of him and supported him, wishing him the best everytime he walked out the door, potentially never to be seen again. It was one of the things that made Mitch Rapp fall deeply in love with you, two years after his fiance was killed.

That was three years ago.

His lips brushed yours in a soft kiss, his smile never leaving his lips. “Just fine,” he mumbled against them, your small moan so faint, it was almost gone unnoticed. “They won’t be a threat to the business ever again. We bought them out.”

You giggled. That was his code that the target was terminated and his mission was a success. “I’m glad. Hurley must have been proud of you.”

Mitch scoff, shaking his head. “Hurley? Proud? Have you met the man?” Mitch asked. “He was up my ass before we even got there.”

“He just likes to keep you in line, Mitch,” you said. “You weren’t the most obedient back in the day from what I’ve heard.”

“That was years ago,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “My life is in line now.”

“I know.” You took his hands in your, his finger playing with the diamond ring on your left hand. Your own fingers traced over the gold band on his hand, smiling up at him. “Now, we should celebrate a successful buyout. To welcome you home from a long trip.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, preparing to place his lips on yours. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you know,” you muttered at him, tongue running across his lips. “You throwing me on the bed, eating me out before you take me in every position known to man. You pounding my pussy into oblivion until I can’t stop screaming your name. Anything and everything to make up for the honeymoon you missed.”

He bit his lip, forehead wrinkling in distaste. “You know I wouldn’t have missed it if I had a choice. I would have taken you away to wherever you wanted if I could have,” he told you. “At least we got a day of sex before I had to leave.”

“It’s not the same,” you told him. “I wanted a week of fucking, not just a day. For almost a month, I haven't been able to probably make love to my husband. I want to fix that.”

Shortly before his newest mission, you had made the split decision to tie the knot. It had been something you had been discussing on and off for a year, but when Mitch found out he was to spend nearly a month overseas, he wanted to make it officially. Two days before he was to leave, you gathered the people closest to you - namely your sister, since she was your only remaining family, and the people Mitch worked with in the CIA. Even though he speaks ill of his superiors, they were the family he hadn’t had in decades. Irene was like an older sister, if not a motherly figure that supported his every move. And Stan Hurley, despite his gruff exterior and ruthless worth ethic towards the young man, was a mentor and father-figure to Mitch. He encouraged Mitch’s sudden action, though warned him that things could go horribly wrong at any second.

Mitch didn’t care. He swore to protect you as he always did.

The day before his mission was your makeshift honeymoon, the two of you sealing the doors and windows, phones off to avoid disturbances, while you spent the entire day naked under the sheets and in every room of your small house. You were going to make every second count with him, screaming his name until you had no voice left. Mitch went into work the next day with scratches and bruises covering his body, but it was his fuel to return home as soon as possible to properly spend time with you.

“I think we can definitely fix that,” he breathed, chest heaving with heavy pants. His jeans strained around his waist, fingers itching to run across your skin, electricity flowing between your bodies. His lips pressed to your sharply, enveloping yours completely before pulling away with a slick smack, leaving you whining for more. His kisses were nothing but taunting, the feeling lingering whenever he pushed against you.

You were pulling at his shirt before he could protest, pulling it over his head swiftly. The fabric landed on a nearby lamp when you tossed it away, ignoring the lack of light filling the room. Your fingers dusted over his pecs, playing with the hairs on his chest. Your bodies rolled against each other, teasing kisses swapped between you both. His muscles bulged and flexed from your touch, tightening with his desire.

He went to grab the end of your nightgown, lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss, only to be broken by your yawn. Your head turned away from his to avoid yawning in his face. Mitch chuckled softly, his whiskey eyes softening at the tired look on your face. One hand left his chest to cover your mouth, a small squeak escaping your throat mid-yawn. Instead of pulling your nightgown over your head, he pushed it up on your waist, resting his hands against your bare hips.

“Maybe we should save the celebration for tomorrow,” he proposed. Your shook your head at him fiercely.

“No, I’m fine, Mitch. I want to-” you yawned mid-sentence. “I want to do this.”

“No,” he whispered, eying your face closely. His fingers outlined the dark bags under your eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping much, have you? You look exhausted.”

“It’s hard to sleep without you here,” you told him.

“Exactly. That’s why,” he started, throwing you over his shoulder, hand resting on your ass while the other locked the door, grabbing his bag from the ground, “we are going to bed. Right now. It’s after midnight and I, for one, am rather tired. Do you know how long of a flight it is from London to Virginia?”

“Approximately eight hours and three minutes, assuming good weather, favorable wind, a straight, non-stop flight-”

Mitch silenced you with a soft kiss, your boyd melting on his shoulder. “I love you and your knack for useless information like this,” he hummed. “Why aren’t you working with the CIA again?”

“Because you won’t let me, even if I’m just your control admin and work remotely from home,” you pointed out, poking his six pack abs. “You know, I could hack circles around anyone you’re trying to kill, babe.”

“I know. You hacked me,” he laughed, dropping you on the bed. “That’s how we met, baby. You know this.”

“I know,” you giggled sleepily, hugging a pillow to your chest, the tops of your breasts peeking out of your nightgown. “Best decision of my life.”

“And it almost cost you your life,” he reminded you, unbuttoning his jeans, kicking the denim off his legs into the hamper in the corner of the room. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, admiring his toned body from the comfort of your bed. His back faced you, muscles tight as he lifted his arms and stretched, the tent in his Calvin Kleins showing the package he kept selfishly hidden from your view. His hand ran through his hair, eyes darting to look at you. “I snuck into your apartment and held a knife to your throat.”

“I just wanted the WiFi password. Why did you have to make it so complicated?” you grumbled, half asleep.

Mitch rolled his eyes, fixing you under the blanket before settling into his normal spot behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you back against his chest. His nose nuzzled into your knotted locks, his groin grinding against your ass. You let out a weak moan, your voice laced with drowsiness. “I know,” he whispered into your hair. “But, at least you got your WiFi, baby.”

“I think I got more than that,” you whispered back, letting out a groan. “Now, stop what you’re doing. I can’t fuck right now.”

“You were so eager to five minutes ago.”

“That was five minutes ago. You missed your chance.” You shoved your ass back against him regardless, hearing Mitch let out a grunting moan. His hips rolled harder against your backside, his hand moving up to your breast to grip it through your sleepwear. His rolled the mound in his palm, massaging the hard nipple through the silk. You moaned his name lowly in reply. “Mitch, please. Not right now. Sleep.”

“Alright,” he murmured, pushing himself up on one elbow, kissing your cheek. Pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he admired your dozing face, holding you close. “It’s good to be home.”

“I agree,” you slurred, taking his hand. “Welcome home, Mitch.”

The assassin watched you fall asleep completely before settling into the bed completely. Sleep washed over him in a matter of minutes, his body fully relaxing into his first peaceful sleep in weeks.

He walked into the bedroom, messing with the buttons on the fancy, button up shirt he wore. His tie dangled from his other hand, not forgotten at all. His hair curled at the ends but looked just right in the fading rays of light that soaked through the open balcony window. The ocean lapped over the beach, the salty ocean air wafting into the room. But Mitch wasn’t focused on the sunset over the ocean or the soft breeze that billowed around him. His eyes were focused on you.

You were laying on the California King that rested in the middle of the room, the transparent blue lingerie set you wore not hiding your immediate arousal. The lace, floral pattern didn’t hide your erect nipples. Your legs were spread and propped up for him to have the perfect shot of your soaked core. Your fingers traced over the wet patch that had formed, pushing aside the material to dip a finger into yourself. Your free hand palmed your own breast, the taut nipple held between your fingers.

“What are you waiting for?” You asked him seductively, mewling his name. His ears twitched at the sound, the assassin shuffling between the balls of his feet. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

“You bet,” he breathed, crawling over your body. The shirt dangled open in front of you, his fingers replacing yours inside your core. You moved to his push his shirt off his shoulders, your lips meeting in a passionate connection. Tongues battled for dominance between your cheeks, his easily winning in the fight for pleasure. His fingers thrust into you quickly, the squishing sound of his fingers entering your soaked core flitting around the room. Your hands moved to tangle in his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him flush against you.

He pulled from your lips, physically ripping the front of the bra you wore, letting your breasts fall free. You moaned loudly, his mouth meeting your chest in a flurry of harsh sucks and kisses. His mouth ravished your firm peak, tugging at it with his teeth and lips until it was swollen and red. His fingers never slowed inside you, spreading your pussy open when he pulled out, coming together when he pushed back in. Your moaned never ceased, back arching into him.

“Oh God, Mitch. Please. Fuck me!”

He grinned against your chest, pulling from it with a sickening loud pop. He grabbed the tie that was resting on his side, tying your hands together together around the metal headboard. You didn’t protest nor did you struggle. You allowed him to do what he wanted. Lustful eyes followed him as he crawled backwards, fingers leaving your pussy empty. His fingers tugging tauntingly slow at the lingerie bottoms, running his tongue through your folds when he got a chance. When they were fully off and discarded across the room, the assassin leant back on his knees, unbuttoning the slacks he had on.

“That’s right, Mitch. Take them off, baby,” you muttered aloud, eying him closely. Mitch smirked, rolling off the bed to drop the slacks to his feet, boxer briefs included. His cock stood at attention, long, hard and ready for action. The precum oozed from the bright red tip. His length twitched openly and looked as if it were pulsating with desire. He stroked it slowly,  glancing between his erection and your face, studying your reaction.

“Is this what you want, princess?” he huskily stated, crawling back onto the bed. He rolled his hips against yours, cock sliding easily through your folds and prodding at your core. You mewled once, nodding your head quickly. Mitch wasn’t having that simple reaction though. “Words, baby. What do you want.”

“Fuck me, daddy. I’m all yours,” you told him. You pushed him off of you with your foot, flipping yourself onto your stomach. Your arms crossed over each other and your ass stuck up in the air, swinging from side to side with anticipation. “I need you. Fuck me, daddy, until I’m squirting and cumming all night long.”

He didn’t reply.

His cock slid into you from behind, eagerly pistoning himself into you. Your head flew backwards, hair flying all over the place with little remorse. His hips clapped against your ass, his hand colliding with it noisily. Your moans and screams filled the room, shoving yourself back against him to meet his powerful, relentless thrusts. Your hands gripped at his tie, not bothering to shield the noises you were making.

“That’s right, daddy! Fuck me! Fuck me hard! And fast!” You screamed at him, Mitch speeding up. The tip of his cock tapped at your cervix and g-spot, his hand connecting with your ass with a booming slap. He tugged at your hair slightly, thrusting himself into you ravenously. “Fuck! Yes! Just like that!”

“You like that, princess?” he rasped out, slapping your ass again. “You like when I spank you?”

“Fuck yes!” You screamed at him. “Spank me, daddy. I’ve been a bad girl. Punish me. Fuck me until I cum.”

Your walls clung around him, Mitch heaving for air. Your words made his cock twitch. He was straining to keep from cumming too early from the warmth and moisture you were emitting. But he complied with your wished, spanking you again and again until your ass was red with multiple handprints, jiggling in different directions when he slapped it. He pounded you fiercely, listening to your vulgar pleas to please you.

“More, daddy. More, more, more. Please. Pound my cunt like you always do. It’s all yours. Pound my cunt until it’s cumming all around you.”

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to concentrate. His hand released your hair, circling your body to rub circles at your clit instead. Your body began shaking violently, the hugging around his length growing harder. You stammered out multiple curses, alternating between ‘fuck’ and ‘Mitch’ more than once. You grew wetter around him, multiple orgasms simultaneously washing over your system.

“Mitch!” You screamed. “Yes! Daddy! I love you! Fuck me, daddy! Cum inside me. Fill me with all of your cum. Warm me with your seed! I want to feel your sperm spill into me, leaking out of my pussy after you pull out because there’s so much of you inside me. I will run my fingers through my filled cunt, feeling every drop you let out inside me.”

“Fuck,” he growled, leaning forward in the middle of his thrusts. “I’m cumming, baby. I-I can’t-”

“Let it go, Mitch,” you told him seductively. “Cum inside me. It’s our honeymoon. You can cum in me all you want. I want to feel you.” You glanced back at him, eyes dark and lustful. “Cum in me, Mitch Rapp. I need you to cum.”

The words echoed with his release, a loud grunt vibrating his throat. His seed spilled from his tip like a shotgun, ejecting itself deep into your womb. His cock sputtered, filling every bit of your body with his warm seed. You moaned at the feeling he gave you, Mitch not hearing anything you uttered. His ears were ringing with the intense orgasm, the powerful hug of your pussy around his thick cock keeping him trapped in a web of arousal, the alluring feeling making his vision spot.

Cum…

Cum…

CUM…

Mitch stirred from his sleep, blurry eyes taking a moment to focus on the time on the side table. 3:12 AM. He groaned, shifting in his position, rolling onto his back. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the already messy locks. You were sound asleep at his side, curled up in a small ball, hugging his normal pillow. “The fuck did I just dream about?” he grumbled lowly, not wanting to wake you up. He shuffled slightly in his spot, one hand moving to palm his groin.

His cock was hard, but it was wet.

His face contorted in disgust, kicking the blanket off. “I fucking came in my sleep,” he breathed, stumbling to a nearby drawer. “I had a wet dream about my wife. Specifically our honeymoon we never had.” He glanced at your sleeping form before dipping into the bathroom. He made sure to shut the door before turning on the light. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, multiple blinks to keep from going blind.

He grabbed a towelette from under the sink, dropping the Calvin Kleins he had worn to bed. He grimaced at the cum that was pasted along his length and on the inside of his underwear, wetting the towel to wash himself. He grumbled lowly, his cock sensitive to the touch, the white liquid caked to his skin.

“How the hell did this happen?” he asked himself, scratching his stubbled chin. Once he was clean, he tossed the wet cloth aside, staring at himself through the mirror. “That has never happened before. Holy shit. That dream was so nice though. It felt so real.” He turned to look at the ruined underwear, biting his lip. “And I came harder than ever I think. Dammit.”

He slid on the new boxer briefs, adjusting the bad as he stared at his reflection longer, arching forward against the sink. Splashing some water over his face, he sighed, letting the drops fall into the sink. He straight straight into the porcelain, licking his lips. “God, what do I even do now? Can I go back to sleep after that? Do I tell her what happened?”

He heard rustling in the bedroom, his sigh prolonged. He figured you had awoken without him there and would come knocking at the door any second. He wiped the remaining bits of water from his face, using a spare towel from the towel rack to dry it completely before cracking the door open, peering into the room with a glint in his eye. His brow scrunched together when he spotted you still in the bed, but you were stirring restless amongst the sheets. The assassin noted how you had rolled onto your back, his pillow left to fall to the floor forgotten, with the blankets low on your hips and tangled around your feet. One arm draped over your stomach, just below your breasts, while the other was strung above your head on the pillow and through your messy hair. You were still asleep. Mitch was thankful.

He cringed when the door creaked open, the man clicking the light off before it could wake you. He shuffled forward slowly, is eyes trying to readjust to the darkness after having focused on the bathroom light around him. He cursed to himself when he kicked his bag and other objects that were littering the bedroom carpet, Mitch biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making an overwhelming amount of noise. The room was silent and the slightest noise could stir you from your well deserved rest.

His hand met the end of the mattress, using the edge to inch around to his side, one knee on the bed to climb in. Before he could climb back into the bed, however, he froze, ears twitching. A small noise filled the room, Mitch’s eyes roaming the darkness for the source. The same noise came a second later, the assassin’s senses kicking into gear. The hand he had on the mattress moved for his bedside table, tugging open the drawer for his spare gun. His pupils dilated, the room becoming more visible to him.

The door was shut, the window was closed. The closet sat wide open the way it always did, clothes dangling from hangers. The bathroom he was just was vacant with the door ajar, the soft drips from the faucet barely audible to his trained ear. There was no sign of movement anywhere in the room, the lack of outside presence disturbing him.

Did I imagine the sound? He asked himself, taking the gun with him as he searched the room. He pushed aside the clothes in the closet to make sure nowhere was there. He checked the window latches. He poked his head out the bedroom door to see if there was movement around the rest of the house. He even checked the bathroom, just to be safe.

“The fuck?” he mumbled, closing the door with a silent click, running his long digits through his hair. He dropped the gun back into his drawer, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Am I just imagining things now? Maybe this mission got the better of me for once and I’m just super on edge now.”

The quiet noise sounded behind him once more, Mitch whipping around. He glanced around, no sign of anything except for your body. He looked down at you, licking his lips. When you didn’t stir, he grunted, shaking his head. He laid back in the bed, massaging from his chiseled jawline to his temples lightly, trying to relax. He was sure he was imagining it.

“Mitch~.”

He shot up, turning to you, Your mouth parted slightly, Mitch recognizing the way your legs were rubbing together slightly under the blanket. Yet, your eyes remained glued, an air of drowsiness and sleep emanating from you. He watched you closely, noticing your body squirm slightly, fingers twitching slightly from whatever dream you were having.

“Baby?” he asked quietly, unsure if he would wake you. “You awake?”

“Mmm, Mitch,” you let out, slightly louder than before. He licked his lips slowly, listening closely. “More, please.”

“More?” he asked.

“Please,” you quietly pleaded in your sleep, head turning to face the opposite fall, your legs squeezing together. “More.”

His heart hammered against his chest, his body warming up. The more your squirmed in your sleep, turning from side to side with multiple low moans and pleas, the lower the blanket fell. You were kicking it off without knowing it. Mitch watched this happen, his eyes scanning your form from head to toe. Your breasts threatened to spill from the nightgown, the lack of bra underneath obvious. Your nipples were erect from the late-night chill in the room. The man you loved got a full view of your side breast, some angles from your squirming giving him views of cleavage and bare skin. The bottom of your nightgown rode up, the pale pink lace cheeksters you wore hugging your curves perfectly. Mitch wanted to reach over to play with the small bow in the middle of the band, a lace flower design stringing from either side of it. He smiled at them; they were his favorite and you knew it. But his smile dropped slightly when he felt his cock twitch, growing hard once more.

He recalled the dream he had, flashes of what happened behind his eyelids when he closed his whiskey orbs. Your low moans made it hard to relax, his body tensing with the hardening erection. His legs parted slightly, palm running over the clothed tent, his shaft growing by the second.

“Mitch,” you whined, the hand that was on your stomach sliding down your body until it was tucked between your legs. His breath hitched, the assassin suddenly finding it hard to breath. He watched your fingers skim your panties before falling limp, your moans continuing. “Please. I need you.”

Mitch struggled with what to do. His mouth watered, body burning with want. He contemplated fulfilling your pleas. It wouldn’t be the first time he pleased you while you slept, his face buried between your legs eating you out until you woke up, begging him to fuck you the rest of the night. Hell, you had done it to him multiple times. He would wake up with your mouth around his cock, bobbing quickly until he was cumming down your throat. He even woke up once when you slid down onto him, his cock buried deep in your pussy while you rode him. You both loved it when the other awoke you to such a pleasure, the eroticism filling the air with an equal amount of love.

He quickly shook his head, scolding himself. “She needs to sleep. I shouldn’t wake her for my selfish wants,” he told himself. He glanced at you, your back arching uncomfortably. He pulled the blankets further up against your body, sliding off the bed long enough to grab his pillow from the floor.

Your hand shot out in your sleep, grabbing his wrist and making his stop what he was doing. “Mitch,” you whined. “I’m so wet for you. Please.” Your hand dropped his wrist, turning in the bed. “I missed you so much. Please, make me cum like you always do.”

Mitch took a deep breath...

“Please, Mitch. I need you.”

...and left the pillow on the floor.

Lifting the end of the blankets, he crawled under them, his body completely hidden from view. He caught a whiff of your arousal, the man letting out a deep, disgruntled groan. He had missed the smell and even more, he missed the taste of you. You were writhing against the mattress, Mitch struggling to pull our panties off quickly, placing his mouth to your folds.

You let out a loud, rippling moan, pleasing Mitch’s senses. He continued to kiss at your folds softly, swiping his tongue through them occasionally. You whimpered loudly, moaning for more. The noises made him cocky, trailing kisses up and down your thighs teasingly, uncaring that he was scratching at your skin with his beard. The scratches just made you quiver more, releasing more juices for him.

“Whatever you are dreaming about made you really wet, baby,” he hummed from under the blanket, not getting a response. The man snickered to himself, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. You moaned again for him, legs trying to rub the ache away. “You want me to please you, baby? You missed me that much that you’re dreaming about what I can do to you?”

“Mitch,” you whimpered, hand landing over his head through the blanket. “I need you so bad. More, please.” Your back arched, Mitch sucking at your clit as you did. “Fuck, more! I need you! It’s been too long.”

“You want more?” he teased, knowing he wouldn’t get a response. “I’ll give you more.”

His tongue delved deep inside your pussy, lapping at the uices you secreted without knowing, your unknown dream stimulating your nerves. You mewled his name under your breath, tossing and turning from side to side. Mitch’s veiny hands kept a hold on your hips, keeping you from moving too much so his mouth could focus on its mission.

His tongue circled inside you, tracing your sensitive walls, savoring the taste you left on his tongue. The tip barely brushed you g-spot, but when it did, you squeaked his name with a breathy noise, hands grasping at the pillows and blankets. Beads of sweat ran down your forehead, panting for air like a dog in heat. He could feel the heat radiating from every pore of your body, his kisses leaving a smoldering trail of fire across your skin and innards. His scruff scraped against your thighs whenever he moved, red marks left in its wake.

He backed away slightly, allowing one finger to slide inside you, testing the waters before adding a second finger. The tips and knuckles curled a bit, his week-long untrimmed nails scraping at your delicate walls pleasurably. He stilled knuckle deep, playing with your sweet spot with a simple curl of the two fingers, as if to tell you to come here. His tongue danced around the entrance to your pussy, slipping in with his fingers only to feel your walls around him tighten, hugging him for dear life.

“More,” you pleaded with a strained voice. “Please, more.”

Mitch smiled against you, a smile that was reserved only for you. His fingers began thrusting slowly, speeding up gradually over time. His mouth moved strictly to your clit, toying with the swollen nub relentlessly, flicking at it without remorse. His lips would wrap around it, tugging at it with either his lips or his teeth until it was erect, enlarged by your arousal. He greedily continued to suck at the engorged nub, selfishly and hungrily ravishing it.

He felt you clenching around his fingers the faster he went. Your breathing had picked up, chest heaving rapidly. You mewled his name, Mitch knowing you were growing close even in your unconscious state. He smiled to himself, releasing your hips completely. His hand slid into his boxer briefs, his cock pulsing from the skim of his fingers, wishing, too, to be pleased. He carefully took himself in his hand, stroking his cock, keeping pace with this thrusts into your core. He groaned against your clit from his own stimulation, his mind buzzing with lust and affection.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your clit, smearing the precum over the tip. “I missed you, baby. So much,” he groaned, replacing his fingers with his mouth, savagely attacking your pussy with licks. You were tossing more on his bed, legs hugging his head to your core. Your moans grew in volume, body shaking against the sheets. “Come on,” he whispered into you. “Cum for me. Let me taste your sweet nectar, baby.”

You let out a drawn out moan, slumping into the bed. Mitch groaned against your core, lapping every drop of your juices that washed out during your orgasm. It splashed against in tongue in waves, your husband drinking every ounce you gave him shamelessly. He savored the taste, every memory you shared together racing through his mind from the single sip.

He was glad to be home finally.

He stayed under the blankets as you body relaxed, limbs going limp against the sheets. He waited for a sign - any indication of what was beyond the fleece that shielded him. He finally felt your fingers curl over the top of his head, tapping twice. The assassin let out a small chuckle, crawling up your body until his head poked free, resting on your stomach.

“Hi,” you breathed. You stared down at him with a lazy smile, eyes cloudy with sleep and desire. Your hand ran through his hair, pushing it back. The assassin let out a content sigh, both arms wrapping around you, relaxing against your body. “That’s some way to wake up.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled into your stomach. “I was awake and you kept moaning for more. I got a little…”

“Horny?” you hummed, twirling his hair around your fingers. “Eager? Needy? Desperate?”

“Aroused,” he clarified. He pushed up your nightgown, his stubble scratching at your skin when he kissed your stomach. “God, I love hearing you moan. I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted a little taste.”

“A little, huh?”

“Just a little,” he repeated. He glanced up at you, eyes locking. “What were you dreaming about?”

“You,” you told him, Mitch deadpanning. “What? I was!”

“Specifically?”

“The things you do to me,” you whispered, almost shyly. “The things you did to me before you left. And the things I still want you to do to me.” You licked your lips slowly, peering at the man. “The things I want you to do as if we were on our honeymoon finally.”

Mitch looked away, biting his lip. “A dream just like mine,” he mumbled.

“What?” Mitch blinked, looking back at you. “What do you mean like yours?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Is that why you were awake?” You asked him. “Did little Mitchy have a wet dream about me?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, your face going blank in shock. “I dreamt about us going on a honeymoon to some exotic beachfront, just the two of us. I tied you up and fucked you silly.”

“Is that so?” you asked.

“You called me daddy,” he pointed out, your face flushing.

“I didn’t know you liked that,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Did you like it?”

“I won’t lie, baby. It was hot as balls,” he chuckled. “To see and hear you give in the way you did. It was… beyond amazing. It was incredible. Stunning. Wonderful. And so god damn sexy. I have never seen you that submissive and I loved it. You wanted me more than ever.”

“What happened because of this dream?” You asked, shifting in the bed until you were sitting upright. Mitch’s head between your legs once more.

Mitch hesitated, almost ashamed to come clean. “You made me cum.” He pursed his lips, rolling on his back to stare at the ceiling. “Literally, not just in the dream. I woke up with a hard on right after I orgasmed in my sleep. And fuck, it was a great orgasm.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. One of the best I’ve ever had. They’re always great with you but this one was… otherworldly. I was seeing stars.” He pushed his boxer briefs down his legs, exposing his erection to you, the fabric kicked from his ankles onto the floor. He carefully grasped himself in his hand, stroking his length slowly. “I’m still horny from it all.”

“And this isn’t just because we haven’t seen each other for weeks? Because we haven’t touched each other. Or had sex. Even masturbated.”

His forehead wrinkled, leaning back to look at you upside down. “You didn’t masturbate while i was gone?”

“It wasn’t the same without you here,” you replied. “Porn doesn’t cut it. Vibrators don’t cut it. I just wanted you.”

“Damn. Should I feel guilty that I masturbated while I was on my mission?” he said, rolling onto his stomach. “Like, every night that I was alone, not chasing some guy with a gun. Hand around my cock, thinking about you riding me until I was cumming all over my bare chest.”

“Mmm, Mitch,” you whimpered. The ache was forming once more between your legs. He didn’t stop.

“Sometimes I thought about fucking you from behind in the kitchen, pounding your sweet little pussy while you make us dinner.”

“Mitch, please,” you whimpered louder. Mitch sat up slowly, nestling between your legs, tugging at the straps of your nightgown.

“Or, there are the times we do it in the shower. Your back against the wall while I thrust into you, then you drop to your knees and suck me off. Your hands grab my ass while you deepthroat me. God, you have the best mouth.”

“Mitch, this isn’t nice,” you whined. His lips met your neck, sucking dark marks to it before trailing them down to your shoulder, pulling the straps down your arms completely. The front of your nightgown was resting just below your breasts, the round, perky mounds free to the chilly air.

“Why?” he asked, pushing you back slightly, kissing along your collarbone. You mewled quietly, struggling to push your legs together, the muscled man keeping you from doing just that. His form stood in the way, contributing to the ache that was growing in your bones. His strong hands roamed your body. His hips rolled against yours whenever he inched closer to kiss you, his lips finding home at every nook and cranny of your torso.

Your hands threaded through his hair, his face buried between your breasts. He purposefully was avoiding your nipples, teasing you with light touches that felt like a gentle breeze passing over you. You arched into him, mewling quietly. “Because.”

“Because why?”

He kissed around each breast in a figure eight, listening to you whine for more. Your hands tugged restlessly at his hair, pleading under your breath. “Because I need you,” you uttered through scattered breaths. “You’re making me so damn hot and bothered.”

“Why?” he asked playfully. “Do I turn you on by talking about the things I think about when i masturbate? Shouldn’t you be flattered that I think about you as much as I do when I’m away? You’re always on my mind when I’m a mission because the faster I get it done, the faster I get back home to you to fulfill those fantasies I picture.”

“Mitch.”

He kissed your chest, taking your nipple between his lips, toying with it for a moment before releasing it with a loud pop. “You like hearing me talk about when I hold my cock in my hand, jerking it until i can’t any more. But all I wish is that it’s your hand or your mouth pleasing me. You’re the master at making me cum, baby. You feel way better than my hand.”

“Mitch,” you said louder, voice cracking.

“Sometimes, I wish you would just walk into the room while I’m masturbating because you were watching me and you wanted a piece of the action. You love to watch me stroke my long, hard cock. Then, you blow me until I cum down your throat. You wrap your tits around me until I cum on them and your face. Then I fuck you until we can’t can’t fuck anymore,” he continued to say, plucking your nipples with his teeth and lips until they were stiff mountains of eroticism.

“Mitch!” You finally screamed, pushing him back. You grimaced slightly when his teeth nearly clamped down on your nipple in surprise, scrapping uncomfortably at the swollen peak. His smile flipped into a deep frown, his eyes sparking.

“What?” came his soft voice, almost fragile. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you let out, Mitch’s face showing his disbelief. “You biting me was an accident! Completely my fault. I pushed you back without you expecting it. That’s not what I’m wanting to say.”

“Then what?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you blatantly spoke. Mitch took a moment to process, the man slower than normal on this matter. He was amazingly smart and talented, Orion’s star member, but the cogs weren’t turning at nearly four in the morning. He blinked once, eyes narrowing on your face, lips parting.

“I’m sorry,” he hummed, inching closer to you. His cock pressed against your core, sliding through your folds as he spoke slowly. His voice was deep and husky, a certain gruffness make your heart race. “I don’t think I quite heard you right. Do you mind,” he paused, licking his lips slowly with a glint in his dark eyes, “repeating that for me?”

“I. Want. You. To.” you stopped, pushing yourself up on the bed until your lips hit the shell of his ear, the man shivering. “Fuck. Me. Mitch. Rapp.”

You were pulled completely off the bed in a flash, your head spinning half from the whirl and half from the pleasure that encompassed your body. You couldn’t hold back the loud moan that built in your throat, the noise directed into his ear. Your arms wrapped securely around his waist, your body pulled taut against him, his cock buried hilt deep inside you. Your knees rested on either side of him, Mitch leaning back on his knees. His hands were laid across your back, fingers spread with light scratches of his nails against your skin.

“God, I missed this,” he groaned, his bucking upwards into you. Your head buried instantly into his neck, sucking a dark mark to claim him as your as a way to stay silent. His soft, fluffy hair flopped to the side when his hair tilted away, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I love you, Y/N.”

“And I love you,” you mumbled into his neck.

Mitch smiled, hands moving to your hips, moving your body against him. The awkward position made it hard for him to easily thrust into you. Instead, he opted to help you do the work instead, guiding your body up and down atop him, his cock burying itself deep into your soaked pussy. The motion started slow and steady, quickly turning into an obnoxious slap of hips against hips, legs colliding from your sitting stance.

“Mitch,” you cooed into him. He took that as encouragement for more, his hips bucking upwards into you, your squealing moans turning into sharp screams. Your arms hugged him tighter, breasts pressing against his bare pecs. Your head fell back, Mitch pressing kisses to your collarbone, never slowing his movements. The tip of his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly, the sensual rubbing of his cock against it making you shake in his hold. “Fuck, just like that.”

“You like that?” he asked breathlessly. He pushed the nightgown up so it was a bundle of fabric above your navel, his grip tightening and his fingers drawing circles against your stomach. His hips bucked upwards, pistoning as fast as he could into you. “You like when I fuck you like this?”

“God yes,” you cried out, a hard tug on his hair following. “More!”

You pulled roughly this time, Mitch losing his balance and falling forward slightly. You squealed as you fell back on the bed, his cock never leaving you. Your head hit the pillow, hazy eyes staring up at the man. He had caught himself before he collapsed on top of you, straightening his back. Your eyes met from afar, the same lustful look glistening within your irises.

His arms ducked under your legs, the backs of your knees matching the bend of his elbows, your feet dangling helplessly in the air. His fingers left bruises from their hold on your thighs. Before you could blink, his hips snapped into yours, deep pounding thrusts slapping into you. You screamed his name, back arching and eyes closing, writhing on the bed from the pleasure. The assassin kept a strong pace, his chest heaving with pants from his powerful thrusts. Your legs and breasts bounced with each thrust forward. Your bodies slapped together noisily, the room flooded with moans and echoing skin.

“Oh God,” you rasped. “I’m cumming, Mitch,” you moaned. Your back arched further off the bed, palming your own breasts to push yourself over the edge. Mitch watched you tweak your own nipples, turning into a moaning mess. “I’m cumming!”

He groaned loudly at the hugging walls around his cock, slowing his thrusts to a gentle push. Your juices washed around him for the second time that night, your body shaking from the intense orgasm Your vision spotted, feeling the waves of juices seep out of you and into his skin, Mitch’s tantalizingly slow thrust prolonging the high you were having. It was worse when his fingers skimmed your clit, pressing down on it for added effect.

He pulled out of you, turning you on your side. You sighed sadly when he curled up behind you, his arm around your waist. You weren’t satisfied. You felt empty and incomplete. Your body was craving more from your time apart. At this point, you were fully prepared to take him until you couldn’t any longer, sleep the last thing on your list of priorities.

“Mitch-” you started, turning to him. You were silenced when his lips met yours, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. You melted into his touch, lips like jigsaw pieces coming together. Your lips parted to allow his tongue free reign to wander between your cheeks, your husband taking full advantage of the access. His nude body inched closer to you, your mouths moving together. Whenever he pulled away for a small puff of air, the sound of your lips disconnecting - a resounding smooch - rang through our ears, your body buzzing before he leaned in for more. Your lips never stopped moving against each other, spending multiple minutes in each others grasps kissing.

Your hand carefully grasped his cock, stroking him soothingly, the man groaning against your lips. He pulled away with a soft smack, wetting his swollen lips with a swipe of the tongue. Your lips matched his - plump and red and deliciously kissable still. He kissed down your cheek, your head tilting away to give him access to your neck. The tip of his cock slid along your folds between your legs, the man thrusting between your thighs playfully.

“Mitch,” you whimpered. “Please. I want more of you.”

“What do you want?” he asked. Walking two fingers up your body, cupping your breast. His fingertips dusted over the nipples, your whines growing. “Tell me, baby. What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me hard and fast until I can’t see straight,” you pleaded. “I want you to choke me until I’m seeing stars.” You turned to stare into his whiskey eyes, kissing him softly. “I want you to cum inside me, daddy.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, cucking into your backside. “Say it again.”

“It?”

“You know,” he grumbled. “Say it and I will fulfill your request. Say it and I will fuck you until the sun rises.” He connected your lips, tugging your lip with his teeth. “Say it and I will please you like you’ve never been pleased.”

“You know, that’s kind of hard considering you always please me,” you joked. Mitch’s expression didn’t reflect your amusement. “Fine.” Clearing your throat, you said with your heart racing in the most seductive voice possible, “Fuck me, daddy.”

“God, that’s better than my dream,” he groaned, lifting your leg, his cock sliding in easily. You let out a straggled moan in response, not recognizing when he draped your leg back over his body, leaving your legs parted and his hands free. One arm slithered under your head while the other found refuge on your chest, his hips speeding up against your ass. It wasn’t long until he was pounding into you, his hips colliding with your ass in deafening slaps.

“Fuck!” You screamed loudly, clawing at the sheets and pulling them from the edges of the mattress. Your words egged the assassin on, his thrusts sliding deep inside you. His cock pulsed, twitching from left to right, making your body flare up like the sun. The tip hit your g-spot and cervix, rattling your nerves and sending goosebumps up your spine.

Your ass pressed back against his hips, Mitch stilling to allow you to thrust. He listened to you moan his name loudly while trying to suppress his own moans. His abs tightened when he sat u slightly, watching the smooth motion of his cock emerging from your core, covered in layers of arousal before easing back in with a slick sound. Your ass jiggled when it hit his hips, Mitch wetting his lips slowly. He hardened more inside you just from the sight, earning another loud moan.

“Daddy loves when you ride his cock,” Mitch breathed into your ear, moving his hand to palm your ass instead. He pulled back slightly, his hand connecting to your skin with a smack, almost like the crack of a whip. You moaned loudly for him, Mitch repeating the action. His thrusts resumed, swapping between ravenous thrusts and vicious slaps. Your ass was red with handprints, your nerves at their peak.

“Fuck, Mitch,” you mewled, clawing at his hand. “More, daddy. Please. Fuck me.”

He grunted in satisfaction, eyes closing to focus on his movements. The hand under your head wound around your throat in a tight grip, constricting your airway but remaining loose enough to not choke you to death like you knew he could. Black spots formed in your sight, but your body was on cloud nine, floating in a different plane completely. The pleasure of his pistoning cock was amplified, the smoldering fire inside you becoming a raging wildfire that control your entire form. Your body tingled, your mind a blur so much that you didn’t recognize the rubbing on your clit from his other hand.

“F-Fuck,” you struggled to say, losing yourself to the ecstasy. “M-Mitch.”

“Shit,” he grunted lowly, his throat vibrating with the sound. His eyes closed, chasing the orgasm he wished to have - the one he knew he was about to have. He could feel the pressure building inside him. He was bound to explode at any second and he was more than ready for it. He carefully tilted your head towards him, his eyes cracking open with a glazed look. “I love you, Y/N Rapp.”

His grip loosened, allowing you to speak properly. Your lips brushed his as you spoke in a soft tone, “I love you, Mitch Rapp.”

He pressed his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, the two sealed tight together. His hips bucked wildly against you, his sloppy thrusts sputtering. His cock twitched, your walls tightened. Your fingers laced together until your bodies were exploding with fireworks simultaneously, slowing to careful thrusts. Your juices flowed around him like a waterfall, hugging him like he was your lifeline. His white, hot seed spewed from the tip, the strings coating your walls and mixing with your arousal inside you. You clung to him just as much as he clung to you, neither of you wanting to let the other go.

He slowly pulled away from the kiss, licking his lips to savor the taste before letting his eyes flutter open once more, meeting your direct stare. You gave him a gentle smile, brushing your fingers through his hair and along his stubbled jaw, connecting his hidden moles.

“I love you,” you whispered again, Mitch smiling.

“I love you,” he replied, kissing your forehead. His lips lingered, resting in the comfort of your presence. It’s good to be home, he told himself, wanting the moment to be everlasting.

You shuffled in his hold, taking his hand and kissing his fingertips. He sighed, knowing he needed to move, his cock already going limp inside you. Your bodies were coated in sweat, genitals dripping with a mixture of fluids. He slowly pried his hand from yours, leaving another kiss on your forehead before slipping from your core and sliding off the bed.

You watched him waddle towards the bathroom, grinning at his cute ass in the darkness. “You know, you have the best ass?” you called out, covering your head with the blanket when he flicked on the light. Your ears perked up at his deep chuckle. “What? It’s true. Your training shaped that ass in the best way. Have you seen it? And you have these cute little moles along your skin. Little constellations because you are out of this world.”

“That was cheesy,” he laughed. You heard the cabinets slam and the water run, knowing he was grabbing a wet cloth. “And never call my ass cute again please. It’s just…”

Mitch paused in his thought, his eyes staring at an object on the counter. His brow knit together, his shaky hand extending to pick it up. He stared at it for a moment, trying to process what he was staring at. He wasn’t sure how he had missed it earlier.

“Babe?” he called, your head peeking out of the covers.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, crawling out of bed. You rubbed at your eyes to try and adjust to the light, padding your way towards him. You stopped in the doorway when you saw what he was holding. “Oh.”

“Is this…” he started, his mouth dry. Yet, his voice held a hint of excitement, his feet moving one at a time closer to you. “Is this for real?”

“Yes,” you told him calmly, your smile large.

“We’re pregnant?” he asked, handing you the stick the words clearly reading ‘pregnant’ in bold, blue letters. “This is real?”

“It’s real, Mitch,” you whispered. “I took three boxes and they all said the same thing. I still need to schedule an appointment just to be completely sure but-” you stopped, taking his hand and resting it on your stomach. “There’s a mini assassin in the making.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to surprise you after we got some rest. You got home late and I wanted to tell you in person.”

He blinked. “That’s why you waited up.”

“You caught me,” you laughed. “Assuming I’m right, I would be about a month along.”

“The not-honeymoon yet still honeymoon sex,” he grinned, pulling you closer. He kissed your forehead softly, your head burying in his chest. “You know this means you aren’t leaving my sight anytime soon. I’m not risking losing you or the baby.”

“I know,” you said. “But I don’t have anything to worry about because I’m married to my best friend and the best assassin the CIA could ever ask for. And I know you would never let anything hurt us.”

“The faith you have in me,” he hummed. His hands cupped your face, lifting it to face him. “Y/N, we’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby,” you told him, hugging him. Mitch smiled largely, larger than ever. “We’re starting a family.”

He laughed, lifting you from the ground and spinning you in circles, listening to your adorable laughter. Neither of you cared that you were nearly nude at it was the odd hours of the night. You were ecstatic beyond belief. “We’re starting a family!” he cried, placing you on the floow, peppering your face in kisses. His lips rested against your forehead, kissing it repeatedly, mumbled over and over, “we’re having a baby.” You melted into his arms, letting yourself relax in the moment.

He finally pulled away long enough to clean your bodies, fixing your nightgown when he was done. You were lifted from the ground, Mitch carrying you back to the bed. He tucked you in before grabbing the discarded boxer briefs from the floor, adjusting the band. The sun’s rays peered through the curtains, Mitch crawling into his spot by your side.

“I told you I would fuck you until the sun came up,” he joked. You yawned at him in response, Mitch laughing. “Get some more sleep, baby. You need it and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You need to sleep too,” you mumbled sleepily. “Just don’t have any more wet dreams about me.”

He let out a sarcastic snort at your joke, nuzzling into your shoulder. You smiled, your nose digging into his hair. “No promises,” he mumbled, kissing your shoulder this time. “I can never stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind and you just have this way with me.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m mad about these wet dreams,” you muttered, voice fading. “Because that was amazing.”

“Just like you,” he whispered, listening to your steady breathing. Mitch followed suit quickly, hugging you to his body, never to let you go.

This is a dream come true.

Errthang Tag 2.0: @catcrown21; @parislight; @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone; @savage-stilinski; @honeymoonmuke; @rumoured-whispers; @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname; @caitsymichelle13; @addicttotw; @fox-lau; @xmadwonderland; @kaelyn-lobrutto24; @lobrien; @kal-pal; @espermirror; @nowthisiswaar; @belleknows; @ashpie97; @mixedupsammy; @dylobrienlover; @newtosaur250; @bandsweyhey; @crystals-marie; @livinginadreamersparadise; @tommyswolves; @veronicarapp; @bilesbilinskix; @danathewitchywoman; @thisismexxo; @you-all-have-guns; @soulaura-canavel; @bojabee; @obrienswxlf; @feelingsareharddd; @xoitsjustmexo; @supernaturaltakeover; @suggsmate; @cassiee867; @malia--stilinski; @barryallenplease; @flirtstiles; @bottleoffirewhisky; @jadalecki-jackles; @evansesdust; @everythingthatisrandom

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[dorothydelgadillo]

Taking the Leap: Why I Took a Career Risk (And You Should Too)

To kick off 2018, I took a giant leap and accepted a fully remote position in a role I’d essentially never done before (not in any official capacity, anyway). I would soon be the Director of Audience Engagement and Community at IMPACT. As someone who had always had the word “marketing” in my title in some way, this was a big shift.

As I packed up my desk at my old job, I got a little scared.

Sure, it was exciting to think about working from home (I’d never have to wear pants again, right?) and to join this team of people I already loved, but what if working there was dramatically different than meeting up with the team at conferences and chatting on Facebook?

My Journey to IMPACT

I’m not sure exactly when it happened. Whether it was through watching episodes of The IMPACT Show, attending IMPACT Live, meeting up at INBOUND, or just being an avid consumer of IMPACT’s helpful content and resources, I loved IMPACT. 

The people, the content, the mission, all of it.

That alone was something special and it really did draw me in.

So, why didn’t I immediately jump at the chance to join the team?

Well, it’s worth noting that I did not apply for this job.

I wasn’t even looking for anything new at the time. Like many, I got the occasional LinkedIn request from a recruiter or heard a casual mention of an open position at a networking event. However, the only person who actively recruited me, month after month, was IMPACT’s Founder & CEO, Bob Ruffolo.

Even before this position had a job title or description, Bob began recruiting me.

For almost a year, every time I ran into him (or eventually any member of the IMPACT team), I got a friendly nudge accompanied by the question “so, when are you joining the team?”

Now, this may not be traditional but Bob knew the specific set of skills he wanted to add to his team and strongly believed I had them.

Eventually, seeing his unyielding pursuit of me joining the team made me start to take the idea more seriously. Still, I remember thinking “he knows I can do more than Twitter, right?” In fact, I think I said that out loud to him at one point.

As Bob and I started to talk more seriously about the role, however, we nailed down a couple of things that made me less apprehensive about taking the job. Things like what my title would be and how I would be measured in my role. It was important to me that these things were clearly defined and documented.

After all our discussion, taking this job would still mean leaving one I loved, leaving a team I loved working with, and no longer coming into an office full of familiar faces every day. Plus, I was part of a startup that tripled in size in the year and a half since I’d joined and it was a really exciting time for us.

Why would I leave now?

When it came time to make a decision I asked myself the following three questions. When the answers were all “yes” I knew it was the right thing to do -- and if faced with a similar situation, I think the same would be true for you. 

Will this opportunity challenge me and help me grow?

Am I surrounding myself with people who will make me better

Am I following my passion and being true to myself? 

Will This Opportunity Challenge Me and Help Me Grow? 

I am a naturally curious person. I am always asking “why?” and I’m the first person to Google something on my phone when any random question comes up in conversation.

I like learning things.

A lot of people refer to themselves as “lifelong learners” and sure, that sounds great on the surface, but in my experience, just having the desire to learn isn’t enough. You have to apply what you’ve learned to a real life situation.

I used to brag about all the HubSpot Academy certifications I’d gotten or all the business books I’d recently read. What I found is that none of that mattered much if I couldn’t translate it into real, tangible knowledge I could put to use.

Now, it’s not about how much educational content I can consume, but rather how well I can put what I learn into practice.

One of the things that intrigued me about this position at IMPACT was that it would open me up to a whole new set of challenges, things to learn and skills to refine.

I’d never truly led a community before.

I’d been leading the Chicago HubSpot User Group for about a year and was loving it so far, but my job was still mainly focused on emails, landing pages, blogs, and webinars.

To be successful in my role at IMPACT, I would have to dive into learning about growing and engaging a community, reach out to others I saw doing it well and learn from them, and try new things that very well might not work.

It was scary to think about how many new things I’d be doing but also exciting to think about the new set of challenges ahead.

Am I surrounding myself with people who will make me better?

The second question I asked myself when considering joining the IMPACT team was “am I surrounding myself with people who will make me better?” 

When I was growing up one of the best pieces phrases my mom would always remind me of was “you are the company you keep.” This mantra has come in handy many times throughout my life including in this decision. 

When it comes to a job I always consider the culture of the company. 

Sure a great role with good pay is important, but is it more important than the type of people you’ll be spending most of your waking hours with? 

In any situation, work or personal, I ask myself “are these people who share my values?” 

Joining a company where I was a good culture fit for the company and they were a good culture fit for me has always been a key part of my decision of whether or not to take a job. 

Beyond just a good culture fit, I wanted to be sure there would also be people who I could look up to; people who would challenge me to grow and who could be mentors to me over time. 

Of course, when it came to IMPACT, I knew the culture was great, but Bob had also been building this amazing team of many of the best people in the industry. Once I saw that, I knew I had to be part of it.

Am I following my passion and being true to myself? 

The final question I asked myself was “am I following my passion and being true to myself?” 

When it comes to personal values, the one thing I am unwilling to compromise on is authenticity. 

I refuse to change anything about who I am to make someone else happy. That’s, of course, not to say I can’t grow and improve, but my core personality will always remain the same. 

I’m always surprised when people I’ve only interacted with online meet me in person and say something like “I feel like I already know you!” 

To me, that’s how it should feel. 

Consistent authenticity has helped me to develop some great relationships in the industry and connect with some amazing individuals. 

In fact, that’s one of the biggest reasons I’m in this role today. I love inbound and I love connecting with people and building relationships. 

While it was scary to think about doing something quite different than I was used to, accepting this job allowed me to truly embrace these qualities and be 100% true to myself and my passions. 

The Feeling of Flying

I recently saw the movie The Greatest Showman (okay, I saw it 3 times) and as I repeatedly listened to the soundtrack I couldn’t help but connect with it more and more. 

If you haven’t seen the movie, I can tell you a few key things that stood out to me. 

First, it’s all about authenticity and being your true self. 

Second, it’s dazzling and captivating. 

Third, it’s about taking risks. 

Image via RTE

While working at a desk may be very different from flying on a trapeze ala Zendaya in The Greatest Showman, taking this job at IMPACT felt like taking a leap. 

Why did I take the leap? When I gave my notice my boss actually put it really well. He said “I know your passion isn’t in food data and transparency. In fact, I wish I were as passionate about anything as you are about inbound.”

By time I accepted the job it was very clear that Bob had figured out something before I had - he figured out how my passion for inbound, learning, and building relationships could be channeled into something beneficial for both me personally, and for IMPACT. 

At one point during our discussions, Bob said that he wants me to be able to do all things that I currently do in my spare time - and make them my job. 

And wow, let me tell you that is what everyone should strive for! 

There’s a song in The Greatest Showman called “Come Alive” which is about breaking out of your typical day to day, taking the risk to come out into the light and be part of a movement. 

That’s exactly how coming to IMPACT has made me feel. 

I feel like I’ve come alive. 

I took the leap and it has been exhilarating. 

In my new role, I want to transfer that feeling to every member of IMPACT Elite, every attendee of IMPACT Live, every person who finds our content just like I did.

I want you all to know you can break away from the legacy ways of marketing, sales, customer success, or running a business. Through this community, you too can come alive.

Last week when I was visiting the IMPACT office in Connecticut, I recorded three videos, did two sets of headshots, wrote my first Elite update email, and even co-hosted The IMPACT Show with Bob. 

It’s all been so fun and such a natural fit for me. 

My official title may be Director of Audience Engagement and Community, but if I’ve learned anything in my first two weeks here, my role is just about being the best Stephanie I can be. My authentic, curious, passionate self.

Hopefully, next time you’re considering a new opportunity of any kind, whether it be in your career or personal life, asking yourself these questions will help you decide whether or not to take the leap.

P.S. I do still put on pants. I’m much more productive that way.

Don't forget to join IMPACT Elite and see what I'm up to now.

from Web Developers World https://www.impactbnd.com/blog/taking-the-leap-why-i-took-a-career-risk-and-you-should-too