I have more ideas for this but I am running out of players because I cannot think anymore which is great since I'm back for in-service on Monday
Teacher AU Series
Warnings: None
WC: 753
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“Why are you here?”
Nate looks up from his computer, confused. “What? I work here.”
“No,” Annalisa sighed, inviting herself into his classroom. She puts her bag down on the floor, moving some of his papers off his desk to make room for herself to sit. If anyone else had done something like that, he would have lost his mind, but Annalisa? Sitting this close to him? “Why are you here this late? It’s nearly six.”
“Oh, whoops,” Nate says, finally looking at the corner of his screen. He told himself this would take him two minutes, not two hours. He shrugs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. “I was making a seating chart.”
“God, those are the fucking worst,” Annalisa laughs. “They won’t stop talking or something?”
“I always assign their seats. New month, new seats.”
Annalisa looks at him with her mouth hanging open. “Don’t you teach sophomores?”
“Yes.”
“They’re old enough to drive, they’re old enough to pick their own seats.”
“So?”
Annalisa shakes her head, crossing her legs. “Too late to argue with you over this. Which class are you doing right now?”
Nate turns her computer towards her, Annalisa leaning forward to read it, her legs brushing up against Nate. He takes in a sharp breath that she doesn’t notice while he watches her nod at the screen.
She points at two names on her screen. “Don’t seat them together,”
He looks at the names, Cayden and Lucy. “I thought they were best friends since Cayden moved here when they were in second grade?”
Annalisa nods. “They were. But they’re fighting right now.”
“I told them they could sit together this month,” he says, the color draining from his face, pulling a laugh from Annalisa.
“Maybe if you sat them together sooner, they wouldn’t have had that fight,” Annalisa jokes, Nate not getting it. He stares at his screen, looking as if his heart was breaking. “Dude, I’m joking. They’ll be fine in, like, a month.”
“Ok,” Nate says, leaning forward on his elbows on his desk. “If you know all the drama between the students, who else should I put together?”
Annalisa laughs again, a feeling Nate couldn’t place running through his stomach. He lets out a sigh as she continues to look at his computer screen. “Oh,” she exclaims, making Nate snap out of the trance he didn’t know he was in. “Cameron and Max like each other, you should put them next to each other.”
“They do? I’ve never seen them talk to each other.”
Annalisa takes his computer in her lap and starts typing. “He’s too afraid to talk to her and she doesn’t know what to say to him when they are together, so you have to give them a reason to talk.”
“Why?”
“Oh, come on,” she says, not looking up from his screen and continuing to type away. “You remember what it was like to have a crush on someone when you were younger and to barely know how to talk to them.”
Nate lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as Annalisa glances and him with a smirk on her face that made his mind race. “Boy, do I.” She goes back to his computer, Nate mesmerized by her. “Why were you still here?”
“I was helping Miles with something.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, he’s trying to make this display for women’s history month.”
“And who better to ask than the only woman in the department?”
“I might as well be good for something to him, right?” she jokes, Nate hearing the annoyance in her voice.
“So that date you guys went on the other day didn’t go well?”
“If that was a date I’m sorry for whoever he ends up with,” she laughs. “Ok, here.”
Nate takes the computer from her, his hand brushing against hers. He stares at the screen, a seating chart on it that would have taken him another couple of hours, or honestly, couple of months, to get to. No one he knew who had problems with each other were near each other, friends who knew how to sit with each other were next to each other, Cameron and Max were together, Cayden and Lucy further apart. It was perfect. “Shit, this is great.”
Annalisa hops off the desk, picking up her bag. “It’s great enough that we can both go home, now, right?”
“Or,” Nate says, his voice shaking as he packed up his bag. “We could grab dinner?”
Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.
Word Count Chapter: 6570
Word Count Total: 53,604
Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part begins with Clementine. THERE BE SMUT (kinda).
Part Twelve*
I was sucking down a latte at a speed that was going to give me a stomach ache while Daze peed on every single patch of dirt we came across. Barbs had a small Americano he was nursing with a look of amusement on his face, and the fingers of his free hand were twisted into my belt loop, keeping me tucked into his side as we meandered in the sunshine.
We wandered along the river contentedly until the temps seemed to rocket into the 80s. The elevation in Denver always made it feel at least 10 degrees hotter than it was, and by the time we made it back to Mark's apartment, I was pretty sure the smell invading my nostrils wasn’t coming from Barbs or Daze.
The bottom layer of my hair was soaked with sweat and I was sure there was a pool in my underwear, which may-- or may not have been heat-related. As further proof life is entirely unfair, Mark was barely glistening and looked handsome as ever, but, to his credit, he was a professional athlete and that walk probably didn’t even register on his exercise-o-meter.
As we made our way through the front door and back to the blissful existence that is climate control, I asked him, “Is there a place where I could shower, maybe?”
He was unclipping Daze’s leash and hung it on a hook by the door, “Yeah,” he confirmed, “there’s a guest room with an ensuite through the door at the end of the kitchen.”
I looked at my bag, torn. What started as a casual conversation about a shower (if there was such a thing), seemed to have evolved into a bigger discussion, which, it occured to me, had been entirely avoided by my ability to fall asleep on the couch. “Do you want me to stay there?” I ventured.
He arched a brow; I could sense that he and I were on the same page and again, I was both irritated and impressed by his perceptiveness. But he remained unfazed as he told me coolly, “The master is down the hall, and you’re welcome to as well.”
I looked down at the weekender bag, which was still sitting by the door, and shifted my weight on my feet in an effort to buy myself some time. Maybe the silence would drive him crazy and he’d cave first and just tell me what to do. Instead, Mark trailed his hand across my back and pulled me into him, kissing the top of my head, before he headed to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water. “I’m not making the decision for you, Lemon,” he informed me, “you’ve had enough of that.”
“But…”
He smirked, though his lips were wrapped around the mouth of the water bottle. With his head tilted back, he downed all 16oz in a single drink; watching his throat move as he swallowed almost gave me heatstroke. At least, that’s what I’m saying it was, if anyone were to ask. The self-loathing I felt creeping through me was, I realized, entirely unrelated to all of my usual neuroses but instead, likely triggered by the level of “thirsty fangirl” I was feeling about the handsome man standing in front of me. It was then that clairity dawned on me: I didn’t know what was going to happen if I put my bag in his bedroom, but I knew what wouldn’t happen if I went to the guest room. Thus, I snatched the bag from the floor and disappeared down the hall toward the master, making a sincere attempt to look cool, unhurried and 0% desperate, though I probably failed on all three accounts.
His bedroom, like the rest of his house, was masculine yet warm and comfortable. A huge bed with a heavy looking dark wood frame fit the large space well, and I didn’t know what size it was, but it seemed larger than a King. I’m sure there was some super special athlete sized bed only professional athletes could buy. The sheets were dark gray and crisp, and his bed was made. He didn’t seem like the type to make his bed in the morning so I assumed the cleaning service had changed the sheets and made the bed.
The bathroom was also huge; the shower and tub were enclosed in the same glass room and it honestly just looked like a bitch to clean, although I suppose one could just spray the entire thing with windex and use a squeegee. And yes, this was the first thing I thought about upon entering it, despite all of the lust and hormones swirling around in my brain. You can take the housewife out of the house, but short of a lobotomy, I was still wired to think about cleaning and cooking, it seemed. With gratitude, I gleefully realized that cleaning the bathroom was entirely not my problem and I set my bag on the bed. Daze hopped up, circling three times before curling into a ball, right in the middle of the huge monstrosity, her keen eyes studying me carefully.
True to form, Nora had packed my half my bathroom and exactly one change of clothes, I loved her optimism that I wouldn’t *need* clothes, but I did like having the option of wearing them, which was the main reason I had run home the day before and now the bag was straining at the seams.
In the bathroom, there was a set of lush towels hanging on the towel bars and an entire additional set folded and set on the counter. The ones on the bars near the shower room were obviously the ones Barbs used, and therefore, I presumed the ones on the counter were for me. Suddenly furious, I narrowed my eyes; that assuming, idiotic moron man. He obviously assumed I’d be sleeping in his bed and using his shower. Despite my rage, a little voice in the back of my head, which sounded most concerningly like Nora, immediately wondered if there was an identical pile of towels in the guestroom.
Answering that question at once preempted all other activities, sweaty hair be damned. So, I marched down the hall and into the kitchen, prepared to give Mark the what-for, and much to my surprise, I was hit with the smell of onions and garlic sauteeing in olive oil. Mark was in the kitchen, tea towel thrown over his shoulder, the spitting image of, like, all of the hottest fantasies I’d ever had of him. My eyes widened and, distracted by the vision in front of me, my stare was fixated on him instead of where I was going, meaning, I hit the back of the couch with quite a bit of momentum from my march of irritation. Unceremoniously, I flew over the back of it in the most ungraceful somersault that had ever been done by a human and smacked my head on the coffee table. The resulting “thwack,” which echoed loudly through the space, functioned as an entirely too perfect soundtrack accompaniment to reality’s literal smack in the face. I sat on the ground, waiting for the rest of the life’s laugh track to kick in. I was only 50 percent positive the tweeting cartoon birds were my imagination.
“Holy shit! Clementine!!” I heard Mark yelp.
Unlike the birds, I was sure I hallucinated Mark vaulting over the back of the love seat that sat perpendicular to the couch to get to me.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
If getting to Tine just then depended on my sinking the winning puck in the Stanley Cup final, I know I could do it with one arm tied behind my back and my eyes closed. By the time I vaulted over the couch like Simone Biles, she was already sitting up, hand on her head as I knelt down.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m totally fine,” she shushed me, before I could even say anything. “The good news about being crazy is I can’t possibly get MORE fucked up due to trauma to the head, so it’s fine.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said, sounding a little more exasperated than I intended, “Shut up and lay down on the couch.” As I picked her up under her armpits and deposited her there, I realized she didn’t really have a choice. I was considering plopping down on top of her to make her stay put, but that seemed a little excessive. Instead, I directed her firmly, “Stay there.”
Clumsiness and head trauma apparently didn’t fall under Daze’s duties, because it was a few minutes before she wandered in from the bedroom, mostly seeming curious as to what all the commotion was about. After retrieving a flexible ice pack from the freezer, I yanked the towel off of my shoulder over and wrapped the ice pack in it, making my way back to Clementine. I was half-surprised that she was actually laying down where I left her; leaning over the arm of the couch, I moved her hand from her head and put the ice pack on it. Curiosity got the better of me and I found myself asking, “What were you even doing out here? I thought you were taking a shower.”
She had hit her head over her right eye and sure enough, there was a big bump quickly forming there. She looked a little like a lopsided unicorn when she pulled the pack away, checking to see if there was any blood. She sighed, “It’s dumb.”
Once again, I was thankful for my taste in big furniture, because I stepped over the side table and settled onto the couch next to her, trapping her against the back, and held the ice pack to her head for her. “Try me.” I deadpanned.
She mumbled, words falling out of her mouth in one fell swoop. Were I not more well-versed in mumbling as a language (thank you to so many of my teammates for this unforeseen boon), I might not have followed her, but sure enough, when she uttered “Iwantedtoseeifthereweretowelsintheguestroom,” I knew exactly what she meant.
“I had towels set out for you, babe.”
She rolled the one eye I could see— well, I assume she rolled both, but I just saw the one not obscured by the ice pack, as she grumbled, “I KNOW. In your bathroom. I wanted to see if there were towels in the OTHER bathroom too.”
I cocked my head to the side, half-concerned I was following her inane “logic” and half-grateful I was able to as I clarified, “So you came out here all stomping mad because I laid towels out for you? And actually, let me note, that I personally didn't; I had the service do it yesterday. And you’re mad?”
“IN YOUR BATHROOM, BARBS,” she maintained shrilly.
“No,” I corrected her, “In both bathrooms. I wanted the place to be prepared for you to stay, in whichever way you felt comfortable.”
Her voice was small as she replied, “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I couldn’t fight the smile on my face if I wanted to, and frankly, I didn’t want to. “Now who’s the idiot?” I teased her.
She traced her fingers across the portion of my chest revealed by the several open buttons at the top of my shirt and innocently, played with the hair that peeked out. She always seemed to be touching the hair on my arms or, in this case, my chest and oddly, I liked it. “I mean,” she feigned consideration, “Probably still you. As a rule.”
I lifted the ice and gently kissed her new horn as I agreed, “Probably, but also you a little bit.” She smiled at me and it was so sincere and beautiful that I almost got lost in it.
We sat quietly for a few moments and she intertwined the fingers of her free hand in mine. Replaying the events of the minutes prior in my head, I realized I was missing a piece and as evenly and straight-faced as I could manage I asked her, “But how did you go from mad to tripping over the couch? It’s huge and kind of hard to miss.”
She squirmed away from me slightly, which was a feat, since there really was nowhere for her to go. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said breezily and I grinned, there was definitely something.
“Lemon,” I insisted, my smile practically reaching my ears.
“Barbs.” her tone was the one she frequently used when she was tired of my antics.
“Clementine.” I wasn’t going to let her off the hook.
“Mark,” she declared, almost petulantly.
I stuck out my bottom lip and gave her the sad eyes. It always seemed to work for Mikko. “Please?” I asked, with as much earnestness as I could muster.
A faint smile appeared on her face as she acquiesced, albeit resignedly as she griped, “Okayyyyyyyyyyy.” She looked me dead in the eyes, quirking an eyebrow at me as she added the disclaimer, “But you can’t make fun of me.”
“Ok.” I nodded, “I promise.”
She sighed again, pausing before she spoke, “I just… you’ve been bringing me food “from your mom” and I know she’s not sending a bunch of meals to you from Montreal, so I just figured you’ve actually been cooking them yourself this whole time and I have this fantasy of you with a towel tossed over your shoulder cooking dinner for me and I was, for once in my life, NOT the one cooking dinner and instead, I was drinking wine watching you cook and…..and that’s like, exactly what you were doing except it was breakfast not dinner and it’s all very hot.”
If I were a better man, I would’ve wiped the smirk off of my face. But I’m not. So I didn’t. “Do I fuck you on the counter?” I suggested. “Is that where it gets hot?”
“No,” she answered, “The whole fantasy is just you cooking.”
“That’s it? That’s what made you trip over the entire fucking couch?” This information was not what I was expecting and as much as I wanted to tease the shit out of her about it, it was so sweet and pure and genuine, I couldn’t find it in myself to do it. Plus, I’d promised.
She squirmed away from me again, frowning as she reminded me, “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
I pulled the ice off of her head and set it on the coffee table. Gently, I took her chin between my fingers, turning her head toward mine so I could give her a soft kiss. “Baby…” I whispered, “I’m about to blow your mind.”
I kissed her again, sloppy and fast and stood up, scooping her up too.
“Ohmigod, BARBS!!” She shrieked, “Put me down!! I am NOT telling Bednar I’m the reason you can’t start the season.”
I ignored her and instead, deposited her on a bar stool, skirting the island and making way to the fridge to grab a bottle of prosecco and a carton of orange juice. “I know you said wine,” I remarked, “but it’s not even noon yet. SO, if you take sparkling wine and mix it with orange juice and call it a Mimosa, you’re allowed to drink before noon. I learned that from Landy.”
The look on her face said she was not at all surprised that Landy drank mimosas and was the party who had clued me in to this novel fact.
I set the champagne flute in front of her, filled with the boozy mixture of sparkling wine and Vitamin C. She fingered the stem absently, looking like she was approaching, though not necessarily imminently, a panic attack.
I lit the burner and put the pan back on it, grabbing another towel and throwing it over my shoulder before I added more olive oil to the onions and garlic.
Tine took a sip from the flute and after a moment, followed it up with a much larger sip. “Lemon,” I looked at her plainly, “Just down it if you want, zero judgment from me. I will pour you another.”
She eyed me over the top of the glass before taking another sip. I took my glass and raised it toward her, then downed the whole thing in a single gulp. It was about four seconds before my face contorted into a grimace and I choked out, “Oh bubbles, that was a bad choice.” I screwed my eyes shut as the carbonation tickled my sinuses. Maybe she was onto something, sipping on her mimosa. I was gonna have to serve myself a side of humble pie along with this omelet.
My eyes watered a bit which, I’m sure, did nothing to bolster my reputation in that moment. I raised my eyebrows to stretch out my face and hopefully, make the sensation go away as well as perhaps be so adorable that she wouldn’t totally roast my ass for my terrible and frattish suggestion.
I pushed the onions and garlic around the pan to make sure they caramelized evenly and turned to pull some veggies out of the fridge. When I set them on the island, I caught Clementine’s gaze and she was looking at me like a timbits player looks at the Stanley Cup: with awe, adoration, and a lot of hope.
“What’s on your mind, Clementine?” I prodded.
She took another lazy sip of the mimosa and rolled the drink around in her mouth before swallowing. “This is a good Prosecco,” she complimented, “Did you choose it?”
I was quartering a zucchini before slicing it as I responded, “I think we both know Gabe brought that over once and it’s been in my fridge ever since. And that can’t be why you’re looking at me like a cop looks at a donut.” The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized what I said. Hurriedly, I tried to backpedal, “Fuck, shit. I’m sorry, Lemon. I didn’t mean…”
Her face didn’t change much, but nonetheless, her expression solidified just a bit and her expression became more wooden. She traced one of the veins in the quartz countertop as she said slowly, “You can make jokes, Barbs. It’s ok. Cops do love donuts.”
I sighed and put down the knife, bracing my hands on the counter and berating myself inwardly as I grumbled, “And now I’ve ruined the moment.”
She drained her glass and set it down on the bar, filling it with Prosecco and adding just a dash of orange juice before taking another swig. I arched a brow at her, intrigued.
She jutted her chin in the direction of the clock on the microwave behind me, and said, almost daringly, “What? It’s 12:01. Don’t judge me.”
I resumed chopping, and we sat quietly for a bit while she watched me, the only sound in the kitchen coming from the vegetables sizzling away in the skillet. Finally, I had to fill the silence and I asked, “So, why the cooking fantasy?”
She took another sip of her mimosa, if you could even call it that now, and shrugged, responding with an offhanded “I don’t know.”
I scoffed, not even half surprised with her answer and refusing to settle for it. “That’s such a crock of horseshit.”
She looked around, almost like she was looking for something to throw at me and took another sip of her drink instead. “Excuse your language,” she admonished me.
I scoffed again and suddenly, I realized how much time we spent rolling our eyes around each other and trying to figure out if that was a bad thing or a good thing. “Oh, please” I huffed, “You can ‘shit, fuck, damn’ with the best of us, honey. Don’t think I don’t hear you when you miss a good shot of me.”
“It’s because I have to work harder to make you look good,” she threw back easily.
A bark of laughter escaped my mouth and it sounded a little bit deranged but hopefully still manly. “I own a mirror,” I informed her, rejecting her chirp, “So that ain’t flying.” I gave it a minute, sensing that this could be a bit of a loaded issue and wanting to allow her a little bit of time and space. Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I didn’t want to push her so hard that she was uncomfortable. I turned to look at her and my eyes met hers.
Softly, I asked again, “Seriously, Clementine.”
She sighed and took a deep breath before she explained, “I don’t think I’m comfortable going into the details, but Bill really wanted to be born in the 30’s so he could have a 1950s housewife instead of me. So, dinner was always at a certain time and I always made it, regardless of anything— even if I was sick, I made dinner. He insisted on approving any activities I might want to do at night, and if I wanted to join a book club that started before his dinner time, it was a no go. So, I …..I don’t cook anymore.”
I had a feeling my penalty minutes were going to skyrocket this year as I listened, letting everything she told me flow into a box labeled “Discuss with therapist later.”
She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from me and I started breaking some eggs into a bowl as I replied, “That sounds like it would suck any joy of cooking. So, it’s a good thing I love how you pause when you eat the first forkful of something you didn’t have to make and savor it, because, that moment right there? Because of that moment, I’ll cook for you anytime.”
The little wrinkle appeared between her brows and the sight of it made me smile. She eyed me over the top of her glass again and smiled at me in return as she chuckled, “That was a surprisingly insightful answer, and it is appreciated on many levels, Mr. Barberio.”
I continued cracking eggs, congratulating myself inwardly. “Weren’t you going to take a shower?” I wondered outloud.
She lifted her arm and took a whiff of her armpit, which made me smile again because she made a disgusted face, which was actually quite adorable. “Ugh, yes,” she sighed.
“Can you do it in 15?” I countered, “Brunch is almost ready.”
“Just for that, I can do it in 15. I don’t need to wash my hair today anyway, just get the sweat out.”
I continued chopping vegetables for the omelets while she climbed off the barstool. “I’m going to make you work out with me soon.”
She blanched and I laughed, “What? it’s good for you and it makes sex better.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I was certain she could see through the back of her skull, and wandered down the hall without a word. Daze stopped and looked at me, the giver of treats and back down the hall the way Clementine went. “You should probably follow the walking accident waiting to happen, Dog.”
Daze let out a huff in what I assumed was agreement and followed her charge down the hall.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Daze wandered in and I closed the door to the master bedroom behind her, since the bathroom didn’t HAVE a door, per se; the toilet was in its own little closet, but the rest of the bathroom had an open doorway and a half wall of glass bricks to let the light shine in.
I looked at the tub— it was wide, long, and deep, and for a brief moment, fantasized about filling it with gallons of steaming hot water and hopping in and sinking up to my chin in bubbles, but I knew that was going to take longer than 15 minutes. However, Mark’s shower looked equally luxurious and, from even a cursory inspection, seemed to have enough showerheads to ensure that no portion of your body would go untouched.
Turning on the shower, I was proven correct; Water streamed out from what seemed like an uncountable array of showerheads (Spoiler alert, it was actually 3), including a giant rain one that hung down in the middle of the space. I had died and gone to heaven and heaven was Mark Barberio’s bathroom -- who knew. I had to pause for a moment and I leaned heavily on the counter while the water warmed. I was about to take a shower in God’s bathroom, while a man--scratch that, while a stupidly hot man-- made me brunch. It was a lot to absorb, and there was a definite tingle between my legs that, honestly, had been there since our makeout session on the balcony.
I just wanted to attach my face to his and put him inside me and that was how we were now. Freaky siamese twins attached at the mouth and genitals. In the sexiest and most not insane way possible. I didn’t think that was normal, but considering Bill was my ONLY relationship, I didn’t know what normal was. So maybe it was normal, because I had certainly NEVER felt that way about Bill.
I shrugged out of the clothes I had been wearing, which I realized had been marinating on my body for over 24 hours. The crotch of my panties was totally soaked, and even though I was alone, I made a face as I shoved all my dirty clothes into a small pile in the corner of the bathroom.
By this time, the glass shower enclosure had filled with steam and I swear, the minute I stepped in, I could feel my pores open up. All of the stress just leaked out of my body and into the swirling mist, and I realized that the only thing that could possibly improve this moment would be if the shower included some sort of eucalyptus oil diffuser to imbue the steam with all of its relaxing goodness. If Mark managed to figure that one out, he could probably charge admission fees for a visit to his shower.
The spray hitting me from 400 different angles felt amazing and I seriously wondered how Barbs didn’t fucking live in this shower and become some kind of landlocked merman.
I twirled my wet hair and plopped it on top of my head and, after doing so, realized too late I had left all my shower paraphernalia on the counter; however, I was so zen at that moment that I said fuck it, whatever, (three words I was pretty sure I’d never uttered in my life). Barbs had to have something in here, I figured, and I’d just use that. I saw something sitting on a small built-in ledge and I grabbed it: it was one of those homemade soaps with the loofah molded right in, which would suit me just fine. I was familiar with that type of item, as I had one just like it, and it was actually one of my favorite instruments of torture when I was trying to cleanse myself of the voices. I lathered it between my hands and realized that whatever this soap was, it was definitely one element of the fundamental smells that combined to make Barbs’ unique sexy manly smell - as I continued to lather, I detected hints of sandalwood and pine.
I ran the bar over my body and let the suds cover me before I flipped it to the other side, letting the water-softened loofah scrape against my skin in the way I would imagine rough but gentle hands would feel. I dipped the bar across my hips and then, between my legs and the rough edge of the loofah dipped between my lips, just catching my clit.
The sensation made me gasp. I had obviously tried to masturbate over the past years-post Bill, and considering the last time I was successful was pre Bill, my therapist and I speculated it was because of the trauma I suffered. But maybe, I didn’t need to ‘get over’ my trauma or learn to work with it, I just needed to be...turned on? What an entirely insane concept. That intense need I had felt that morning with Mark, I had never felt with Bill, even before the abuse started.
I made the same motion with the loofah again, and my hips twitched. I did it again and again and I could feel the euphoria building in my body. Eventually, I traded the loofah for my fingers and I swirled circles around my clit until I had to brace my free hand against the glass wall to keep my legs from going out from under me, hips twitching as the wave crested.
Mark’s name may have been on my lips and a pleasant roaring muted the rest of the world and I thought I heard my own name but I wasn’t sure.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The omelets were done, and I debated with myself about whether or not to set the table in the dining area, or if we should eat on the bar side of the island. I set the table, but it looked too formal and maybe too reminiscent of Tine’s old life, so I took the placemats and put them on the bar. In the end, it looked like a planned but informal meal and I was wondering what was taking Tine so long.
I knocked on the door to the bedroom, but didn’t get an answer. So, I knocked again, opening the door a little as I said her name.
“Lemon?” I spoke softly, words softly echoing through the mist rolling out of the bathroom.
Her hand against the glass was the only clear thing I could see, but it didn’t take a genius to see the shadow of her other hand between her legs, body bent as she came and I heard her say my name.
I closed the door quietly and leaned my head back against it. Holy fucking shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I was aching behind the zipper of my jeans, dick bent at an awkward angle and stuck my hand down there to straighten him out. I had no idea how I was going to function for the rest of the day without bending her over the back of the couch and fucking her until my balls were empty. I don’t think I had ever been so hard or turned on in my life, and as a professional athlete I felt like that was significant.
It took more than a few moments for me to compose myself but when I did, I knocked on the door again, this time being sure to stay on the outside of it. “Lemon?” I forced out, casually, “Food is ready.”
After a moment, she opened the door and smiled at me as she padded back into the bedroom. Her hair was still wet, held on top of her head with a clip, and she was in simple leggings and an oversized Avs shirt. Its neck was so stretched that it was hanging off of one shoulder and I could see the strap of her tank top or bra or whatever. Her cheeks were flushed, skin still dewey from the shower.
“That shower is amazing,” she sighed, “I might just live there.”
I didn’t know what to say since “I want to cum on your chest” was probably inappropriate. So I settled for nothing, raising my brows and nodding slowly in acknowledgment of the shower’s awesomeness which had been raised to another level since I was never ever ever going to be able to take a shower without thinking of that moment.
Her nose crinkled and I could tell she was on to me. Fuck. As she made her way through the bedroom, she looked at me over her shoulder and asked, “Lunch ready?”
I nodded, that seemed safe, and watched as she made her way down the hall, her gait a lot more relaxed than I had ever seen it. Daze followed behind her, avoiding my gaze.
I honestly had no idea what to do; she seemed unaware I had seen something so intimate and HOT and I didn’t know how to bring it up and explain WHY my horniness went from a normal 100 to a supercharged 1000 and I was acting like a totally awkward and lovestruck teenage boy. Or, more like one than usual.
She stopped short of the kitchen and looked at the island, where our places were set and the food was waiting for her. Daze whined and shoved her nose into Tine’s hand. When Tine turned her head and looked down at the dog, it seemed like she was trying to blink back tears. I cleared my throat and she looked over her shoulder at me again, a small smile on her lips.
“What are we eating, Chef Barberio?” She took the seat she’d occupied earlier, setting the napkin in her lap and leaning forward toward her plate, wafting the smell of the omelet toward her face with her hand.
“It’s just an omelet, Lemon.” I said modestly.
She snorted. “It’s about to be the best omelet I’ve ever eaten.”
I slid into the chair next to her and she lifted her glass, which I had refilled while she was in the shower. “To hockey players slash chefs slash playboys who turn out to be actually decent guys,” she toasted.
She took a sip from her glass and I followed suit; then, she dug into the omelet and let out a moan that made the situation in my pants a lot more dire than it had been and I didn’t think that was possible.
I shifted uncomfortably, she noticed but seemed to mistake why as she said quickly, “I’m sorry, it’s just really good, Barbs. I’m not exaggerating.”
I sighed, about to reinforce the playboy image and not the actual decent guy part. With my arm settled around the back of her chair, I confessed, “Lemon, it’s not that. Your moan gave me a hard on.”
She tried not to smile, holding her hand in front of her full mouth. She chewed several times before swallowing and apologizing, “Sorry. I’ll do my best to keep my pornagraphic food noises to myself.”
“God, no, don’t do that,” I objected. It was my turn to take a bite of my creation and I let out an exaggerated moan of my own; two can play at that game. As I chewed and swallowed, I smiled at her as I agreed, “But you’re right, I’m good.”
She smacked my arm lightly and admonished, “Stop making fun of me, it’s not nice.”
I stood up and cupped her head in my hands, pressing a kiss to her temple, and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Eat up, Lemon,” I encouraged. “Trying to make sure you eat enough is a full time job.”
She frowned, pushing a mushroom around on her plate absently. “But what if I get fat,” she retorted.
Oh my god, that fucking ex-husband of hers. I leaned down on my forearms and stared at her over the island, resisting the urge to verbally rip him to shreds and ruin our brunch. “Babe,” I chose my words carefully, “You’re not thin now, and I like you a lot. I care more about your health than your size. You wanna be fat, get fat. But healthy, so you gotta be like one of those chubby instagram workout girls.”
She glowered. “Your sentiment is nice,” she acknowledged sarcastically, “But your execution leaves much to be desired.”
I didn’t choose carefully enough, it seemed. But even so, I grinned. “There’s my girl,” I teased.
We finished our meal in comfortable silence, with maybe some juvenile knee shoving under the countertop. Which was maybe started by me.
When she finished, she sat back in her chair, looking like she was contemplating licking the plate. I stood, grabbing her head and pressing a kiss to her temple again, which was starting to become a habit and I found that I couldn’t care less. I started clearing the plates.
She grabbed my forearm and rose from her own chair, saying “No, Mark, stop. I’ll clean up.”
I pried her fingers off of my arm with my free hand, and gently pushed her hand away. “No, Lemon,” I insisted, “Just go watch TV or something. I got it. I made you a meal and I intend to finish making that meal by cleaning up.”
“Mark, please.”
I gave her a pointed look, “Lemon, no.”
She practically pouted, “Fine, but I’m going to sit here and keep you company.”
I scraped crumbs off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, having cleaned up the rest of the dishes while she was in the shower. The petulant silenced stretch uncomfortably, “Lemon,” I asked, “Can you see if there’s anything good on the Food Network?”
It was a small manipulation, just a small one. But it got her on the couch, trying to bring up the TV while I finished cleaning.
By the time I was done, her head was back against the cushions and she was snoring softly. She was almost too predictable, and it pissed me off to no end that some asshole managed to use that against her for who knows how long. Daze accompanied her sleeping human on the couch and was keeping a weather eye on her, like she knew something about Clementine I didn’t know. Which, to be fair, she probably did.
I took the mean looking torture device out of her hair, laid her down on a pillow, picked her feet up and sett them on the couch before I pulled the blanket off the back of it and covered her with it.
I’d probably get so much shit if the guys knew most of my second stay over date was Tine catching up on a decade of sleep, but if I was honest, I didn’t mind. Partly because I felt some pride in the fact that part of her subconscious had decided I was safe and honestly, partly because of how intense it was being with her. I never knew when she would casually drop a small bomb of information on me, because her experiences were normal for her though they were absolutely not normal for me. I tried to be conscious of the language I used and the words I chose, but it occurred to me that maybe that was one thing I shouldn’t worry about doing. Like Stephanie said, maybe that was my burden and I didn’t need to watch myself that carefully, because that was work she needed to do and not work I needed to take on for her. It was a bonus that while she was here she was out of reach of her awful awful parents.
I kissed her forehead and decided to work off the sexual frustration in the building gym instead of utilizing Rosie Palm and her five sisters.. I left a post-it on her phone, knowing she would check it immediately when she woke, mostly, I assumed, to appease Nora, who had been texting Tine every hour on the hour, it seemed.
After changing clothes, I headed for the door, going to utilize the basement gym in my building.
They have specified that they like to read about the following players and genres: Mathew Barzal, Nathan MacKinnon, Sidney Crosby, Tyler Seguin, Anthony Beauvillier, Tyson Jost. fluff, smut (18+ only), hurt/comfort. Reader Insert.
She has Nathan MacKinnon and some fluffy fluff. I wanted to give you some smut but my health isn’t letting me write like I want to right now. ilysm sweetie!
WC: 1697
“I want you.”
Nate saw his whispered words create frost on the cold windows. His eyes were on you, your brown hair whipping around you like a halo as you played with Linnea. There was a fresh snowfall on the ground and you exclaimed that it would be perfect for playing in the snow. Nate had chosen to stay inside, feeling a bit out of place.
He was Nathan Fucking MacKinnon. Former first-overall pick, super star, star for the Avs. But every time he saw you, the babysitter for the Landeskogs, Nate felt like a pimply-faced, tongue-tied teen again.
“Staring again?”
Nate turned around to see Mikko giving him a knowing glance. “Like you wouldn’t.”
“She is pretty. Linnea was asking her if she could make her hair like hers but she said that she would braid Linnea’s hair and she’d wear braids too,” Mikko remarked. “Bubbles’ sweet. Stop being a punk, Mac.”
Nate punched Mikko on the arm as Mikko laughed. As if they could hear from outside, you and Linnea turned towards them and Nate inwardly groaned. You waved and then a random snowball hit you in the head. Turning around, Nate smirked as you yelled at Josty before Linnea tackled him.
**
“You’re going to have to save Nate from himself.”
You groaned at Tyson before you took a sip of your Boba tea. “I’ve sent him so many signals, I can’t get too obvious.”
“Nate is dense. Sorry, Bubbles.”
“So, I need to like, wear a t-shirt saying, ‘I like you and want to do all kinds of things with you, Nate’? That’s kinda embarrassing. What if he’s not interested and he’s just pretending. I am only Linnea’s babysitter,” you fretted.
“Linnea’s babysitter and future speech pathologist.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you knew that big word,” you teased as Tyson threw a fry at you.
There was a short companionable silence before Tyson jumped up and waved. “Over here!”
You turned around to see JT and Cale coming in. As they made their way to your table and sat down, Cale commented, “Nate would be boarding you in practice tomorrow if he saw you here with Bubbles.”
“Oh, so he’s so obsessed with me but if I smile at him, his cheeks turn red and he starts stammering,” you complained.
The guys shared a look before Tyson got a devious look on his face. “I have an idea.”
“Uh oh, Tyson got an idea? Time to hide,” teased JT.
As Tyson threw a fry at him, Cale commented, “If this idea takes everyone out of their misery; it’ll be worth it.”
“Let’s hope so,” you grumbled before the guys started to talk shop about hockey. It was really getting annoying. You liked the reddish-blond himbo from the first moment you met him. You always thought it was mutual but the boy couldn’t take a hint to save his life. You knew he said he wasn’t romantic but you believed all men weren’t really romantic until they met the one.
Whenever you two were at the same place, you could feel Nate’s eyes on you. If you needed something, he always rushed to get it, to everyone’s amusement. But other than that, he clammed up like the shyest boy ever whenever you tried to talk to him. You sighed before stealing one of Tyson’s fries. As you munched on it, he pushed the rest to you.
Tyson’s idea better work, you thought, or you were going to permanently shelve the idea of dating Nate and move on to the next person.
**
You had to give Tyson credit. It was definitely ingenious and a reminder of the different parties and mixers your sorority had in college. Tyson set up a Lock and Key party. Each person had either a lock or a key and they had to find the matching lock or key.
Also, there was a mixture of people. Tyson had to have gotten his girlfriend to invite some of the people she knew because the guys weren’t all his teammates. But the vibe was friendly. However, Nathan MacKinnon was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, so do you have a lock or key?”
You smiled at the boy. His name was Derrick and he had a pair of kind green eyes. “I have a lock,” you murmured.
His eyes lit up. “I have a key!”
As you held out your lock, he tried to fit his key in it. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit. “Aw, that sucks,” he good-naturedly complained. “Someone else is going to be lucky to have a key that fits the prettiest girl here’s lock.”
“I hope so, but if not, you can always come around, Derrick,” you flirted. Nate was nowhere to be seen yet and you weren't going to stand around waiting for him.
**
“This is the stupidest theme for a party yet,” Nate complained on the phone as he pulled on a pair of sneakers. Tyson and his girlfriend had decided to play matchmakers with a lock and key party. The whole idea was so fucking stupid to Nate and he didn’t even plan to go. “Let me guess, she’s trying to hook all her friends up with a player of their own.”
“Bubbles is here and she’s having the time of her life,” Cale simply stated.
Nate paused, glad he was talking into his Airpods and not holding his phone. Bubbles, the one girl who said she outgrew parties when she graduated from college, she was there. The pause was long enough for Cale to call out, “Mac, are you there?”
“Yeah… I’m here. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
Nate frowned as he looked at himself in the mirror. His fit was fine but fuck, the idea of Bubbles matching up with another guy at Tyson’s party pissed him off. Feeling his face already turning red with anger, Nate took in several calming breaths. It was going to be alright.
**
An hour had passed and you were having fun. So far, no matches but for a party with twenty-somethings, it was pretty chill and laid back. Then you felt a prickle of awareness on your spine. Turning around, you saw Nate, his cheeks ruddy as he hugged Tyson’s girlfriend. Then your eyes met and while Nate smiled, something was different this time.
It seemed like time went slow as Nate made his way around the party, a key in his hand. You felt a sense of dread as you realized exactly what Tyson did but you hoped it would turn out okay. However, a little part of yourself began to mock you. He’s never been interested in you, you were just making it up. Mentally, you told that part to shut the fuck up as you smiled at another group of Tyson’s girlfriend’s friends.
**
Nate grinned at the girl, his key not working in her lock. He was actually having fun even though now, he had an idea of what was going on. Part of him wanted to rush to Bubbles right away and try his key in her lock but the idea of failing right away made Nate decide to move around the party at first. But now, he watched as you exited another conversation, smoothing your hair around your ponytail. As always, you were popular and Nate wanted to push all the other guys away from you. His eyes lazily followed your figure as you made your way to the bathroom. The group chat was blazing with the boys mocking and encouragement, different guys calling him a punk for waiting. However, Nate was ready to try.
**
Splashing water on your face, you blinked before taking out a brush and smoothing down your hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. It was starting to get hot in the house and your hair was starting to frizz. You were also ready to go home, eat some Chubby Hubby ice cream, and reactivate Tinder. Well, maybe not reactivate Tinder. Sighing, you opened the door to see Nate standing against the wall.
“Hey Nate! Have you been waiting long? I’m sorry,” you said, glad that you didn’t trip over your words. There was something that he did to you when you two were by yourselves.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Bubbles.”
You gulped as he smirked. “Is that a bad thing,” he teased.
“No, I just realized these are the most words you ever said to me without running away.”
Nate sucked in a breath at your quip. “I’m sorry, Bubbles. Kinda hard to talk to the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Don’t want to make myself look like an idiot.”
You bit your lip, Nate had given you the perfect opening to make a smart remark but you decided not to take it this time. The strains of dvsn’s song, “Body Smile” played as you two locked eyes.
Now that you know, You were better than I was ready for, oh
“Do you have your lock,” Nate asked, breaking the silence. You silently gave him the lock, hoping against hope it was going to work.
Nate’s hands shook as he held onto your lock, carefully sliding his key in. Twisting it, your lock popped open, showing that it was a match.
“They set us up,” you murmured, looking down at the floor.
Scratching the back of his head, Nate realized it was now or never. “Then maybe, if you’d like, we could go out next weekend. Dinner, we have an off night-”
You touched Nate’s face, a soft smile on your lips. Intending to peck him slightly on the cheek, Nate turned his face to where your lips met his. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you realized that was your first kiss with Nate. “Sure,” you whispered.
**
Fifteen years later
“So mommy, how did you and Daddy get together again?”
You linked eyes with Nate as your inquisitive daughter looked up at you. Your boys rolled their eyes as they played their video games but you knew they loved the story too.
Nate mock-groaned as you began, “Once upon a time, your mother was in grad school and your father played for the Avs…”
warnings: an avalanche, hero whumper, villain whumpee
302 words
---
Villain shifted her weight, hands on the back of their head and eyes glued on Hero. “So.” she started. “What exactly is the plan here?”
Hero snorted, “Like I’d tell you. That’s like. The one way to ensure failure.”
Villain rolled her eyes. The pair stood there, at the foot of the mountain for the next several minutes. Villain paced, anxiously looking at the huge amounts of snow clinging to the side of the mountain, and wondered just how loud she’d have to be to cause an avalanche. She wondered if Hero knew how loud he’d have to be to cause an avalanche.
Hero finally broke the silence when his phone rang. “Hello?” he held his hand up to Villain, as if apologizing for the interruption of the silence. “Oh good! Yes, that works. Just give me twenty seconds and I’ll be on my way.”
He hung up the phone and smiled at Villain. “Well. That was the go-ahead from Sidekick. So…” he was in the air before she could react. “It’s time for me to go.”
He flew away, shouting loudly behind him, “Byee Villain!! Hope you dressed warm enough!”
As he disappeared in the sky, the snow began to slide down the mountainside.
Villain stared as it raced toward her. There was a low rumbling and the blood started to pound in her ears.
Despite knowing it wouldn’t help, she ran.
The snow caught up with her, burying her underneath it’s unimaginable mass and instantly dragging her with it. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t think. All she knew was the snow.
It covered her, completely and totally. It was in her mouth and lungs. Her eyes burned with cold when she tried to open them. Her limbs frozen in place, unable to move and completely, totally, stuck.
A/N: No one asked for this. It’s just a small meet-cute. It’s been a while, be gentle!
“Nooo. No!” A gentle tug on the leash brings the labradoodle back to your side, “We do not poop on lawns in this neighborhood, mister!” You’d be absolutely mortified to be caught bagging up poop off of the pristinely manicured lawns in this community, so you bend down and give Cooper a satisfying scratch behind his ear and let him gently tug you towards the end of the block.
He’s one of your favorites, so well behaved and affectionate when you visit him. His humans are out of town for the weekend, and you stop by a few times a day to exercise him and give him his meals. If someone had asked you when you were in high school if you saw yourself picking up after people’s dogs to pay your bills you’d be confused to say the least. But, the fact of the matter is you’ve opened your own business with five girls working for you, and you rarely have to deal with humans on the day-to-day, so it’s actually kind of a blessing in disguise.
This particular gated community has been your bread and butter as of late, full of well-to-do families who don’t take vacations, they holiday. It’s a marked difference. They’d pay anything to have their treasured pet pampered in their own home and not stuffed into some grimey kennel with 20 other dogs. The best part is they all talk, so you’ve been able to turn 1 client into 15 in only a month. Cooper was the one that started it all.
You’re nearing the end of the block, coming up on the grassy park that caps the cul-de-sac when Cooper finds a street sign to relieve himself on. You have one headphone in, so you don’t quite hear the heavy footfalls before you see the men jogging up beside you.
The blond one is broad and shirtless, he looks like Thor incarnate. His running partner is younger, with curly hair and biceps that strain the sleeves of his t-shirt, which is damp with sweat. Of course, it’s at this time Cooper finds a patch of grass to poop on and you wish you could throw yourself into the picturesque lake to your right as you start unrolling the bags you keep in your pocket. The men smile as they pass though, everyone in this town is polite to a fault.
______
Three days later you haven’t given them much of a second though.
Today you have Daisy, whose dainty name would be more fitting on a dog half her size. The dopey husky can hardly control her own body, tail smacking against you as you try to get her harness on before you lead her through the streets which are starting to become familiar.
Daisy lives 5 doors down from Cooper, and it really is so convenient, allowing you to maximize your profit with minimal travel time. She’s still being leash trained, so you grab a handful of treats and shove them into your pocket and hope that “heel” is something she can be coerced to learn. Today you wind your way past the park, up and down the curving streets, intent on this being a “walk,” not a “pull,” like Daisy seems to prefer.
You pass your favorite house, stark white with a red door and a blooming rose bush on either corner of a wrap around porch. The porch swing is occupied by a pretty blonde woman holding a small baby. She looks up as Daisy barks and you smile and give an apologetic wave. The woman smiles back and you see the beautiful, blond man from the other day hop out of the truck in the driveway.
He smiles and waves at you as well before walking up to the porch and kissing his wife and baby, sitting down next to her on the swing.
It warms you up to your toes to see that this couple isn’t too jaded by the beautiful home they have and the affluent community they live in to enjoy the little things.
Daisy barks again and you see that she’s making herself at home at the edge of their driveway, and you grimace before grabbing the bags from your back pocket. The couple doesn’t seem to mind and gives you another wave when you pass by, intent on getting Daisy back to her house so you could move onto the next client.
______
On Sunday, your only day off, one of your girls calls in sick, so you throw on some leggings and flip-flops and drive over to walk a fluffy pomeranian named Precious.
She’s a demon.
She’s yippy and aggressive from the moment you walk in the door. She can, however, be plied with treats, so you arm yourself with a handful and hope you can tire her out so she’ll be easily swayed back into her crate without too much chaos.
She lives across the street from that white house with the red door you love so much, so at least that’s one plus on Precious’ side. You get to admire the home from close up. Making your way down the walkway trying to control the spawn of dog-satan, you catch a glimpse of a shiny new jeep parked outside.
The driver looks familiar, he’s handsome… And he’s staring right at you, which is awkward, as you’re pretty much still in pajamas and Precious has not stopped her shrill yapping since she’s been put on her leash.
“Hey there,” he’s not talking so much to you as he is talking to the ball of fluff dragging you down the walk.
“Oh, I wouldn’t pet her, she’s a bit cranky this morning,” you tell him while he’s mid-squat. He shoots back up and smiles and you finally recognize him. The curly haired friend who was running with the blond from earlier in the week. He’s more handsome up close and it’s making you a little antsy.
He laughs and it suits his boyish face, “Fair enough, I’m pretty crabby when I have to wake up early on the weekend too.” You smile and try to pull Precious closer to you, lest she start nipping at his ankles.
The red front door across the street opens, and that golden couple steps onto the porch. They wave at you and you wave back, smiling tightly, a little uncomfortable trying to pay attention to the beautiful man in front of you and the little fluffy ball of rage between you.
When he notices you waving, he looks over his shoulder and waves ridiculously back to them as well, a big goofy grin splitting his face, “Is it okay that I park here? I can move if it’s not.”
“No, no, go ahead. No problem at all,” you smile genuinely this time. He says thank you and holds his hand out, “Tyson, by the way. I’m Gabe’s friend,” he thumbs over his shoulder at who you assume to be Gabe.
Still nodding, you give him your name in return before blurting, “Yeah, I think I’ve seen you around here before,” before you can shut your stupid mouth and he smiles impossibly bigger.
Gabe, who you have identified as the blond dad from the house across the street helps you save face when he shouts, “Tyson, c’mon we’re going to be late,” as he remote starts his truck from the front door, bouncing his tiny baby on his hip.
Tyson ducks his head at being called out and smiles one last time before waving and heading to a waiting Gabe, “See you two around.”
Gabe gives you a big grin as he backs out of his driveway and passes you and Precious, still huffing at your feet at the delay in her walk. You walk her the opposite way they drove off in, not trying to encounter any more broad chests and pretty faces before you’ve had your morning coffee.
______
Friday is a busier day, you have 6 walks back to back in your new area, plenty of families going on a long weekend trip for memorial day weekend. You start your day off with Cooper, followed up by Daisy. They’re getting used to their routes with you and their walks are enjoyable. The next four are with Rocky, Lucy, Maggie, and Duke who are all newer clients.
You’re up to Lucy when you pass Gabe’s house for the first time. There’s music coming from the yard and a few extra cars line the sidewalk, so you assume he’s hosting a party. If you look for a familiar, shiny jeep who could blame you?
It isn’t there though.
You’ve almost forgotten about it by the time you’re walking Duke, a tiny little yorkie who is veritably ancient in dog years. He still has some pep in his step though, and you shuffle through your playlist to find some appropriately happy music for the occasion as you turn a corner.
With your head down, thumb scrolling skillfully through your favorite Spotify playlist, you jump when you hear the sound of a horn. Duke gives a little bark and you look up to see who the offending party is.
Tyson’s body is half out of his window waving, where his car is parked on the corner across the street.
He hops out and walks over to you, peering at Duke with a little confusion.
“You could probably save yourself some time if you walked all of your dogs together. How many do you have?” He laughs and starts squatting down to Duke’s level while looking up at you for permission to pet.
“This one’s friendly, you can pet him,” is what you say, because your brain is starting to lose higher functioning the more his shorts creep up his bent legs, revealing the thick, muscular thighs underneath.
Once given permission, Tyson becomes the equivalent of a floppy golden, all sunshine smiles and praise for Duke. “Who’s a good boy?” he coos as he holds Duke’s head in his big hands, simultaneously rubbing under his chin and the top of his head.
He stands up and turns his smile on you, which makes your stomach swoop a little bit, not that you’d admit it. “You should come to Gabe’s house when you’re done walking all of your dogs. He’s having a little party; he said he invited all the neighbors.”
“That sounds nice,” you begin, knowing you shouldn’t and can’t., “but unfortunately I have some more work to do this evening.”
The smile on Tyson’s face doesn’t falter when he shrugs, “Okay, maybe next time.” He bends down to Duke one last time and uses a higher-pitched sweet voice to say, “See ya, buddy!” before standing up and jogging back over to his idling truck. He hops in and waves before driving back towards Gabe’s house.
Duke looks up at you, unimpressed, “He’s cute," you sigh. The yorkie just wags his tail and tugs you over to a maple tree to do his business.
______
It’s a week later when you’re trying to coax Precious down the driveway that you see the pretty blonde walking towards you smiling with a stroller. You know she’s Gabe’s wife, but she’s waving to you in a way that says she wants to talk and you wind the leash around your hand so Precious doesn’t get any ideas.
“Hi! You’re (y/n) right?” she waits for you to nod and say ‘that’s me’ before continuing, “Oh awesome! I’ve heard so much about you from the neighbors. I’m Mel, I live over there,” she points to the house with the red door that you know to be hers, “We have plans Friday night and we need someone to come and take Zoey out. Would we be able to book you?”
She looks ecstatic to have run into you so you pull your phone out and check your calendar, “Let’s see, I will actually be in the neighborhood around 7, and I’m free around 7:45, does that work for you?”
“Ah! That’s perfect. We’re just so excited, because it’s the first time we’ve been out since the baby,” she beams down at the little girl in the stroller, “Mom and dad need a night out, ya know?” She’s smiling so brightly and she’s so sweet, and you don’t know, but you do get it somehow.
You type her name and address into the calendar on your phone, “I’m sure. You guys totally deserve it, babies are a lot of work!”
Mel laughs, “I had no idea just how much work! But thank you so much for fitting us in. The sitter will be there with her, so just knock and they’ll let you in and show you around,” her eyes are lit up and you’re actually excited to help her get a free night out with her husband, “I’ll text you and just save my number and we can work out all the details. I just have to get her home to feed before she starts fussing! Thank you again.”
She’s a whirlwind when she types your number into her phone with fast thumbs, but she has her timing down, because you can hear the baby starting to whine as she crosses the street to her house, right on schedule.
_____
When Friday comes you finish two walks and end up on the porch of the big white house with the rose bushes flanking it. You knock three times and step back to wait for the sitter to let you in.
Surprisingly enough, Tyson opens the front door.
He’s smiling, like always, with his right eyebrow raised in confusion, bouncing a giggly baby in his arms. She’s in a pink onesie, covered in what looks like mushy carrots, and Tysons white shirt doesn’t look any better.
“We weren’t expecting company, were we, princess?” He nuzzles his cheek across the top of the baby’s peach fuzz head and she squishes her eyes shut, babbling happily.
“I’m not really 'company' perse. I’m just here to walk Zoey,” you rock gently from foot to foot, hoping he’ll let you in and you can get your job done without looking like a total fool.
"Don't you have enough dogs of your own?" He laughs but steps aside to let you through the front door, the inside of the house is just as nice as the outside.
"Oh. Those aren't mine," you pull a biscuit out of your pocket and click your tongue, trying to coax Zoey out of her hiding spot under the kitchen table. "I'm just the dog walker." Zoey crawls towards you ok her belly, unsure and skittish.
"That's a good girl, c'mon mama." Tyson hands you her leash off of the back of a kitchen chair and you can feel his eyes on you as you snap her harness together.
He nods, bouncing foot to foot, keeping the baby happy, "That makes more sense. I thought you had like, 6 dogs. Gabe told me I was an idiot." You look up and his face flames, luckily the baby chooses that very second to spit up onto the burp cloth slung over his shoulder.
"Oh no, baby girl," he coos at the infant, rubbing her back soothingly. "I'm going to take care of this, don't leave without saying goodbye," he winks and walks through the kitchen, leaving you in a whirlwind, Zoey whining at your feet.
"Let's go girl."
_____
If you didn't know better, you think, as Zoey noses along the bushes down the block, distinctly uninterested in doing anything at all, you'd think you were being set up. Except you don't really know better.
You think back to the mischievous glint in Mel's eye was she stopped you for your number and Tyson's surprised face when you showed up, apparently unannounced, at the door.
The more you think about it the more flustered you get, not dressed to woo a potential suitor, and more likely than not, coming back with a bag full of Zoey's poop isn't really the way you prefer to meet men.
You dig into your pocket for some chapstick and maybe stop in front of a tinted car window in an attempt to curtail your hair into something halfway cute. It's a lost cause.
Zoey walks listlessly at your side, she's well behaved, but clearly has no business to do, so you head back to Mel and Gabe's house. She looks excited as you make your way up the porch steps and barks at the front door.
Tyson steps outside and shushes her softly. "Shh girl, please. I just got the baby to sleep."
"Do you want me to bring her into the back until she calms down enough to go inside?" You wrap the leash around your hand and pat the top of Zoey's head.
"Nah," he pulls the baby monitor out of his back pocket, "I was going to sit on the porch for a little anyway, it's nice out. Want some coffee?"
You say okay and sit on the porch swing waiting for Tyson, not entirely sure how life has led you to this moment on the pretty wrap-around porch of the house with the red door.
He comes back out and shuts the door quietly behind him before handing you a cup and sitting next to you on the swing. You're quiet for a pause, but then you giggle into your mug.
"Did you really think all those dogs were mine?" Tyson looks up at you, smiling goofily back over his own mug.
"Yeah, I totally did. Told Gabe I was going to see if his pretty neighbor needed help walking all of her dogs. Mel finally figured out it was you and they had a good laugh at my expense." His feet are solid on the porch rocking you back and forth while Zoey dozes in front of you.
Your ears warm at the compliment. "Thanks."
"I don't have a dog or anything, but maybe I could get your number in case I wanted company for a walk? What's your schedule look like?" You let your leg slide towards his on the swing so your knees knock.
Smiling and pulling your phone out of your pocket, you hand it over, "I think I could squeeze you in."
AN: Don’t be fooled by the cute gif, this is ANGST, AGNST, and more ANGST. But y’all asked for this so. Here’s another one of the folklore series. It’s a repost, but definitely let me know what you think!
Word Count: 2190
Warnings: Drinking, angst
I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere
Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here
Pouring out my heart to a stranger
But I didn’t pour the whiskey
When you left Denver, you had no plans of coming back. You made peace with your decision to leave Nate because you felt in your heart that it was the right one at the time. Nate was intense but nothing was as impeding as the freight train of emotions that hit your body at once when you fell too hard for him, too fast. You did what any cowardly person would, you followed your fears all the way out of town, hoping for that to be the solution to mend the destruction inflicted on your heart that you were only to blame for.
You thought Los Angeles would bring back who you were before Nate, instead, it chewed you up and spit you out like so many before you who went there, hoping for a glamorous reality that only existed in fiction. Instead of new dreams, you had an overpriced apartment you hated that felt cold at night, and loneliness in your heart you had accepted would be there forever. You were haunted by regret, the memory of leaving Nate standing alone in his kitchen as you left him, begging you to stay. He tried to tell you it was in your head, that you weren’t feeling too much, that he loved you as much as you loved him, but you wouldn’t listen. Los Angeles gave you one thing you were thankful for, even if it didn’t feel that way in the time you had been there and that was the realization of your mistake.
“I don’t understand how you can tell me you’re in love with me and then just decide to leave?” Nate sighed, doing everything he could to understand what you were saying to him. He knew things had been hard, the season was long, but you never flinched at any of the trials of his career. He was so in love with you it hurt, his love was a strange feeling in his own heart, he didn’t know if he would ever find someone until he found you and he just knew.
You wrapped your arms around your body, a physical representation of the pain you were trying to shield yourself from, a heartache that at the time felt necessary. Nate was your entire world, you lost yourself in him and your relationship and it terrified you. It was a love that was too good, where you were pulled off on the side of the road looking at a view, ten seconds away from the drop off that never came. You wanted to get ahead of it, break it off before it broke you.
“I do love you, Nate, but it’s too much. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” You cried, begging him to understand.
Nate tentatively took a step toward you, reaching slowly to pull your hand into his.
“You’re the most amazing person I know. You have a dream that you’ve built on your own, and you do a damn good job of it. You care about the people around you, with your heart that loves people deeply. Everything about you is beautiful. You make me feel like nothing else matters, I would give everything up tomorrow if you asked. Please, don’t do this to us.”
You sobbed at his words, looking into his eyes that were watery with tears. You squeezed his hand, unlacing your fingers from his. You knew what you had to do, you couldn’t be in Denver anymore. You couldn’t see his face everywhere, you had to figure out who you were.
“I can’t be that person, Nate. I don’t know who that is. I’m sorry, you have to let me go.” You whispered, smiling sadly at him.
You didn’t look back when you left his condo, you couldn’t allow yourself the last glimpse of him that you didn’t deserve. You knew if you did, you would have stayed. Instead, you walked to your car, packed full of your belongings. The tears didn’t stop flowing the entire time you drove toward the freeway, away from Denver and love you didn’t know if you’d ever find again.
---------------------------------
It had been six months, time that should have been enough to get over a breakup that you were the cause of. You were standing on a rooftop, looking out at the pink and orange sky that was settled between the LA skyline. A drink was sitting on the ledge, untouched in front of you, the water droplets on the glass from the ice that was melting. Everyone around you seemed so happy to be there drinks flowing and a steady noise from the constant chatter as they all celebrated your friend’s new engagement. You sighed, opening your phone as you debated slipping out early. You felt like an open wound, your thoughts were still racing over Nate, clouding your judgment and making it so that you couldn’t even be present for an event that deserved your full attention.
When the car pulled up to your building, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you thanked the driver, pulling out your keys before entering the lobby. As you opened the door to your apartment, you felt your eyes get heavy. You slipped off your heels, leaving them by the door as you continued inside. You slowly worked through your night routine, each step of it committed to muscle memory. You weren’t fully there, all you could think about was Nate.
You made yourself a cup of tea in an attempt to wind yourself down, the cup warm in your hands as you crawled into your bed. Everything reminded you of him, the way you carefully got into bed, as if he was still peacefully sleeping on the other side and you didn’t want to wake him, the way you mentally said goodnight to him, even if you were just talking to his ghost, each little inconsequential piece of your life led back to him, no matter how hard you tried to forget.
You felt so ahead of him at the time, so sure that what you were doing was right for both of you. The fear of a future with him overtook everything, the worries slowly started to replace comfort. You laid in bed that night, watching as time passed slowly while you thought intently about the last year of your life. You mentally berated yourself, trying to pinpoint exactly where it went wrong, combing through your memories for any signs that Nate gave that could have made you so insecure.
The problem was that those signs were never there because Nate had never done anything wrong. He was an intense person, giving his all into everything he did, including you. Nate may not have been the type to show his feelings with superficial romantic gestures, he rarely surprised you with flowers, he didn’t take you on fancy dates, he took painfully long to say that he loved you. Anyone who didn’t know him probably would write him off as a lost cause, a young guy who didn’t know how to give himself to someone else. They had it all wrong though, Nate may not have been public about his affection, but he showed how much he cared in other ways. You felt his love in the way that he held you close after a tough loss, it was in the way he smiled softly at you when you weren’t looking, it was the way that he was your biggest supporter, always proud of your accomplishments and the person that you were. It was the way he was so sure about you meeting his family and Sid, knowing if you could get along with them, that you were probably the one for him.
You thought back to that summer in Cole Harbour. Tears silently rolling down your cheeks as you remembered what Sidney had said to you that weekend.
“He’s better with you, ya know. He’s more tolerable,” Sid jokes, walking up to you with a smile. You turned to look at him before your eyes trailed back to Nate, your heart full of nothing but affection for the man you had the privilege of getting to know. “But actually, not sure I’ll like him as much if you ever leave. You’re everything to him.” You looked at Sid, smiling softly at him. You didn’t respond because at the time you didn’t need to, the way you loved him was evident that weekend, it was unspoken.
You never considered what Nate wanted. Looking back on it, you completely disregarded any feelings about you leaving, you never even gave him a chance to speak as you walked out his front door. The pressure created in your own mind, conning you into leaving a relationship that you were perfectly happy to be in only to later never let you grieve over what you did to him. You were selfish and you decided that enough was enough, you needed to forget about the failed attempt at moving on, you needed to go home.
Glancing at the clock, you saw that it was just nearing 4 am, dimly lit reflections from the buildings were sneaking into your windows as the city was still asleep. It was a bad idea, one that came about from six months of never feeling at peace, your mind constantly going in circles. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed a small bag and left LA, settling in for a long drive back to a painfully familiar place.
----------------------------------
As soon as you drove into the city, feelings of nostalgia calmed you. You felt the most at peace than you had in a long time, a false sense of hope filling your heart, not knowing that in a few hours you’d finally break.
You didn’t have a plan as you drove the familiar route to the place you once shared together, the streets unchanged as you passed by. It was dark, and you had no idea if he was even in town but it didn’t matter, you had to try. When you got close to the house, your heart sank. A beautiful woman was getting into a car in the driveway. Of course, he had moved on, why wouldn’t he when it had been so long? You drove away from the house quickly, the pieces of your heart shattering as you went to the one place in Denver where you knew you’d have a few hours to just forget.
You sat at a dimly lit bar in downtown Denver, flakes of snow littered in your hair from the winter conditions you couldn’t forget if you tried. Your dark anorak jacket was carefully placed on the stool beside you, the wool scarf that had lost the scent of Nate a long time ago still carefully wrapped around your neck, keeping your body warm and comforted. Whiskey sours were placed in front of you far too frequently for anyone that was supposed to be put together. You poured your heart out to a stranger, details blurring together as you spoke to the man next to you who probably couldn’t care less about your problems. Your words were slurring as you crawled deeper into your own mind, over analyzing each moment of your relationship with Nate and how you got to this point of being in the same town and not knowing each other anymore.
You shakily pulled out your phone, debatably one whiskey sour too many from any sort of rational decision. You missed him, the kind of longing where your whole body aches. You sat in the nearly empty bar, minutes from the last call, ringing in your heart that was heavy enough to lead to collapse.
You opened the familiar contact, the red heart still next to his name, taunting you as you remember the childlike crush you had when you put it there. You knew he wouldn’t pick up, not after what you did, but if you couldn’t be with him, you wanted to at least try one more time to rectify the mistakes you made.
“Nate I- god. I miss you, I’m sitting here at this bar, and all I can think about is the potential we had that I fucked up. I feel like I’m the outsider in this crowded party I wasn’t invited to. All I wanted was you and I fucked it up, baby. I-god.” You cried out into his voicemail, not unfamiliar to the desperation in your voice.
“I guess this is me trying ya know? I want to make it right, to make you happy, to love you like I was so scared to before. I-I’ll be here, waiting.” You set your phone down, shaky hands wiping tears from your cheeks. You waited there until the night grew cold and the bartender had to help you into an Uber home, for a call that would never come.
A/N: hello again! I’m back with a new project! This is something I’ve had written for a while and it was actually a draft for a fic I started for another fandom. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen Zabdiel written this way so I hope you all enjoy! Give it a like or reblog if you want!
Untucking my knees from my chest, I pulled the crinkled note from my pocket. The ink had been smudged by the countless tears that had fallen onto it.
Miami - Carlos Santacruz
The relentless rain pelted down onto the windows of the bus, blurring the buildings that zipped past. A highway sign reading "Welcome to Miami!" stared back at me.
Slinging my backpack and duffle bag over my shoulders for what I hoped would be the last time, I hopped up into the aisle of the bus. A feeling of nervousness creeped into my chest as the bus rolled to a stop outside a large bus station. Throwing my hood over my head, I ran into the station and made my way to the front desk.
"Excuse me. Do you think you could help me find someone?" I asked quietly.
The old lady looked at me with a bored expression, popping her gum before she spoke. "There's a telephone book over in the corner, knock yourself out."
Defeatedly, I walked over to the phone book and started flipping through the "S" section. I scanned the pages quickly until one caught my eye.
Carlos Santacruz. 1825 Dade Heights. 678-999-8212.
Ripping the page from the spine, I turned and grabbed a small map from a kiosk against the wall. I pushed open the door of the station and started my journey to find the mystery person.
The puddles on the ground blurred as I trekked my way through the streets of Miami. The ripples in the water masked my undoubtedly horrendous reflection. Jumping from bus to bus didn't allow me the time to keep up with my appearance that I once cared so much about.
Being on the run was never my first choice, nor was it a choice that I ever wanted to act upon. I considered it a last resort as the solution to the many problems that seemed to stem from the life my family chose. The life that I never wanted to be a part of.
The little stability that my family still possessed started deteriorating the day my mother passed away. A vicious car accident took her life and no one even batted an eye.
My father, who was already a workaholic, became more invested in his business. He made sure I was only told the bare minimum when it came down to it but I wasn't oblivious. I knew what my father did behind closed doors.
The final straw was when my brother got involved. I can't say I was surprised because I knew that day would eventually come. Jacob was impressionable, strong, and smart which made him perfect material for my father's business. He knew the risks of running inside operations in the business and made sure that I stayed as far away as possible. Jacob had a good heart and always made sure to look after me.
To keep myself from insanity, I occupied myself with superficial friends, designer clothes, expensive makeup, and more boyfriends than I can count on one hand. And it all worked out, up until four nights ago.
Before I knew it, I had arrived at my destination. A street sign reading “Dade Heights” hung above my head. This side of town looked much different than where I had arrived off the bus. A gloomy feeling hung in the air and everything appeared old and run-down.
Stares were thrown my way as I walked through the neighborhood. Intimidation set into my chest as I examined the people sitting outside their house.
"Looks like you've strayed off your path!" a man yelled across the way. He had shaggy brown hair and a jet black leather jacket across his torso. His persona screamed danger and I immediately wanted to turn and run. "So tell me, who are you looking for?"
I pondered for a moment wondering if I should even answer. The smarter side of me told me to keep walking. But the logic part of my brain gave me the realization that I had no idea where or who I was looking for. "I'm looking for a Carlos Santacruz," I replied back.
The man scoffed and started walking towards me slowly. "A Carlos Santacruz," he mocked in a girly tone. "Try the Carlos Santacruz." I hadn't realized how close he had gotten until we were almost standing toe to toe. "What does someone like you need to do with him?" he asked quizzically.
Realizing that I shouldn't have even stopped in the first place, I now had put myself into a compromising position. I held my ground, trying not to show the intimidation that I felt deep in my chest. "I need to see him. Can you tell me where I can find him?" I questioned in a condescending tone.
"Sure. First why don't you tell me what you're doing here. It's rare that we get to see someone like you around -"
"Leave her alone, Ricky!" a female voice shouted, cutting him off abruptly.
I turned around quickly to see a girl with long brown and pink tresses. A similar leather jacket adorning her shoulders like the others.
The man I now knew to be Ricky groaned loudly. "Aw c'mon Reyes! We were just having a little fun with the newbie."
The girl strode towards us, walking up to stand next to me. "Give her a break asshole," she sneered back. Turning to me, she examined me before speaking. "I'm actually headed to see Carlos right now if you want to tag along."
With relief flooding my system, I gave a quick nod and adjusted the hood sitting over my head.
She flashed me a quick smile before speaking. "Alright then. Follow me."
As we started walking away, Ricky yelled behind us. "Will I see you later, Tori?"
"In your dreams, Ricky!" she hissed over her shoulder.
----
The walk to a place called “El Barrio” was short. Tori made small talk to fill the silence, telling me different things about this side of town. She asked me few questions about who I was which I was thankful for.
El Barrio was very similar to a typical bar down in Puerto Rico. People gathered around several pool tables, cheering when someone would hit a pocket. A currently vacant dance floor was situated in the middle of the room. It reminded me of home, something that I now missed.
"C'mon. I'll walk you up to Carlos's office before I get started at work." Tori shouted over the loud music, nodding her head in the direction of a staircase that led to a second floor.
It wasn't until Tori walked ahead of me that I noticed the large logo embroidered onto the back of her jacket. Espadas was written around a large red and black spade logo. Climbing to the top of the stairs, I looked over the balcony at the rest of the patrons in the bar. They too had a similar logo situated on the back of their jackets. What had I gotten myself into? I thought to myself.
Standing in front of a large wooden door, Tori rapped her knuckles against it twice before turning the door knob. With every inch the door opened further, my anxiety seemed to rise.
"Carlos, you have a visitor," Tori announced, peeking through the cracked door.
"Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something important." A deep voice I'm assuming belonged to Carlos asked.
Tori looked over her shoulder at me, as if asking if it could wait. I shook my head quickly before she turned around. "I don't think this can wait," she confirmed loudly.
There was a long pause and a deep sigh before he spoke again. "Alright. Bring them in."
Before I could prepare myself, Tori had pushed the door wide open. I couldn't move even if I wanted to, my feet feeling like they were cemented to the ground.
I got a look at the man I had been searching for, finally being able to put a face to a name. Carlos was tall and radiated power. Scruff littered his face and his hair was combed back into a gentleman's cut.
Realizing that he wasn't alone, I turned to look at the man occupying the chair in front of Carlos's desk. His dark eyes scanned my figure as he looked at me. A similar leather jacket laid over his broad frame. A scowl was set on his face, appearing angry that I had interrupted their meeting.
"Jess?” Carlos asked surprisingly, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Snapping back to reality, I quickly turned towards Carlos "You know who I am?" I questioned.
"Of course I do. Your dad is one of my very good friends," Carlos stated matter of factly. "How did you end up here?" he asked unsure.
I hesitated with my reply. How did I end up here? Where do I even start?
Sensing my hesitation, Carlos spoke again. “Zabdiel why don't you give us some privacy. We can finish this up later," he spoke, turning towards the unnamed male sitting in the room with us.
Zabdiel.
Zabdiel drew in a deep breath before letting it out again, his frustration coming out along with it. He stood to full height and brushed past me, slamming the door as he left.
"Don't worry about him. He can be a bit short-tempered," Carlos excused.
Nodding my head, I took a seat in front of Carlos's desk.
"Well there can't be any good reason that you're here. So why don't you tell me what happened," he started solemnly, rubbing his hands over his face.
"I was sitting downstairs at the safe house in Pasadena when the front window shattered. My brother rushed me upstairs and pulled a backpack and a duffle bag of clothes out from the closet. He said that everything I needed would be in here," I recalled, grabbing my backpack that was over my shoulder. "Once I got far enough away from the house, I got a cab and headed to the bus station. The only thing I had to go off of was this," I said, pulling the note out of my backpack and pushing it towards him on the desk.
Carlos scanned over the note, thinking before he spoke.
“Carajo,” he muttered to himself.
By the look on his face, I could tell that this already difficult situation had just gotten ten times worse. How is one to react when someone shows up looking for you based off of a note with a name?
"Does anyone know you're here?" Carlos questioned.
"No," I answered quickly. "I left through a hidden exit in the safe house undetected. The only person who knows I'm here is you."
Carlos seemed to hesitate before asking his next question. "What about your dad and Jacob?"
I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Squeezing my eyes shut, I chose my words carefully before speaking. "I don't know. Once I finally got out of the house, I heard lots of yelling and gunshots. Jacob told me not to turn back, no matter what," I said with a quiet voice, opening my eyes that had started to sting with tears.
Carlos took a deep breath before standing. "Okay. Until I can figure out what to do we need to get you to the safe house," he said sternly, walking out from behind the desk to stand next to me. "The others are on a run right now so Zabdiel will have to take you. He's the only other one who knows how to get in."
Carlos led me back down the stairs from his office and onto the main floor of the bar. Stares were thrown my way as I followed behind.
"Zabdiel!" Carlos yelled in the direction of the pool tables.
Zabdiel was leaned over one of the tables, about to make a shot, when Carlos's yell caught him off guard. His cue went right over the ball, causing him to miss his shot. The others snickered around him, causing Zabdiel to throw a glare their way.
"You know, if you're going to ruin my shot, can you give me a heads up first?" Zabdiel sneered, passing his pool cue to a guy next to him. I had this feeling that he was one of the only ones who could speak to Carlos like that.
"I got a job for you," Carlos started, walking towards him to shake his hand.
"I need to you take new blood here over to the safe house. I've got some things I need to figure out," he ordered, nodding his head over his shoulder in my direction.
Zabdiel gave Carlos a confused look "The safe house? Why-"
"I'll explain more later. Meet me back in the office when you get back," Carlos cut him off.
Zabdiel gave a slow nod. "Alright, let's go," he said sharply before heading towards the doors of the bar.
I caught up with Zabdiel, following him out to the parking lot. Not seeing very many cars, I started to wonder how we were getting there. He stopped in front of a shiny black motorcycle, taking one of the helmets off and handing it to me.
"You're joking right?" I asked with a serious tone.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" He replied back with a bored expression.
I looked between the helmet and Zabdiel, debating my options. I had no idea where I was, no place to stay, and no idea what I was doing here. Getting on this bike with him really was my only option.
Snatching the helmet from his outstretched hand, I slid the helmet over my head. "Let's make this quick. I don't want to be on this thing any longer than I have to," I whined.
"Oh don't worry, it'll be quick," he quipped back.
Zabdiel swung his leg over the bike and sat down, kicking the stand up before balancing t the bike out. He slid the other helmet over his head, flicking the mask up to speak.
"You coming?"
Much to my dismay, I anchored my foot on the foot rest and swung my leg over. Situating myself on the seat, I slid right in behind Zabdiel. I tried not to show the fear that I was feeling deep down but with our close proximity, I was sure that he could feel my heart beating out of my chest.
Wrapping my arms around his midsection, Zabdiel cranked the engine to life. Revving the engine a few times, we dashed off towards the safe house.
----
The safe house was small which I expected. I knew my father was smarter than to build a large and elaborate safe house on this side of town. It would draw too much attention.
Zabdiel turned the bike off and walked up the small steps to the front door. He lifted a small panel in the wood exterior and revealed a glowing pad with numbers. After punching in a series of numbers, the door made a loud click. Zabdiel pushed the handle, opening the door and leading the way into the house.
"Make yourself at home. Bedroom is down the hall. Kitchen is through there," he said, pointing towards the living room to our left.
I nodded my head, walking into the living room and looking around. "What is the password to get in? You know, in case I need to get back in," I asked carefully.
Zabdiel hesitated before speaking. "I'll have to make sure with Carlos before I can give you that. It's confidential infor-"
"You mean so confidential that not even Alberto Diaz’s daughter could know?" I cut him off.
A look of surprise crossed his face, letting me know that he hadn't yet figured out who he was talking to.
"And I'm guessing by the look on your face you know who my father is?" I questioned, plopping myself down on one of the couches.
"You're Alberto Diaz’s daughter?" He asked slowly, putting the pieces together as he spoke.
"Unfortunately," I sighed. I pushed myself up from the couch and walked over towards him. "Look. I don't know what business you have with my father, quite frankly I could care less. But if you want to stay alive, I'd get out while you can."
"You don't know anything about me," he said through gritted teeth.
"You're right, I don't. But I do know that I've had to deal with more collateral damage than I would like and I don't need anymore."
Zabdiel stood tall, squinted eyes glaring at me. He turned on his toes, headed towards the front door. "I'll be here to pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. Don't keep me waiting," he ordered before opening the door and slamming it behind him.
I gathered my bags from the floor and trudged to the bedroom. Dropping them down on the bed, I grabbed one of my brother's old t-shirts from the bag and headed to the bathroom.
Turning the shower dial to the hottest it would go, I stripped off my clothes and stepped under the steaming water. The exhaustion that my body had been fighting finally set in. Sliding my back down the wall, I sunk to the bottom of the shower. I felt tears start to prick the backs of my eyes, sliding down my face before I could stop them. Drawing my knees to my chest, I let the sobs rack my body and I realized how fucked up this situation actually was.
