milk and honey

a hopeless place that f l o w s with the blood of my kin... perhaps... hopeless isn't a place, nothing but a state of mind... they told me once --- don't trust the moon, she's always changing; shores bend & break for her, she b e g s to be loved.

[tcmpestuovs]

DELIA‌:

there’s a good reason why she avoids him when she can. in part, it’s due to the fact that whenever they disagree these days, especially when planning jobs, it turns into a petty fest of bickering and pettiness that she doesn’t need her soldiers being privy to. she doesn’t like him doing it either just because she’s his ex-wife, but that’s still only a small reason. largely, it’s because every time they spend more than a few moments together, it’s a stark reminder of how much things have changed. the way they talk to each other now is so different, completely lacking the ease that there once was between them . gone are terms of endearments that aren’t condescending, and kisses to her temple when he was passing through before heading out to another job. no more warm bed to come home to at the end of the day. she was alone, more now than she’s ever been and she misses him. it’s why she’s so full of bitterness and resentment, especially towards herself. the knowledge that this all could have been different if she’d just made better choices was something she saw every time she looked at him.

“could have fooled me.” it’s muttered under her breath, eyes not lifting from her knives even as he continues to tell her about his job. sweetheart. her jaw clenches at that, even if she does feel sudden relief at the knowledge that at least she doesn’t have to worry about him fucking up his task. “good. he’s been a pain in the ass running his mouth.” if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was people that didn’t have the good sense to keep their head down and follow her orders. her new soldier had been no different, and he’d had to learn that lesson the hard way. she gave too much of herself to her soldiers for any of them to be screwing her around.

when he takes the seat opposite her, she inhales deeply and does her best to simply ignore him. she’s not in the mood to be talking to anyone, least of all him, and she hopes he gets the message for once in his life. instead, her surprised her. her head raises, staring him down as her lips part slightly. she’d expected more quips, more jabs. not this. “i eat.” she drinks more than she eats, but that’s beside the point. she always had wine or whiskey at her desk drawer before, but she keeps at least double that stash since her cousin died, and her third glass of the night is already sat on the table. “i had lunch with the journalist i’m conning. the idiot really thinks i’m asking about his mafia coverage because i want to fuck him.” she scoffs at that, head shaking. she would, if she really needed to, but the desire isn’t there. it hasn’t been there in a year, even if she started having sex again a few months ago.

“most snitches usually are.” tomas pointed out, as if commenting on the weather. it was of course, the nature of their business. most people were a pain in the ass given the big egos and bigger guns. if they weren’t that, they were usually something worse, something deadly, dangerous, worrisome and loathsome --- but tomas had been living with a death wish for longer than he cared to admit. little phased him anymore. the only time he was surprised by something --- was when delia had asked him for a divorce. even after months of fighting and complications, of feeling exhausted by the mere thought of going home to her --- it still came as a surprise. maybe that said more about him, than it did her. “it’s why we put em in the ground soon as we can.”

his feet kicked up onto the edge of her desk --- knowing that he was the only one who’d be able to get away with a such disregard for authority. whatever. he’d been married to her. he’d seen her naked, bent her over the very same desk mid-argument --- and even once, thought she’d be the woman to make him a father, and her, a mother. he was allowed to the flaunt the rules a little. push at her boundaries.

she always looked so pretty when she was mad.

tomas’ brow raised just so at the mention of the journalist, his eye twitching. he was well aware that delia could do what she wanted. even when they were married, she did what she wanted. he was always clear on the fact that he was a choice --- that happily, delia could survive on her own. she just didn’t wish too. he was aware. but it never made it any easier... hearing about the journalists that used her for scoops, unaware that she was playing them three moves ahead. the other foot soliders that bragged about how all she needed was a good dicking down and maybe she’d be a bit nicer. ( if those ones walked around with a few extra bruises, so be it. ) or even the occasional date, some affluent man of chicago, who had more money than he knew what to do with. he was aware, and it was never any fucking easier --- because there he was, still half in love with her, still a fucking kid, thinking they were the ones lucky enough to spend their lives together. 

( he knew he was pathetic. he just didn’t like to think about it. )

“well...” he drawled, a touch wary, a touch exhausted. “you said it yourself. he’s an idiot. can’t blame him for getting distracted by a pretty girl in a nice dress.” tomas’ eyes narrowed just so. “but that doesn’t answer my question.are you eating?” his chin jerked at the glass on her desk. “or are you counting that whiskey in your drawer as a three course meal?”

[tcmpestuovs]

ISAAC‌:

small towns like theirs had a habit of being a gossip mill – where half-truths or whole lies circulated quicker than one could so much as blink.  he knew what was said about him, or the gist of it all, and isaac was perfectly content to let it spread. if only because they were all glowing additions to his already attractive reputation. ( he knows they look, people who’ve been in his bed and those who merely wish alike, and he relishes in it. can’t help himself really. the last thighs he found himself between had belonged to that of the biggest gossip he knew, cassandra had a tendency to babble whenever they’d fallen into bed together. she also frequented the very same record store zara worked at, it was merely a coincidence of course ). it’s not as if isaac has anything better to do. if he wants to spend his afternoon teasing and flirting with the fiery slip of a woman who snarks her way through his family home, all while giving him the eyes, he’ll do just that.

he’s been dropping hints for weeks, in the way he leaves his drumming in the garage to rest against the kitchen counter and tease her some more. in the way he’ll leave his shirt behind, on the days he’ll pull a shirt on just to see her eyes track across the fabric, feigning nonchalance when all isaac wants to see is disappointment. she drives him mad in the best possible way, in a productive way – if one could call his acute awareness of her presence and overwhelming need to win her over as productive. he liked to think it was.  

there it was. the rolling of zara’s eyes that isaac took as encouragement, anyone else might have been dissuaded but he was all the more charmed. her attitude had caught him unawares the first day he’d really looked at her, zara following his sister inside from the rain, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold. she looked like an angel, or so the movies would say, but she’d turned to him and asked if he wanted to take a picture. he’d grinned crookedly, bent his torso in a mock bow and asked if m’lady had anymore requests. “mmhm, sure.” he grinned, eyeing her with a twinkle in his eyes, the one that told her he knew the game and he was up for another round. it was where she pretended not to care and he teased her all the more for it. “a travesty.” he clucked his tongue and sniffed, shifting to move the record to its correct home, eyes narrowed as he scanned the closest genres with care. his brows knitted and, just as she’d predicted, his lips pursed as he plucked up another straggler.  

“it is a big deal.” he shook his head and held up a heavy metal record, not one he’d pick for himself but a recognisable cover all the same, “this was in indie music, zara. indie.“ isaac turned on his heels and looked at her, “hourly? jesus, what kind of operation are you running here? i’d be ruling with an iron fuckin’ fist in your position.”  

of course, the thing isaac didn’t know was that she liked to mess with the records on the days that he wasn’t in --- just to see what he’d pick up on. just to see if he really was as astute as she believed him to be. thus far, he had a nice winning streak going. she enjoyed the little goings on --- but every now then, something distinctly isaac rhodes shone through, and zara --- torn between blurting out her feelings and running away, fell decidedly somewhere in the middle.

somewhere mean.

“oh i don’t know, isaac...” zara sighed heavily --- but there was a tone to her voice. “the kind of operation that has little prissy shitstains wandering in, pretending they know about music, and me having to deal with their pretentious asses asking for records we don’t stock because no one with taste listens to them?” she raised a manicured brow, her head tilting just so.“or the kind of operation where my hours are wasted by the likes of you --- relentlessly annoying and utterly distracting, regaling me with tales of how i’m doing my job wrong?”

her lips pursed. she only half meant that last one. maybe a little bit more.  “or... or is it actually the kind of operation where i listen to your exes talk about your cock size and how utterly fascinated you are with oral?” zara refused to blush or even let her true feelings on the matter slip --- but god if she wasn’t fucking over hearing about it. it was bad enough that this... crush... she was nursing, somehow managed to grow deeper by the day --- that with every night she spent at their house, seeing him sleepy and soft; seeing him loud and active playing with bones --- she managed to fall just a little bit more in... something... with him.

it was all more than zara had bargained for, when her mother had pitched the idea of moving to this tiny town. more than she needed.

“i just don’t know.” her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth, a long suffering sigh falling past red painted lips. “i’m awfully vapid, you see --- and far too pretty to be working here.” it was a line she heard all too often. though thankfully, such words had never passed through isaac’s lips. at this stage, she rather thought he believed she was overqualified to be working here --- but. she liked it. there was a colourful cast of characters, from the local nerds who never made much by the way of friends; to the older guys who refused to give in to their corporate overloads and buy an ipod. even the shy and retiring moms buying gifts for husbands, sons, daughters, friends and family. it was a good job. one with heart and soul, something which gods knew --- was missing from zara’s life.

and then there were the likes of cassandra. who frequented the store, who hung around the store to catch another glimpse of isaac. there were the likes of his band’s groupies --- who knew he frequented here, but after a very stern dressing down from one calloway lady --- knew that if they stepped foot inside the place, they’d be faced with utter ruin. ( it wasn’t because she was jealous. it wasn’t. )

zara’s chin fell to rest in her in her palm. “how ever is a girl supposed to handle it all?”

[tcmpestuovs]

DAHLIA‌:

CLOSED STARTER FOR - @BRCAKABLEHEAVENS

it had been ten years since she’d last summoned him. before that, it had been twenty, and before that forty. but dahlia wasn’t yearning. she’d been alive for longer than the tree in her front yard, a large, barren monstrosity that scared the local children – and for good reason. the last time witch hunters had passed through the village, she’d strung each and every one of them up to the tree and watched them sway in the wind. that had been a century ago, long enough that nobody alive knew the details, but the ghosts very much remained.  

in her many years, in the centuries she’d seen her village thrive and her village suffer, dahlia had never wanted for much. she never went without food, clothes, jewels, her home hadn’t seen disrepair in as long as she’d inhabited it. azariel was different though, he was no mortal man, his attention distracted by the simplest of whims. he was prompt, thorough, left without her needing to hint awkwardly. the demon scratched an itch she hadn’t been so sure she couldn’t deal with herself that first time around, but now she found herself enjoying his company. wanting it even. she brushed aside her instinctual panic at wanting another person, to deal with another time when she was alone, for the sake of a fun time. it wasn’t a pertinent issue, she owed herself a night of relaxation surely.  

dahlia carefully took her favourite spell book from its case, fingers reverently stroking along its spine as she set it before the altar. she buzzed with anticipation, her cauldron already bubbling and her sacrifice laid out ( the freshest fruit she could find, decadent cheeses and a goblet of mulled wine, a feast fit for a demon ), all she had to do was say the words. her robe was new, threaded with gold thread that shined in the candle light, and part of her hoped he’d notice. the rest was firm in not caring. this was like all things with a demon, a transaction, nothing more. she raised her hands and closed her eyes, lips parted as the remaining candles surrounding her lit up.  

“azariel, i summon thee.” she began, “make your presence known to me.” her hands moved to hover over her offerings, “i offer thee gifts and my willing, able, body. i summon thee, from purgatory you are freed.” for a moment, not a second longer, dahlia remained alone. and then she felt the shift. the crackle of power and with the opening of her eyes confirmed – he’d answered her call.  

“so punctual.” she cooed teasingly, a grin brightening her face, “one has to wonder why your kind have such poor reputations.”

purgatory wasn’t like the stories. it wasn’t blazes of firey pits for people to dwell and suffer for all eternity. rather... it was a serious of interconnected, overlapping corridors --- each door presenting a horrible, fathomed reality. when he was younger, thinking with his cock and not his head --- he’d ventured behind a fair few of those doors, and left them a changed being. ( it wasn’t that they frightened him, but it was that they didn’t. that the worst of humanity, the worst of heaven, hell and everything in between --- wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things. maybe that was why azariel was so good at what he did. at what was required of him. he long ago stopped being surprised by what summoned him to the surface. --- long ago stooped caring. long as he secured his end of the bargain, what did it matter? )

his existence was entirely transactional --- give and take, offer and receive. occasionally, there was the one that sought out more. a painful reminder those were --- having to destroy them because they dared to think he needed saving. ( of course, his mind likes to remind him that there had been one --- one witch who’d been so very different from the many others in his long, long line of lovers and conquests. that she hadn’t sought to trap him, to change him, to keep him where he didn’t belong. that she had been exactly like him: seeking something and willing to see him out with a smile once she had it. ) his mind plays tricks on him with her sometimes, in and amongst his other regrets.

conjuring her image in the depth of the night, when the doors of horror taunt him, beckoning him. how would she look now? it had been decades since they last saw each other, since he was last inside of her. would she be older, wiser, or still that same fiery witch of before? ( azariel would wait with bated breath, hoping to feel her whispered incantations, dragging him from one plane to the next. but it never came --- or if those words did, it was never her on the other side. )

he learned to move on before long. just like with everything else.

till that day. the words floated in one ear, out the other --- no mistaking their owner. for it was only her, who managed to murmur his name like that, who managed to coat her words with desire, need --- and demand. it was no trouble to ascend, and then ---

she appeared before him.

“dahlia.” aza breathed, his voice soft and sensual. “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” he took in the robe she wore. gold trimmed and a deep crimson that stood out against her complexion. his gaze dipped and further dipped, from the tips of her toes and up again --- by satan, how he’d missed her. “a reflection of the less than savoury elements of my kind.” azariel quipped, grinning just so as he met her eyes. his tongue wet his bottom lip --- and the vast, depleted wells of energy inside of him burned. it had been a while since a good, long fuck, and thus feeding himself. “i must ask... did i hear something about gifts, and a willing, able body?”

[tcmpestuovs]

ISAAC‌:

isaac by no means disliked the sleepy town he’d grown up in – not even when it left him twiddling his thumbs on days where no gigs or odd jobs presented themselves. those days when he’d bum around at home, drumming away until his arms were sore and his sweat soaked through whatever shirt he was wearing. or, apparently, the days he found himself seeking her out. it was a first in some ways, trying to capture the attention of someone on more than one occasion. on the other hand, he did chase and charm whoever had his attention at any given time, until either of them were bored, or in some cases – a broken heart was involved. ( that had happened more than he was proud to admit, though he’d never been the one to draw the short straw. he kept his distance, always had. though he cared a lot about those he considered family, those he swore loyalty to until death in his typically dramatic fashion, he just wasn’t invested in many beyond that. it certainly showed in those who left his bed, or car, cursing his name and adding to an already semi-unfavourable reputation. ) at this point, all he really had going for him was his name, his art, and his face. isaac had promised himself, half-heartedly and half-drunk, that when one or all of those started to waver he’d change.  

that day was far from coming, much to his delight. the rest probably didn’t agree – not that he cared.  

the current recipient of his attention led him away from the usual haunts, though one would assume he’d be found there most days. the old owners hadn’t been the biggest fan of isaac though, crotchety and still irritated that he’d supposedly defiled their only son. the details of said defiling were hazy and he disputed the way in which he was painted in the stories, if only because he was never clingy. but now, the store had new management and new staff. one member alone had him pushing the door open eagerly, a smile already in place as he met her gaze. zara calloway, in all her petite, sharp-tongued glory. he felt only slightly bad for looking at any of his sibling’s friends like he did at her, if only because he knew she was no better.

even if she was yet to admit as much.  

“hey, it’s mr pretty man to you.” he replied easily, looking over the edge of his shades and grinning widely as he sauntered closer, “i’m here to peruse your wares, if that’s quite alright?” as if to prove a point and nothing else, he started carding through the records closest to her, his sunglasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. then, letting out a little snort, he held up a record, “since when has whitney houston been hard rock, z?”

the fact of the matter was this --- zara had heard all about one isaac rhodes. and it wasn’t just from his baby sister, who waxed poetic about her brother’s better nature, his virtures in spite of sin. no, those who did wander through her little corner of the universe, liked to talk. ( in the span of a week, zara had heard all about not only isaac’s knack for breaking hearts --- but his apparently larger than average dick size, tongue talents and blessed fingers. ) it’s at this point, usually, she has to remind herself --- that she and her mother are in town for a reason. that there are bigger things at play than needing to scratch an itch; much less with the son of the town’s police chief. that was too much trouble, even for zara.

so she kept her distance. stuck mainly by his sister’s side --- because his sister, she could handle. she knew how to work and manipulate friendships long before she knew how to fucking flirt, which said a lot, z thought --- given her predisposition to the latter. ( of course, isaac just always happened to be around when she was with his sister. sometimes shirtless, far too sweaty for his own good, curls rampant. other times, in a tight fitting shirt with the remnants of a hickey fading behind his ear. ) it’s all too much, the attraction, the wanting --- given her need and requirement to stay the fuck away from him --- given his consistent appearance at her place of work. 

peruse your wares. zara snorted, rolling her eyes and glancing down at her phone. “i dunno.” she shrugged --- acting without a care in the world; as if he didn’t witness, one week, her getting into a very loud and very raw screaming match with a potential customer about the beautiful, expansive nature of the black keys. there had been tears --- and they weren’t from zara. “since like, now i guess?” she smirked, brow raising --- practically daring him to get that little look on his face. haunty expression, lips pouting, brows scrunched in annoyance --- as if he couldn’t believe the incompetence of the rest of the record shop.

( as if zara didn’t fuck with the records every saturday before he came in, just so he’d spend a little longer hanging round. whatever. that was no one’s business but her own. )

“not a big deal either way.” zara drawled. “do you know how many people fuck up these records hourly?”

[tcmpestuovs]

closed starter / @starkscribed​

it was days like this: when the sun shined, so that meant there was a total of five customers, three purchases and no way in hell that she was orgnaising the alt-rock section once more --- that zara wondered what the fuck she was doing. they’d gone from the big city --- bright lights, the ever persistent buzz of helicopters above; a never ending mess of people, lines and queues --- to this. a smaller than small town, with no uber eats, barely there phone service and the drag of a slow buisness day. ( of course... she knows... why they had to leave. why it wasn’t safe. maybe she knew a little bit too much. their marks, their... victims, so to speak... never were all that happy when the truth came to light. she’d already been on parole too many times to risk any further damage to the barely there grip on her pristine identity --- and now that she was twenty-one, prison was all the more likely. she didn’t look like the wide-eyed sixteen year old she once did. )

would have been nice if she was, though. woulda made a whole lotta shit easier.

with a hum, she sipped idly at her iced coffee, the overhead fan twirling lazily --- zara contemplating what work she could do to pass the time: when the bell above the door tinkled --- and there he was.

isaac rhodes was in fact. the hot, older brother of one of her only friends in town. he was annoying. he was mysterious. he played in a band and had the shoulders and arms to prove it. he was also the son of the town cop, prone to resenting authority and chasing skirts. not that zara was looking up on him, or anything --- she wasn’t that bored in town. she was... merely curious. intrigued. wondrous. pick an adjective --- she was sure it worked.

“well, well, well. if it isn’t mr pretty boy.” she grinned, leaning back in her chair --- boots kicked up on the desk, coffee in hand. “might i ask what brings you to my little corner of the universe?”

[tcmpestuovs]

ALICE:

alice could never be angry at her father for too long, for his intentions were always good. but now was the closest she’d come, that he’d known given the nervous glances he cast in their direction every two minutes. the only reasoning was that nobody knew the whole story – how they’d gone from rivals, to friends, to more so rapidly. they hadn’t anticipated all that came with it, the public outings that resulted in pictures splashed across every new site in the uk, to the incessant pressure of being a couple that followed even ordinary citizens. ( they certainly hadn’t anticipated a baby, though the thought had filled alice with an incomparable joy. nor had they anticipated the loss that followed, not three months in, before they’d even told anyone. )  

they still hadn’t. it was the one thing alice had made him swear when he cut and run.  

that was the extent of their last conversation, through tears and a desire to scream herself hoarse. after, she’d moved to paris – a one-bedroom studio apartment that wasn’t even ten minutes from her gallery. she didn’t date, had a few select friends who knew her, but not the family legacy that followed her name. one half of heywood & langley, something to aspire towards, not run from. or so some said. mostly tabloids. she did her best to ignore them, avoided the internet largely as a result. her closest companions, however, were a liberal chunk of brie and the merlot she kept chilled in her fridge. it was a simple existence after the exhilarating, yet in hindsight remarkably short, time they’d spent together.  

it was part of why being thrust back into it, for something as seemingly menial as a birthday dinner, didn’t appeal in the slightest. she wanted to be happy, wanted to be the alice they were sure to expect – talkative, bubbly, opinionated. the alice who’d argue anything and everything if given the opportunity to. ethan’s uncle had been on the receiving end of a lot of it once upon a time, when alice was still considered a part of the family. not just a guilty invitee, to save face. she knew it wasn’t the truth, harrison was a better man than the cynical part of her wanted to scream. but all the same she had squared her shoulders, politely greeted every familiar face – until it came to him.  

she didn’t owe him anything. didn’t care. didn’t want to engage him at all. alice certainly didn’t think it particularly frustrating that he wasn’t dishevelled, showed no outward sign of having suffered for their parting. it didn’t ache. she refused.  

the snort grated on alice something shocking – mostly because it was him, how dare he feel amused at her obvious ire! how dare he indeed. “i’ve been told on multiple occasions not to soften my sharp edges to comfort those who don’t deserve me.” she shrugged, more than happy to ignore him again. but it was also the words that followed, the words that had her exhaling through her nose. “finally aware of those outside your self-absorbed little bubble?” alice asked airily, spearing some asparagus with more force than necessary, “so much growth, colour me impressed.” she finally looked at him fully, one brow raised high, “i assume your ego has grown to accommodate it?”

he’d been the one who told her that, once a upon time --- and the blow lands expertly between his ribs, right where his heart used to be. ( he hasn’t the courage to admit it’s still with her, and always will be. doing so feels a little bit too vulnerable, at this stage. though some might argue that was exactly what he needed to be. ) he’d told her that countless times; to not bother with the people around them, that they were just symptoms of a much larger cause --- that the best things about alice, were in fact, her sharp edges; her opinions, her larger than life personality. the way she could look at something and see all the ways it could be better --- even something as lost and adrift as him. ( ethan was the only child of his father and his first wife; as a result, set to inherit a fortune he had no part in building or expanding. there was a time where he’d wanted it all --- believed it was owed to him as his birth right. but the longer his father delayed it, the more ethan began to see the truth. money was a blight. it was a plague. once you had it, you were obsessed with keeping it, with growing it --- as if it could fuel the void left behind. by all means, it certainly made things easier; made the inaccessible, accessible. but it wasn’t everything. )

it was around that time alice came along --- and the rest they say, was history.

except his history sits next to him at the dinner table; landing expert blow after expert blow; like she was made for this, born for this. like it wasn’t his child too, that she lost. like it wasn’t happening to him as it was happening to her. it was a different kind of pain, of loss --- but it was still real. it was still valid. ( he still cried at night, sometimes, when it got to be really bad. he was going to be a father --- a role he thought he would excel in. a role he’d wanted since his step-mother came into the picture, with bouncing babies soon to follow. he’d doted upon his little siblings when they were younger; become the brother that let them get away with whatever they wanted. even at the expense of being in trouble with their parents. he imagined he’d be somewhat of the same as a father --- only to have the dream cruelly ripped from his hands. ) 

the realisation snaps something inside of him. unlocks the cage where the black, heaving beast of his grief slumbers --- and unleashes it upon the very same person he has so much in common with. the only person who could possibly understand.

“...finally stopped pretending you don’t look down your nose at everyone here?” ethan drawled --- there was a coldness to his words. a unfeeling disgust that she’d no doubt recognise; it was all he could muster in the final end times of their relationship. “so much progress, langely. for a minute there, we all thought we’d have to suffer your disdain for a while longer.”

there was a quiet pause from his stepmother across the table --- no doubt listening in --- and she watched with a careful, worried brow. ethan paid her no mind, instead turning to face alice. “high time you might remember, that no matter how many jaunts to paris, no matter how much time you spend away, you’re still one of us.” you’re still apart of me, goes unsaid --- but ethan rather thinks she would be able to see it in his eyes, all the same. he never had a poker face around her. there was a wobble in his gaze; the briefest glimpse of an anguished, grieving man --- mourning the loss of child and soulmate --- before he blinked, shutting it down and pushing back his chair.  “if you’ll excuse me.” he turned without response --- heading for the library --- and hoping to any and all gods, that no one followed him.

[tcmpestuovs]

ELI:

eli follows lucas’ gaze, out of habit and curiosity, a small smile tugging at his lips as the pair bantered back and forth. he wondered much the same thing, of their futures, intertwined and otherwise. some years earlier, he’d have never thought himself one to have a best friend, much less a person he saw himself spending his future with. now he had both, though the latter he’d still been remiss to admit to ali. it was a territory he was unfamiliar with and it made him nervous – but in the best ways possible. ( he still wasn’t all too sure what that future he envisioned entailed exactly. marriage? maybe. they’d played newly engaged a fair few times now and each instance had him wondering if she’d be that affectionate for real, if she’d keep her hands on him even when it was inappropriate or downright illogical. and truth be told, he was a sucker for kids. the sticky, chubby hands and loud laughter, the temper tantrums and sleepless nights. it wouldn’t be a bad life to have. )  

he scowled a little at that, though it passed just as quickly because lucas was right, they both knew it too. “thanks for the reminder, buddy. i’ll be sure to never let you remain ignorant to your shortcomings, literally.” he eyed him curiously as lucas seemed to consider his question, telling eli all he really needed to know. there was a somebody and they were something, didn’t take much to figure out who once the pieces fell into place. he vaguely recalled a short, brunette woman who’d captivated lucas’ attention – it’d been some months back now, but lucas had gone relatively quiet on the hookup front since.  

it made eli happy, to know that lucas was happy and enjoying himself. he wasn’t alone in having found some joy in their more than occasionally hellish organisation and it made him feel a little less selfish about having found ali. intentionally or not, he’d spent more than a few afternoons with his head buried between her thighs as opposed to buried in plans. “claudia.” he nodded, a grin of his own appearing at the way lucas’ face lit up. “that’s how it happens, ain’t it? they come sauntering into our lives, looking every bit a torture we’ve designed for ourselves…” eli’s grin turned into a soft smile, “then they’re all we can think about.” he huffed a laugh and looked at lucas, “i mean, one look at you that night told me all i needed to know. she had you from the second you picked her up, right?”

“talk shit all you want. i’m comfortable with my height, mr six foot three.” lucas replied, utterly non-plussed. “i get my own weather and everything.” he was still taller than claudia --- but then again, it wasn’t hard to do so, when she topped out barely at his shoulder. ( the thought leaves an amused, fond feeling dragging through his chest. of his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his embrace, of forehead kisses and lifting her into his arms. of legs around his waist and lucas buried deep and --- he had to stop thinking of this. he had to stop. he was at work and she was at home and he was going to have to be here at least, for a few more hours. )

lucas’ closed his eyes, snorting a little. “maybe not the second, since i’d like to give my pride a little credit. but... pretty close after that.” he remembered that night --- the way the slim cut of the dress pooled around her frame; the way she’d smiled and grinned; the light dusting of make-up on her face only enhancing the classic beauty she already had. he was gone from the moment he met her --- even if he didn’t realise it till months after the fact. “she came out in this fucking dress, man. and thank fuck it was dark, cause i swear, i was hard for half the drive over just thinkin’ about what was underneath.” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “and now look at me.”

his arms crossed over his chest. “sitting out in the freezing cold, joyously remembering how hot she is, was --- and too fuckin’ far away from her to do anything about it.” lucas snorted. “and if the way you were lookin’ at that brunette number the other night was anything to go by, you ain’t bottoming for anyone else anytime soon either.” ( oh he’d seen that, too. how she’d become a sudden fixture on their scene --- though lucas didn’t known much past a name; and he wouldn’t have been wrong in assuming that was fake, either. the reality was, it filled him with a small sense of dread. they’d done this before --- with lucas, with eli, with the other guys in their crew --- falling prey to pretty women and pretty men they thought they could trust; only to find out any number of horrible secrets about them. usually they managed to nip it in the bud before anything major happened --- but the thought always left lucas with some sense of anxiety. ) it was his job to protect eli; and he didn’t want to be the one, having to make the call on this woman --- espeically not if eli was enamoured as lucas suspected he was.

he sighed. “my life, ladies and gents.”

[tcmpestuovs]

VI:

therapy, another of her new adventures, had told her several things already. the first being that she was incredibly, embarrassingly flawed – though vi had already pieced it together herself, somewhere between his leaving and her blunt promises to evan that they were done. ( had been for a long while, in all honestly, should’ve been done the second she met stuart and knew she wanted him. at first, all she’d wanted was that itch to be scratched, her curiosity answered. ) her therapist, an older woman by the name of dela, hadn’t sugar-coated things. vi had been in the wrong, could’ve been more mature, could’ve avoided hurting less people – herself included.  

admitting it had been hard, especially when her first instinct was to lash out. then, she got over herself. it took more than a few sessions, but she’d begun to open up. on losing her parents and coming to realise that their relationship had left her with a lacking view of emotional vulnerability, on closing herself off unnecessarily, on loving stuart and fucking it all up.  

she’d never loved someone the way she loved stuart before. it wasn’t a smug sense of ownership, of having gotten someone that everybody else wanted, it wasn’t the kind of relationship she’d had with evan. of convenience and barely concealed boredom on her part. stu made her feel alight, made her feel like she could do anything or be anyone. ( and she’d lied to him. that was another thing dela had encouraged her to confront: how often she lied to others and herself. she’d always prided herself on being blunt, when really she couldn’t help herself. she’d lie about how she was, about where she was and what she was doing. ) and for what?  

none of it had been worth it in the end. she was still lonely, unsatisfied in every facet of her life, unsure of what to do now. her job was fine, but she hated going home and had no real goals in life. her true love was photography, but her polaroid had fallen to the wayside when she’d had no drive to go out, unless it was for work.  

vi stared at him now for an embarrassingly long moment or three, so relieved and utterly terrified. he looked great, though anything was better than the last time they’d seen each other, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his waist. ideally she’d bury her nose in his chest and inhale, squeeze him tight and tell him to drive her back to his. instead, her fingers nervously came up to her hair and she laughed quietly. “so did i.” she admitted, cheeks warming a little, “but sometimes change is good.” then, she swallowed and met his eyes, “did you want a coffee or something to eat?”

he latched onto the offer with both hands --- refusing to let go. “coffee’d be great actually.” carefully, stu shifted closer, venturing further into the diner; his hand squeezing her hip as he passed by her to the counter. ( he wasn’t sure if that was outside of the lines and boundaries they’d drawn all that time ago --- they’d been different people with different views; and even in the last time they saw each other, he’d pretty much screamed at her that she wasn’t the woman he was in love with. he wasn’t sure of anything really --- other than the fact it’d been a month, it’d been so fucking long since he touched her, held her, felt how soft and silky her hair was; and a whole litany of other sinful ideas. he couldn’t resist in a way --- stu just hoped to god she didn’t mind. )

he slipped into one of the stools, shifting to keep his gaze on her the whole time. "i... uh.” stu cleared his throat. despite the weeks of group therapy that had helped him broach this particualr topic --- how to talk about it, how to think about it; how to properly apologise to someone and take accountability for it; all of it fell out of his head in that one moment. stu’s gaze shifted down, instead staring at vi’s boot clad feet --- before shifting further up, dragging along the length of her stocking-clad legs beneath the short skirt. 

( god, he fucking missed her. he fucking wanted her. almost as much as the first time he’d seen her --- maybe even more so. the urge to abandon the hard conversation --- and skip straight on through to the good stuff, the fun stuff --- was real, raw and visceral. he wants her --- in all the ways he had her before. kissing her outside the diner, making out in his truck before work. spending nights and weekends at his place, barely leaving bed. he wants to bend her over various surfaces, wants to bury himself between her thighs till he forgets his own name, forgets the time they spent apart and forgets everything about that fight of theirs. he wants. ) it’s hard to believe, that he really ever managed to be apart from her; managed to realise that he was anything other than horribly, stupidly in love with her. 

a light blushed stained his cheeks, and stu averted his gaze just so. “i wanted to apologise. i know... i know we said a month, and it’s been a little longer than that...” he shrugged a little. it wasn’t an excuse, by any means --- but he wanted to offer it all the same. “shit just happened. i got caught up. but that wasn’t fair to you, and for that i’m sorry.” he frowned, glancing at her. “it won’t happen again.” a slight, bashful smile lit up his features. “i’m, uh. getting better with deadlines.”

there was a pause --- and stu cleared his throat. "how --- how’ve you been?”

[tcmpestuovs]

LOLA‌:

CLOSED STARTER FOR - @BRCAKABLEHEAVENS

lola hadn’t set foot inside his restaurant for two years, perhaps even longer. back then she’d had a stud in her nose and a chip on her shoulder, plenty of things to avoid confronting and someone worth keeping around. hindsight was funny like that; it was inconveniently belated and usually prompted by something upsetting. it wasn’t as if lola hadn’t thought of james in the days, months, years since she’d deleted his number and disappeared – a lifechanging decision hot on her heels as she left behind all that she was. she had thought of him often, when she woke up in a cold, empty bed, when she heard that song he used to hum along to in his car. when she saw her baby boy grin at her, his eyes bright and twinkling, as james had time and time again.  

but she’d known what she had to do, for her, for her baby. he was married, she needed to grow up, it couldn’t have worked. or so she’d told herself when she deleted his number, changed hers, got a new, more consistent job. all because the test had said yes, because she knew that choosing someone in the face of a baby never did anyone any good. her parents were a good show of that. but then she’d seen him in the bank, all as henry sat on her hip, babbling happily as he was prone to do. holding the door for her as if it were nothing, smiling politely, acting as if he’d never met her in his life. as if they hadn’t, for months, been everything to one another.  

that was why lola found herself nursing a non-alcoholic drink at the bar in his restaurant, with an itch that she had to satiate. an overwhelming guilt that had made a comfortable home on her shoulders the minute she neglected to tell him that she was pregnant and had followed her ever since. since then, she’d gone back to blonde, taken the stupid stud out of her nose, cleaned up her act and her attitude all in one. she was a more put together person now, she was an adult. she had to do this, that’s what adults did. or so vicki said.  

she stirred and stirred, sipped and stirred some more, waiting for what felt like forever. waiting for james to emerge, partly hoping he wouldn’t. the last time they’d been in this restaurant, he’d led her outside to kiss her senseless against her car, his large hands at her hips, at her thighs as she laughed and pushed at his chest. they’d been happy then, the happiest lola had ever been. before she’d been sitting in her bathroom, knees to her chest as she watched the stick confirm what she’d already suspected.

a door opened behind the bar, drawing her gaze up from her glass, to land on the man she’d been desperately avoiding for two years, three months and any number of days. lola swallowed roughly, straightened on her stool, and looked at him. words failed her as he met her gaze and she felt herself sink right back into the stool.  

“james.” she managed, “do you have a few minutes to talk?”

in many ways, it didn’t feel like it’d been years since he’d last seen her. it didn’t feel like she’d changed her number, cut off all contact, dropped out of all her old haunts and locales, never speaking to him again. it just felt as if she was... on a trip. in a place with bad cell service, and it’d only be a little while longer till she was home; till she was back with him. it felt like he was holding his breath --- constantly waiting, watching, hoping and praying she’d one day turn up out of the blue, like nothing was wrong.

of course, life didn’t work like that --- and it wasn’t long before james realised that she wasn’t coming back. if ever. ( he wondered, what he did. started combing through the mess of their last interactions --- in amongst the sex, the dates, the love --- did he do something wrong? did he fuck up? he knew that he was still married, yes --- that rachel had dug her feet in at the mere mention of divorce; that she’d threatened to go public with any number of his past transgressions. james had only backed off because it would have put lola at risk in doing so --- and he wanted to find a way to protect her first, before anything else happened. ) had he waited too long? did she finally decide he wasn’t worth it --- and cut her losses? could he really blame her if she had? he was a washed up, 40-something major league pitcher. his wrist was shot, his knees had seen better days --- and there he was, roaming around with a twenty-something like they weren’t a mid-life crisis. ( the worst of it, he thinks, is that she was anything but. she was like coming up for fresh air --- like drowning, being unable to breathe, to see anything past the water --- until lola. ) 

he was aware that putting so much on her wasn’t fair, that it was selfish --- but james had also, never really learnt to apologise for the affairs of his heart.

life went on. he expanded the restaurant; he learned to live without lola, living off the memories he had of her, trying to sustain himself with that and naught little else. he divorced rachel, finally --- ignored the stories that came out in response, and merely answered them with a solitary existence. despite what the papers liked to claim, there was no girlfriend. no baby. no life. eventually, he faded out of his existence.

till that moment. it was lola. different --- no nose stud, no dark brown hair. but still lola. and instantly, it’s as if he’s thrown back into everything he once felt --- the love, the need, the lust, the adoration, the awe. it consumed him where he stood, behind the bar, hand clutching an envelope of tips he had to distrubute to the bar staff that night. she sat on her stool, drink in front of her --- back straight before sinking right back down again.

he wants to cry. maybe scream a little. he wants to tell her to get the fuck out --- because it’s been two years, three months and seventy five days, and it’s only now, that thinking of her name and thinking of how her hair looked splayed across his pillow, tangled in his hands --- doesn’t hurt. it’s only now, that he can think of how they were, and not want to break things. he kept his distance --- because that was clearly what she wanted --- so why, now, of all times? what had changed?

his vision clouds over a little; james blinking in rapid succession to clear it. “i ---” his mouth parts, before snapping shut. “lola. what?” he let out a breath, a soft, slightly bitter, yet slightly amused, exhale. “what the fuck. its --- what?” he took a slight step closer. “it’s been two years, three months and seventy five days --- and now, you want to talk?”

[tcmpestuovs]

ANTON‌:

“destiny, gold, the need to help those who need it.” he replied airily, gaze glassy as he looked to her again, “whatever you wish to call it. it’s all stupidity that leaves me here, in your presence, begging for your help.” anton sighed, looking away from her finally, feeling a pang of something he wasn’t all too sure he could blame on his injuries. distance had as much a part in his missing her as the time had, but she’d wanted it. explicitly wished it in fact. so, he’d done just that. left and never, maybe occasionally, looked back – mourned what they’d had, what they could have had. he thought of her often, thought of seeking her out once more, apologising for whatever offence he had caused to make her want him gone. ( there was something lingering there, a warning from the very man who’d made him what he was. don’t form attachments, boy. and under no circumstances are you to fall in love, it makes the heart vulnerable, to beasts and women alike. clegor hadn’t ever said as much, but anton supposed he’d never felt much of anything for anyone. not with the way he talked as they travelled together. when the old man had died, horrifically, two years earlier, anton hadn’t shed a tear. just as he would’ve wanted. the whole thing had shaken him though, left him wondering if he were doing the right thing. he was so many years, decades upon decades, into this now – he knew no other way. )  

he knew her though. “perhaps.” he replied coolly, “it’s only fair.” then it was his turn to snort, “if it were a single occasion, i might agree. but i seem to recall instance, after instance, after instance of my having ensured your pleasure.” ( natalya had guessed correctly in what his thoughts of her might have contained, even if she refused to believe as much. the lonelier of nights saw him thinking of how her hair smelled as he buried his face into his coat, which smelt of death and not of her, much to his chagrin. those nights saw him with his hand wrapped tightly around him as he thought of how she felt around him, wet and so deliciously controlled in her movements. the noises that still struck him at the most inopportune of times. he wanted her so desperately at times that his chest ached. but she’d never know if he died in that inn, on that bench, right then. )

anton hummed quietly, thick lashes slowly blinking open and closed as he tried to focus on her voice. “unsurprising.” he answered, swallowing dryly and looking to the ceiling, “i’ve heard the stories… the beasts i’ve encountered because men were monsters, because they picked their petty squabbles and let many die for their causes.” it made him wonder whether it were better than he was who he was, no soldier, no honoured general buried beneath mud awaiting his grisly return. no, he was a witcher – killing all who had escaped his fate, or perhaps the reversal, all those who’d been doomed to his, perhaps, alternate path. he licked along his bottom lip, trying to rid himself of the dryness he felt across his skin. that and the itchy heat that he knew was the poison but was bothered by all the same. “maybe, when i’m better, i can see that the farm land is cleared.” he said softly, nodding to himself as he did so. “i’d rather like a chance to redeem myself after this mess.”

there fell a silence, like so many of their others, comfortable but underlying something unsaid – something important. he knew what he wanted to say. i should’ve fought you on it. told you i wasn’t leaving. i could’ve. he’d wanted to, when the anger and slight hurt had faded, but then it was too late. he was already hours away, wondering why the hell he hadn’t listened to clegor. the magic began to feel more tangible to him and he sighed, closing his eyes as she spoke again. “no? that makes one of us.” he said bluntly, before amending, “at least, i was.”

he’d worked it out – on many a creature, as bloodthirsty in facing them as they were in attacking him. now, anton just found himself tired. again, he wondered if his wounds had more to do with that than her presence. “you’ve never made them easy to know, natalya.” he cracked one eye open to look at her, brows knitting, then he blinked and looked to his hands. bloodied from where he’d pressed against the wound, the backs of them scarred where they hadn’t been on their last meeting. he felt too old for the whole mess of things they’d left behind them, in body and mind. just as you confuse your own injuries. “i’m elated to hear it,” he replied dryly, “thank you for your help.” he sat up straighter, ignoring the slight twinge it caused, and looked at her with more clarity than moment’s previous. “what’s your price? if you don’t mind my rudeness, i’ll be off to bathe and eat my weight’s worth in meat and bread.”  

usually, in the cold, dark, winter nights, she thought of him. she thought of their final moments, she thought of how she felt when she’d said they needed to part ways. at that point, they’d been travelling together far longer than natalya had planned for --- she had told herself it would be months, maybe half a moon at best. and yet so many solstices had passed since then; to the point where it began to feel as if anton was an extension of her and vice versa. how many people had they fought together? how many towns and villages had they saved? monsters slain? so, so many. too, too many. she’d begun to think she could do this --- have a life, like that, with him; before a local mage had pointed out a startling fact. something which natalya hadn’t, till that point, dared consider.

what will do you with your life, girl, if he dies? that’s the path he roams. one day, a monster will be too much for him --- and what will you do?

natalya hadn’t known. she wished she had. wished she could say that she would move on, be free, find someone else. wished she could say that her life didn’t start with anton --- and it wouldn’t end with him, either. but that was the curious thing, about love and the emotions that came along with it --- so very confusing, so very... muddled. for the briefest weeks, she’d entertained compelling him. using her gifts to have him give up the swords and the life he was bound to lead. she could do it, you know --- it wouldn’t have been hard. he wouldn’t have been the first man to use such a spell on; and it wouldn’t have really meant anything to her at all. ( but in that moment, she couldn’t. the wound would have been too good, too great, for natalya to do anything about it. she could do any number of things to herself --- but she could never do that to anton. )

so she left. so she made him leave, too. and here they were now. “trying to see the farm land cleared will land you back in this very spot, anton, and you know it.” natalya clucked her tongue just so. “there’s no redemption in these parts. only men who are thankful that some, that any, will try.” her gaze flickered back to the wounds --- silence wrapping around them, and natalya thankful nothing else would be said. ( it gives her the briefest moment to try and capture her thoughts. for years, she’d been set upon the idea that she’d never see him again. that she wouldn’t have to see him again if she didn’t want too --- that was the power and the beauty of choice; of free will; of being a woman who could charge whatever she wanted for her skills and services. but now, natalya had --- and she was flung head first into everything she once felt; as if it never really left her in the first place. )

“and you did, anton?” the mage quipped with a slight snort. “how many nights had i asked you anything --- from the mundane to the unique, --- only to be met with a shrug or a grunt?” finally, she looked up at him, her brows raised in demand. he was always a vexing creature, to say the least --- and there was a point in time where she’d found that attractive. alluring. enticing. now, she just found it annoying, the mark of a petulant boy who couldn’t confront what he really wanted; or what he really needed. “i was left in the cold just as much as you were.”

maybe they never really knew each other, in the end. they certainly didn’t know --- with natalya’s locks dyed blonde and faint scars all the more apparent; with the magic falling from her fingertips and words spoken like a wise old thing. she snorted. “because you have always been the picture of politeness and manners, have you?” she shook her head. “your conversation and company is payment enough, witcher.” natalya raised a brow. “do you need help mounting the stairs?”

[tcmpestuovs]

CLAUDIA‌:

she can’t help it, though she supposes she should at least try to – he’s not her problem, is he? claudia was hired to be his date, she’d done that. she’d walked around the room, flirted with him, did as he asked without argument. her part in all of this was done. ( except she’s not done, not even close, not if she has her way. she wants to see him again, not in the capacity of him paying her – though, she can’t complain when it means another healthy addition to her bank balance. she has to remind herself of that, some three years ago she had nothing, she was no one. now she was her own person and could support herself, could treat herself the way she deserved to be treated. even if it meant playing aloof. ) she doesn’t play aloof now though, thick eyebrows rising as her lips twitch, more at his attempt to lighten the mood than for actually feeling better. “no, not a bit actually.” she replied, lifting the napkin and frowning softly. “but, i’m inclined to believe that you’re used to this.”

and just like that, he confirmed her suspicions. “just a little blood.” she sighed, letting her hand fall as he moved closer, her frown turning into a smile as his hand laid against her waist. at the closer proximity she can smell him all over again, wants to bury her face in the sliver of skin that his shirt exposes. teeth dig into her bottom lip and she blinks slowly, long eyelashes batting as she eyes him up and down. even with a rapidly swelling eye, perhaps including the bruises and blood, claudia finds her hands itching to explore what lay beneath the nice clothes. as if he’s read her mind, he talks of cleaning himself up. “you got somewhere safe to clean up?” she asked, innocently of course, but erring on the side of curious. “can’t have you getting even more roughed up.” she smiled, smoothing her hand over his collar and shrugging, about to say more when the crash occurs – making her flinch minutely, she instinctively moves away from the noise and right into his side, hearing the yelling, wishing to be as far from it as can be.  

she pressed her lips together, looking towards the source of the noise – not out of interest but a need to affirm that none of that trouble was heading for her. there was always that risk when playing with fire, of getting burned. but she’d avoided it thus far and wanted to keep it that way. lucas looked no more impressed, though she did silently muse that frustration suited him. she supposed just about anything would.  

claudia didn’t hesitate, in looking right back up at him, nor in smiling at his offer – it’s still not an order, but a choice. a choice that may very well have been made the second she saw him and in how he continued to show a careful regard for her boundaries. she did raise an eyebrow slightly though, teasing as she leaned in, “angel, i know your car is here. you picked me up, remember?” she squeezed his arm, her other hand coming up to run through his hair affectionately, “they really did a number on you, i just hope you repaid the favour.” she slid off the stool carefully, fixing her dress and looping her arm through his in but a few moments. “lead the way, but for all this,” claudia gestured to his face and torso, “if you’re amenable, i’ve got a perfectly good stash of pain medication and the best water pressure known to man.”  

lucas shrugged a little too casually. “safe’s a relative term.” in their life, there were too many close calls to ever really be safe. he’s got the scars to prove it, too --- knife wounds and bullet scars, cracked ribs that never quite healed right and a litany of bruises at any given point. if he were anyone else, lucas would be considered a mess --- a danger to himself, and to everyone around him. but because of their life, their jobs, he was considered to be the best. he wondered what that made him --- pathetic, or just this side of a genius. “but... yeah. i do have a place.” ( lucas was barely there most of the time. a loft he’d bought on the cheap and converted for a shit ton of money --- though the funds barely made a dent in the wealth he’d managed to accumulate through his work for eli. it was that same work which kept him from the place that he called home. why bother with it if he was going to turn right round in a few hours and be back there? why bother with it if he had any number of enemies and foes probably tailing him --- no. best to keep the place on the down low, and only bother with it for dates. and clean ups. )

she moved instinctively into his side --- lucas’ good hand coming up, stroking down her back in slow, soothing motions. his gaze had narrowed at the commotion, but it softens the longer he looks at her. “...right. i knew that.” he coughed awkwardly, smiling a little to lessen the blow to his ego. maybe he’d done more damage to his head than he first thought. ( it wouldn’t have been the first time that lucas managed to cop a concussion in a fight --- nor would it be the first time his memory and recollection of events was somewhat compromised because of it. he tried his best, of course. they all did --- but there was only so much one could do in the thick of it, avoiding flying fists and smart blows to the back of the head. )

and of course --- the idea of her place, of decent pain medication and a good shower, the company of beautiful woman to soothe the ailes of his wounds --- it’s far too tempting. it’s everything he wants, everything he needs. the only thing that could make it better was food --- real food, as opposed to the nibbles and snacks served tonight at the party --- and even that isn’t too hard to acquire. but something stops him. “and you’re okay with me at your place?” his hands rises, brushing a loose stray of hair away from her face. “that doesn’t break some cardinal, personal rule you have of yours?” because he knew that each escort was different --- but generally, in experience, practice and knowledge --- most of them had a firmly drawn line between the personal and the professional. no real names, no real addresses. an express discussion of boundaries and the like. whenever he engaged the skills and services of whomever for whatever, on any given night --- lucas always made a point to tread carefully. ( with ava, on that night, things had gotten murky, and fast. it didn’t take long for lucas to consider the probability and the possibility of bending her over the nearest surface; or even merely settling her down in a bed, burying himself between her thighs till the sun rose. he broke his own rules of touching in a public space, too --- a hand at her waist, brushing along her back, smoothing across her arm. pushing the hair out of her eyes and kissing her cheek. they were touchy. he was thinking of the carnal and the sinful. they’d long since passed the idea of escort and client --- but lucas couldn’t bring himself to care. ) “not to say i ain’t amendable, or whatever --- just.” he shrugged slightly. “i’d like a second date, at some point, and i ain’t sure that’s guaranteed if i go back to your place.”

[tcmpestuovs]

ALICE‌:

CLOSED STARTER FOR - @BRCAKABLEHEAVENS 

alice held no ill will towards harrison heywood. she was stubborn in that fact.  

what had transpired between herself and his son, now nearly two years previous, was their business and their fault alone. a flirtation turning into fun, turning into his ring on her finger and the promise of more. from there came the test, and then the hospital, until it all came crashing down around her. she didn’t resent harrison, nor did she wish to see his friendship with her father dwindle, as a result. he’d nearly been her father in law, after all. they got along well, even now, even after everything.

however, that didn’t mean her current situation was any more enticing. alice hadn’t been warned of ethan’s presence at harrison’s birthday dinner, though one might’ve argued it was to be expected given they were father and son. but last she’d heard, he was overseas – where? she hadn’t a clue and she didn’t care. that was what she told herself, repetitively, as she looked pointedly down at her plate. she didn’t care about ethan heywood, he’d lost that right, lost any right to know her mind, body, or soul. he didn’t even deserve her attention, something she stubbornly sought to deny him as she ate silently. their fathers bantered as always, enjoying one another’s company as if their children weren’t sat awkwardly beside one another for the first time in so many months.  

she thanked her unintended foresight for the way her hair fell in a wavy curtain over one shoulder – shielding her from his continued glances, even if she still felt them. ignoring them as best she could was a troublesome task, but she refused to let him win whatever game he was playing. showing up at the restaurant, looking every bit as handsome and healthy as he had the last time they’d spoken. or perhaps argued was a more apt description. alice had stopped holding her tongue the second he inferred he was leaving her; and he hadn’t taken kindly to the words she’d used to describe him after that.  

now, they sat side by side, her slowly picking away at a piece of salmon she wasn’t even sure she wanted. pretending to be anything but in love with the man who’d already broken her heart once. it made her immaculately lined lips purse as polite conversations continued around them, her fingers tightening on her cutlery as she caught her father’s gaze. the word traitor came to mind as she thought of how many opportunities he’d had to warn her, yet had said not a word. evading his apologetic gaze, she exhaled softly through her nose and pierced half a potato on her fork.  

then, without meaning to she bit out, “if you intend to stare at me all night – might i suggest you be more subtle about it, heywood?”

in truth, he hadn’t even planned to be at the birthday dinner that evening; for he’d been warned of alice’s presence in advance --- and quickly decided it was probably better for all parties involved if he faked an illness and sat this one out. ( he’d had an ephiany of sorts while he was away --- standing in the midst of busy, crowded streets in singapore; the heat burning through his linen shirts --- that ethan heywood had fucked up. while a lot went wrong with them in the end, their breakup was, in large part --- his own fault. he couldn’t have been blamed, he thought. the grief was real and painful and all consuming --- to the point where it still robbed him of breath if he thought about it for too long. ) but he could recognise his own faults.

ethan had always been a little too good at that.

so he wasn’t going to go. he was going to stay home, watch nature documentaries and spend too much money buying nice scented candles before cancelling the order when no longer, under the influence of two bottles of red wine. that was till his step-mother called, begged for his attendance, and promised he wouldn’t be sat next to alice, if she ever did decide to show up.

he should have known never to trust her, the fucking meddler that she was. ethan could recognise, could understand, that it came from a good place. that she just wanted her children --- step or otherwise --- to be happy. and no one had ever really seen ethan as happy as he was, when he was with alice. ( but there was so much that they didn’t know, so much that he’d never told them. how she’d been pregnant and lost the baby; how ethan had withdrawn, cutting his losses before he even knew what he was doing. pushing her away, instead of fighting to keep her by his side. ethan had always known he was a bit of an asshole --- but his break-up with alice had only confirmed the hard, harsh truth. ) that no matter how much he wanted her, wished for her, longed for her --- she wouldn’t be his. not again; not after the right mess of things he’d made.

ethan had only glanced at her once, maybe twice. possibly three times. it was just that she looked so good --- the sunkissed glint to her skin, the freckles on the bridge of her nose. the depth of her brown eyes. the hint of her collarbones around the cut of her dress. she looked so much better than his dreams had told him --- and ethan couldn’t help but look. once, twice, maybe three times. defintely not four.

he let out a snort, somewhat undignifed for the birthday dinner they were seated at. “if you intend to quip at me all night, --- might i suggest you be a little more softer with it, langley?” his gaze flickered to his potatoes, and he pushed one around the curve of his plate. “there are others seated at the table tonight. not that you much glanced up to notice.”

[tcmpestuovs]

RAMONA‌:

ramona was stubborn – blame her mother, blame the women around her who’d instilled a need to voice her opinion and stand her ground. but it was just as much her, right down to the bone. she’d always strived to dig her heels in and have her mind known, her soul too. it’s why the secrecy of it all, of who she was, hurt so deeply. ( she felt a fraud, knew she’d be called as such if it were to emerge amongst the rumours that already swirled – of pregnancies and attachments to any man she was so much as pictured with. it was infuriating, but she also knew that many of those rumours came from her own people. she couldn’t complain, wouldn’t when it gave her more time to figure out her muddled feelings and swimming head – especially on nights like this. )  

“i know.” mona replied weakly, gaze focused firmly on her feet, “that’s what makes me feel guilty. you aren’t like that, you aren’t fickle with friends and i should know better.” there were days where she wondered when, not if, dani would find someone. not just a friend, but a companion, a partner in all. how could she not? she was bright, beautiful, hilarious and kind – everything that ramona had always wanted to be, but also what ramona had come to know she wanted. the day would surely come, sooner rather than later, where daniela’s love life would be splashed across every column – affectionate photos, perhaps. candids or worse, photos taken and posted by dani herself. the thought made ramona feel sick, with the urge to tell dani everything, to kiss her until everything else faded away. but she hadn’t the nerve, not in the many times dani had been so close, lining ramona’s lips for a shoot, grinning at her beneath unnatural lights that made her look like a goddess. ( even remembering those times made mona swoon in a way most unlike her. but dani had rendered her that, a romantic, yearning girl who only wanted the woman she loved to look her way and feel the same. )

how about you let me decide how i’ll react to whatever this thing is, okay? ramona wanted to cry some more, but not out of distress – out of gratitude. daniela continued to be the person she could rely on, through thick and thin. it made her heart race and she licked across her bottom lip, hesitating to meet dani’s gaze again. because those are my feelings inside of me. they aren’t for you to just fear about and hypothesize on. she couldn’t possibly feel the same, right? it couldn’t be that while ramona had been dreaming of her, kissing and holding daniela, of laughing with her as lovers did, that dani had been doing the same. how are you to know if i’ll hate you or not, if you don’t even tell me what’s going on? another tear slid down ramona’s cheek and she leaned into dani’s hand instinctively, green eyes trailing along her face before she softly replied, “i can’t bear to lose you. but i feel as though i’m losing part of myself every day.”  

she exhaled shakily, hand moving up to cup dani’s elbow, before she leaned in slightly. “daniela,” ramona said, her voice wavering slightly, “i’ve missed you… us, so much. but… it took me so long to figure out why.” she squeezed dani’s elbow gently, before tugging her a little closer, her eyes shining but no longer welling with tears. “it’s because i don’t just adore you as a friend, i do not admire you in the way peers admire one another.” she swallowed roughly, her gaze dropping to dani’s mouth before she surged forward, as if possessed by a force more confident than herself. she kissed dani desperately, mouth slotting over her friend’s as her hand fell to her waist tentatively.  

dani couldn’t help but frown. if mona knew she wasn’t like that --- then why was she acting like she was? there was something painful in the admission. all dani had tried to be was a good friend to mona. a great friend. even in spite of her own feelings, her own desires --- she’d set it all aside in order to be what mona needed, at any given point. ( she dropped jobs to be a pillar of support for her friend, she neglected old foes and old friends; she’d worked on her days off in order to pay for expensive dinners and gifts. she’d relished every moment that mona blessed her with --- daring to pretend that their friendship could one day progress to the path of more. ) of course, she’d long since divorced herself of such delusions. while dani had no clue which way mona swung --- it wasn’t any of her business; nor were the countless rumours of pregnancies and affairs and new, shiny, sparkling boyfriends. at the end of the day, what mattered, was that mona was happy.

( and privately, dani wondered if mona had been happy in years; for every time she saw her, those dark circles seemed a little bit deeper. )

standing there in that bathroom --- half lost to her own thoughts, half listening to mona --- t feels as if she’s watching this whole thing play out before her, as if it’s not dani in her own body, hearing this and watching that. it only worsens, as realisation somewhat dawns --- as hope dares to crest inside of her. she watches with wide eyes as ramona’s mouth moves, her gaze flickering and then --- surging forward to kiss her.

for one moment, dani doesn’t move. dani doesn’t speak, breathe, anything of the sort. her entire existence is consumed with --- holy fucking shit. how often had she dreamed of this? how often had she thought of this? of what ramona’s lips would feel like under her own, how she’d taste in the midst of a kiss? of just how soft her skin would be, how warm she’d feel... it was entirely too much, bouyed by the fact she’d only dreamt of this moment last night --- though that dream ended sufficently dirter than dani had intended. ( she had long ago stopped feeling shame about the content of her dreams --- it was the nature of being in love with someone you couldn’t have, she supposed. it was going to happen, whether dani felt guilty or not. ) only now it’s different --- only now, this isn’t a dream. this is in fact, reality --- the very thing dani had wanted since she first saw mona wander onto that set; all long legged and smooth skin, wicked eyes and easy smile.

“oh.” dani breathed out --- and it was like snapping free from the curse. her own mouth slotted over mona’s tongue tracing the seem of her lips; she kissed back with fervor, with the bottled up passion she’d stored away, never to see the light of day or dawn. her own hand rested solidly at mona’s waist, before slipping around and down --- to firmly cup the curves of her ass. her lungs burned --- and dani, regretfully pulled away. “you ---” she breathed out, eyes having slipped shut. she didn’t travel far, her forehead coming to press against mona’s, and somehow --- feeling closer to her best friend than she had in days and weeks and months. since before europe --- that blasted trip that may or may not have ruined everything. “baby.” the nickname slipped out, sounding in a thick whine. “you had to do that when we’ve gotta go back out there?”

[tcmpestuovs]

ANTON‌:

he’d been no less enchanted on that night, of course. not that he’d ever said as much. anton was easily amused but just as quickly bored with things – he was by no means an apathetic person, in the ways many assumed witchers to be, but he was just as fickle. natalya though, from that first moment, that first fucking second, had drawn him in. he remembers every look, every touch, how it felt to take her bottom lip between his teeth. the noises she’d made, her nails digging into his back as he thrust just so, the smell of her as he buried his face between her perfect breasts. it had all kept him occupied on lonelier nights than this, with a tankard of ale leading to him in a bed, hand around his length as he thought of her some more. but it was more than that physical need.  

otherwise he wouldn’t let her in, let her touch him in ways like this, at his most vulnerable. he had more clothes on now than he had when she’d last touched him, but it was the asking for help that made him falter.  

anton can’t deny the slight disappointment he feels at her not responding the way she used to, no flush in her cheeks nor stuttering as she tried to answer – time has changed them both it’d seem. it’s left him wanting nothing more than to find her again, though not in these circumstances certainly, and made her all the more resistant to his joking around. “that might be so, but optimism has never killed anyone in my experience.” he answered, a bit more solemnly than her quip called for. had the tavern always been that warm? “as for my body, optimism mightn’t lie within it – but i’ve come to learn questioning destiny never does me any favours.” he licked along his bottom lip and shifted again, brows knitting as the pain radiated, throbbed, made his jaw clench.  

“you would delight in my pain? how cruel. i’ve only ever delighted in your pleasure, as you well know.” anton’s nose scrunched just so at the mintwort before his mouth, before he leaned in, keeping purposeful eye contact as his lips parted and he took it with his teeth. but not before he smirked a little. “yes, mage.” he said, chewing slowly as his eyes grew even more hooded. the warmth hadn’t eased and he felt as if he were alight, the need to remove layers growing as time passed. he exhaled slowly, willing himself to remain present. “a rundown.” anton repeated suddenly, eyes widening slightly as the mintwort started to take hold, easing the worst of the discomfort slowly. “well, i got this job from some frustrated farmer. he’d had to take up residence in the local tavern, much like this one, because scurvers had taken over his land. so, i go out there expecting one, two. three at most. instead…” he rolled his eyes half-heartedly, “there were far more than three, let me just say that fucking much.” his voice lowered slightly then, “i got attacked from all sides, could scarcely tell where i ended and they began.”  

the short burst of energy seemed to seep from him then as natalya’s hand moved over his abdomen, his heart quickening as she then pressed against the damage, his breath coming out in a sharp hiss. he chewed more insistently, legs splaying just so as he closed his eyes. anton had never been on the receiving end of her magic, hadn’t felt the way it seeped now into his very core, loosening the tension in his shoulders, the deep frown etched into his features. he let out a breathy sigh of relief and leaned into her, grateful to whatever was responsible for their paths having crossed again.

his eyes flew open and he looked at her, a sheen of sweat across his face, but his eyes seemed a little more focused as he huffed a laugh. “yes, natalya.” he couldn’t help but purr her name, always had and he sensed, always would. “i gave them a map and everything. i wanted nothing more than to be here, now, bleeding and sweating more than should be acceptable – with an angry mage for company.”  

“and that’s why you’re here is it? destiny leading you to fight packs of scurvers?” her voice is decidedly neutral --- playing no mind to the maelstrom of emotions inside of her. what had she been expecting, really? for anton to come looking for her? for anton to forsake all their final words, neglect what she’d requested of him --- seeking her out anyway? for anton to be like the person she’d built up in her mind in their years apart --- mooning over the loss of their relationship, their dynamic; spending his nights thinking of her and only her. ( the reality of course, was the opposite. anton hadn’t come looking for her. he hadn’t forsaken or neglected any of what once transpired --- and he wasn’t lingering on their coupling in the lonely nights. no, most likely he spent his days hunting, gathering, fucking some helpless tavern wench with barely a thought pared to her existence. it was a bitter, painful pill to swallow --- but natalya never neglected her medicines. ) “you’ve delighted in my annoyance, witcher.” nat snorted before quietly: “you’ve only gotten lucky, with the pleasure.”

( it couldn’t have been the furthest thing from the truth --- their nights, and often their days, and even a few moments in between --- were filled to the brim with pleasure. sometimes she was on top; sometimes he. sometimes it wasn’t even about that --- about riding the other into oblivion --- but something more. a deeper connection. something she felt when he looked into her eyes and thrust in, forcing her body to cede ground to his --- natalya giving it up happily and with a whimper for more. they had surpassed that of lovers, and into something which frightened her. something which reminded her far too much of her father, her mother --- of broken promises and forgotten children. it was only fitting, she supposed, how things had ended. at least their was no child caught in their dynamics. )

she merely watched as the herbs took effect --- could feel it too, as she began to work her magic over him. “we’re usually plagued by scurvers, here.” natalya murmured quietly. “there was a war, some years back. a petty thing over marriage, but. many died. too many. we didn’t have enough space to bury them in the plot, so we did what we could. buried them where they fell.” her brow itched into a frown. she’d only been new in town then --- hadn’t built up a trust or respect with the people who inhabited it. all she knew was they needed a mage and they needed one fast --- too many people were dying; and nat very well nearly died herself, in how quickly she burnt through her reserves of magic, healing the injured and the sick. slowly she learnt the truth, earned their trust. but by that point it had been too late. their town was almost leveled --- and they had no choice but to rebuild. fighting had never been on anyone’s mind ever since. “and since then... the fuckers haven’t left us. they feed on our dead and overrun the farm land we do have, burrowed underground.”

she fell silent, focusing on the tiny specks of magic that flew from her hands and burrowed deep into his flesh. they were a rainbow of colours and aglimations; some a deep violet, others a bright red. some golden as the sun, others a cool blue. magic was a curious thing, she found --- anytime natalya thought she understood it, it didn’t seem to make sense. “i’m not angry.” the mage murmured quietly, gaze not even flicking up from his wounds. frustrated, yes. sad, more so. tired and lonely and desperate for his touch, absolutely. but she wasn’t angry. she hadn’t been in years, if she was honest with herself.

staring at his wounds, they slowly, but surely, were beginning to close over; leaving naught more than fresh, angry pink scars in their wake. “you confuse my emotions.” as he so often did --- but natalya left that part out. “just as you confuse your own injuries. the bleeding has stopped, and the sweating will pass with the mintwort, anton.”

[tcmpestuovs]

HADES:

she’s so impossibly soft and warm against his hand, wet already, even though he’s barely begun. the fact that he can already smell her makes his mouth water all the more and he presses against her clit eagerly – wanting to hear more of her sweet noises, the way her lips part just so before they reach his ears. not only does she have some measure of power over him, she holds every ounce of power over him – even if she’s yet to know it. ( hades has been at her feet from the moment he saw her, though he was careful not to let on. couldn’t. he’d never thought it possible that she’d want him back, even if it were just as husband and wife. he’d never have imagined persephone, in all of her ethereal beauty and kindness, would want more of him. need more of him. but now that he knows he was mistaken, he’d never make that mistake again. he will give her precisely what she desires, for so long as she desires it, without hesitation, without regret. ) he watched, enrapt as her eyes opened up again, pupils darker than he’d ever seen them – filled with lust and love that he knows he won’t ignore.  

as seph rests her tiny, soft hands against his chest, his fingers slipped down, resting at her entrance and circling teasingly. he wants her so badly, his length throbbing at the mere thought of being buried in her cunt, that very same wet warmth squeezing around him as he spends himself inside her. he hasn’t even seen the rest of her, hasn’t laid eyes on her bared breasts and the undoubtedly delicious core that he is already taken with – hades isn’t so sure he’ll survive it. one finger dips into her, briefly, and he growls, deep in his chest. the way persephone touches him, reverently, her hands dancing across his skin in ways that shouldn’t leave him as wanting as it does. ( he wonders if she feels the same in that moment, wanting it all, wanting him to touch her everywhere at once – yet finding herself incapable of making a sound decision as to what to do next. )  

“never stop calling me that.” he grins right back, thumb lazily circling her clit as his finger returned, this time pushing right in – without a shred of resistance. his lips part, a low moan falling from them as his finger is surrounded with what could only be described as delicious heat. the noise it elicits as his finger begins to move, slowly, surely, is obscene and he ducks forwards to nip at her jaw. then, he feels her hands slide to his pants – working at the ties with ease, with purpose. hades can feel his cock, heavy and begging for her touch, stir all the more as she loosens what keeps them apart, before finally her hand moves down to grasp him.  at the first touch of her hand, he jerks forwards slightly – the fingers of his free resting atop her thigh and digging in gently.

the finger inside her stills, for only a moment as his head falls back and he exhales, slowly, shakily. oh. hades glanced back to seph, at first worried that he’s disappointed her – how is he to know, after all? he’s bedded nobody, been touched by nobody but her. then he catches the flush of her cheeks, gorgeous and enticing, and wonders how far down it travels. wonders if she isn’t quite the opposite of disappointed. ( that thought stirs an unfamiliar feeling, at least in a positive context – smugness. he wants to be everything she’s ever desired, wants to leave her simultaneously satiated and wanting more, eternally. ) that’s when his finger is joined by another and he continues the slow, steady pace. it seems she is of the same mind, because her hand moves against him once more and he moans softly.  

“better than right, beloved.” he manages, his eyes drifting shut as he hardened further in her grip. then one dark eye cracks open, his smile brightening at her curiosity. he leans in then, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “i am.” his fingers crooked slightly, seeking out her spot, the one that will make her see stars and keen, “but first… i’ll see that you are ready. is that okay?” he searched her eyes, surging forwards to rest his forehead against hers, “i want nothing more than for you to feel as good as i do.”

jolts of pleasure echo through her lithe frame as his fingers press against her, circle her entrance and eventually, slipping inside her. his finger breaches her and seph arches her back, a low, half-whined moan slips from her parted lips. yes --- that was what she wanted, that was what she’d been missing. his touch ruins her and blesses her in the exact span of a second, his finger moving; seph’s inner walls clamping down around him. she was so preoccupied with his length in her hand, questioning the reality of what it means to be a husband, that she almost misses the second finger sliding in to join the other, and she cries out just so --- legs falling further apart. “hades.” she whimpers, her hips jerking towards him as best they can while still planted on the cool onyx of the dining room table. his fingers crook and seph whines once more --- hard to hear his words when the pleasure he brings her drives her mad with wanting, with needing to feel and have more of him. she almost wants to tell him to do away with being ready --- she wants him, and wants him now; the rest they can figure out later as it goes on, can’t they?

“i do.” seph gasps, her hand falling away from his cock as she slumped back on the dining table. what a vision she must have looked --- red silk dress crumpled and creased, the fabric pushed up around her hips and exposing the smooth, milky caramel of her thighs; the wet heat of her cunt. even the straps had managed to slip down her shoulders, exposing more of her cleavage than ever before. ( if her mother could see her now, --- what would she think? her beautiful, pure, goddess of the vegetation and grain. there, spread out on the table, being debauched and defiled by the god of the underworld. would it matter that she was in love? would it matter that she desperately wanted this? would it matter that he was her husband, more of her husband than many wives could ever claim before? would any of it matter at all --- or would demeter care only that she hadn’t chosen this man, hadn’t orchestrated any and all of it? ) “i do feel good. you... you make me feel good.” 

her mouth parted to say more when his fingers crooked --- and a keen left seph’s lips, her face contorting in acute pleasure. this --- she’d never felt like this before. her own fingers --- on those few, lonesome, desperate nights; hadn’t even come close to making her feel like this --- the muscles of her legs were tight, her skin slipped with sweat and felt alight with warmth; her hips instinctively sought to follow the rhythm he set. there was nothing in her head --- nothing but the pure, uninterrupted sounds of her breathing, his breathing, mingling together. would it feel like this when he was inside her, or would it feel like more? would it be like this on all the nights they partook in this? seph couldn’t see her, or them --- forgoing any of this for the rest of their existences.

tears gathered in the corners of her eyes --- half cracking open, her hands now reaching for him. “please.” she let out a small sob, hands making for him. “i need to feel you. come... here.” she gasped, her hips arching towards him. “kiss me.”

[tcmpestuovs]

JASPER‌:

only adelaide has been capable of rendering him as flustered as he’d have been decades ago. of all the changes, for better and worse, he doubts that will ever shift. ( he can’t bring himself to hate it – not when it made her smile like that, in mischievous delight at having made him blush. jasper really had missed her, missed this. the teasing that left them both grinning like idiots, unable to hide how utterly in love they were with one another. neither of them had ever stopped, but they hadn’t known, had they? they’d thought the other lost for good, for real, and it’d pulled them into a seemingly unending pit of loneliness. for him it had manifested in working too hard, trying to fill the hole her absence left in his heart. now there was no hole, no pain, and it showed. )  

“i don’t remember hearing any complaints.” jas replied, “in fact, i’d say you encouraged me, if anything.” he couldn’t even remember when, amongst the two rounds they’d managed that morning, he’d left the mark – but there were no regrets. his slightly smug smile only proved as much. jasper could perhaps see how it was unfair though, given all of the marks she’d given him in return were out of sight, and therefore unlikely to be seen by anyone that wasn’t addie. ( he’d take it under advisement, but he also couldn’t promise anything when his face was buried in her chest and she was making those noises. he’d been bad enough when they were first together, horny teenagers who couldn’t get enough of one another. those years without her had only worsened things. he could scarcely be in the same room as her without wanting to pull her away and be downright filthy. )

he smiled softly and looked at her, still unsure how to process that they were. a family, messy and flawed, but back together all the same. better for it too. he’d never felt more certain in his role as a partner, as a father, and it felt amazing. “i know, love. promise.“ he let out a little laugh then, “long road… i like that.” there wasn’t a time where addie hadn’t been there for him, even when he fought against it. ever since she decided to spark up conversation with the wide-eyed kid all those years ago on set, he’s had her in his corner. he knows that and she knows the reverse is no less true. but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fretted over the girls – thinking that their parents were still at odds, still battling each other. he wanted them to know that they’d made things right, not just for their children, but for themselves too. jas shifted that little bit closer, then a bit more, before quietly, “it’s not just up to me. if you’re not ready, we can wait. i can wait.” he grinned, “we’ve got all the time in the world.”

addie scoffed --- but the sound couldn’t do anything to disguise the blush that stained her apple shaped cheeks. it was as if she was a teenager all over again: loud and enthusiastic, desperate and wanting. it was as if they’d only just discovered what it was to be together and were addicted --- and not, of course, married, divorced, parents, and together again. ( she knows that they’re the outlier to the rule. that most couples who divorce don’t end up like this. that it was luck, a whole lotta love and a stubborn dedication to their marriage, that had them back in this point. ) addie could almost cry when she thinks about it --- has cried on his chest one night, when she sobbed about how close she came to loosing it all with him --- and she’d never forgive herself for it. “i will neither confirm nor deny, that my words this morning, we’re encouragement.” 

she bit at her bottom lip, glancing up at him --- the expression eventually softening to match his own. was she ready? was she not ready? it was a question she hadn’t answered or explored within herself just yet --- too busy basking in being back together with jasper. going public again would invite the questions, the scrutiny --- the papparzai stationed outside their homes and their hotels, begging for a glimpse and a glance of jaddie back together again. it would be exposing their daughters to the worst parts of their occupation --- and asking them to be okay with it. ( and she knew they would be. their girls were some of the strongest little munchkins around. but it didn’t make it easier --- hadn’t been since they’d come home crying because they’d been teased on the playground about divorced parents. ) but when she thinks about it --- about the little things... getting to sleep in the same bed again. not having to worry about sneaking out at odd hours of the morning. of posting the softer, sweeter moments of their relationship here and there. of knowing she had him to come home too. of knowing that she could talk to jasper when things got bad again --- and they would, because she wasn’t dumb enough to think she’d be fine forever.

she wants what they had. what they could have again --- only better this time. stronger. 

addie shuffled closer, and tugged on his hand a little. she didn’t stop to glance around at the set, if anyone was there or watching or caring. “come here.” she murmured softly, reaching up onto the tips of her toes --- softly, barely, pressing her lips against his. it was something akin to the first kiss they’d ever shared. barely there and tentative, filled with softness, awkwardness, the beauty and pain of a first crush going right. they’re those same people in a way --- but miles from them, too. addie pulled away just so, lips still hovering above his. “i want to be your wife again, jasper. i want to be your love.” she peeled open her eyes, staring up at him lovingly, adoringly, assured of what was happening. “i don’t know if i’ll ever be sure about telling people. but i’m sure of you. always have been. so whenever you wanna do this, we can.”

[tcmpestuovs]

ISAMEL:

isa feels a rush of smug gratification at having guessed her correctly – for everything about her just screamed confidence. she didn’t seem the type of person to be dropping please and thank you and sorry without reason, without reward. it was ridiculously attractive. “nor should you be.” his lips twitched, a dimple flashing for all of a few seconds before he looked her over again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. nobody who looked as she did should ever have to explain themselves, to anybody. then he grinned widely, looking up at her through his lashes, “ah, of course. special parties.” isa didn’t have to think hard to catch onto her meaning – a spectacular feat given his attention laid somewhere between her thighs, wondering how she might feel, how she might taste. better yet; what kind of noises she’ll make.  

he followed her attentions to the windows, caring little for even if the people could see. he had no shame, no insecurities as to what he did and what he looked like while in the throes of it all. it was undeniably thrilling knowing that they were so close, yet completely oblivious to what was going on mere feet away. looking back to her, he found her smiling – as if lost in a pleasant thought. ( he knew what it was, potentially. of ascension and familial expectations, knowing enough details to discern that aliyah was being primed to inherit it all. if their brief acquaintance has told him anything, it’s that she’s deserving of it. quick witted, smart, confident enough to not be undermined. he wondered if the family’s affiliates liked her – wondered if they’d thrive beneath her rule. anything had to be better than his own brother, impulsive and eager to prove himself. sure, isa shared many of the same traits, traits he hated to recognise, but he wasn’t looking to lead anybody or anything. he knew his place and made the most of it. )

“i can only hope.” isa smirked, “in that vein…” he shifted forwards slightly, the chain around his neck hanging loosely as he tilted his head. “my name is isamel.” another flash of teeth, dimples, the teasing twinkle in his eyes, before he added, “you’re going to need it.” ( there was something challenging about being out of his own territory, out of reach from everyone who knew his name as well as his face. people there were eager to butter up any cortez, playing along to every half-hearted flirtation and disappointing lay. he’d heard enough of his brother’s exploits to know that it was the case. but isa lived for the knowledge that he’d won someone over, that someone was aroused because of him, wanting him. already he’s determined to have her call his name out, while on top of him, under him, clenching around him. ) he watched her saunter closer, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he felt his pants tighten all the more. without even blinking, a large hand moved to readjust, his eyes darkening by the second.  

“that i did.” he murmured, hand still very much remaining on his crotch, watching as her hands disappeared behind her. isa’s gaze remained stubbornly on her face, watching every little quirk of her lips and the fire in her eyes, until the front of her dress dipped – revealing the most delicious pair of tits isamel had ever seen in his life, tits that called to have his face buried between them. he exhaled shakily, his hand moving to rest on his thigh as she then rid herself of the rest of the silk, giving him the sight of all sights. ( she’s already wet, he can tell that much and wants to bury his hand, or better yet his face, in the patch of curls that beg his attention. if he weren’t already painfully hard, the treat that is a completely bare, gorgeous woman in front of him doesn’t help matters. )  

isa drags his gaze along her slowly, taking in the soft curves of her hips, the toned stomach before he focused on her chest again. then, “and what might i be permitted to do with said proof, i wonder?” he met her gaze and smirked, “you’re all the way over there which certainly puts a damper on my plans.”

isamel. his name flutters around her head --- mixing with smugness in which he spoke. you’re going to need it. of that, she had no doubt; but aliyah didn’t really wish to let him onto that fact just yet. it was more amusing to watch him simmer --- see that dimple peek out again, his eyes shine in this way and that. ( abstractly, ali notes that the name suits him. that he wears it well, like a badge of pride and honor. it wasn’t like her cousins, changing to the westernised versions the minute they turned eighteen; wasn’t like those she knew who took on their husbands names to distance themselves from the alamuddins when they went straight. isamel was a name he liked, was a name he held with pride --- and was a name that ali would happily moan all night long, once given the chance. ) “well, isamel...” she rolled the vowels in his name, practically purring. “you’re going to have to earn mine.” 

aliyah watched, delighted --- as his eyes darkened, as he bit at his bottom lip, as his hand moved to readjust his pants. poor baby, she wanted to coo. pants too tight, are they? more than anything, she delighted in the way he looked at her in all her naked glory --- relishing in the fact that it was him who was looking at her insuch a manner. his gaze dragged along her slowly, and ali felt tiny pinpricks follow his gaze, goosebumps raise in their wake --- even as she knew that the room was kept at a nice, neutral temperature. it wasn’t cold --- and yet ali felt her nipples harden all the same. his gaze rests on her chest once more, ali grinning as she takes note. men --- so predictable. so primitive. 

“i guess i’ll have to come closer, then. would hate to damper your plans.” ali hummed, and her long legs seemed to glisten in the low light as she shuffled closer. her head had tilted just so as she looked at him --- wondering for the first time that evening what it was that she was doing. she barely knew him. and while ali was no stranger to one night stands with strangers, her family, their work, it required secrecy. transparency. she had to be careful who where and she did it with. ali knew nothing of him and yet had invited him to one of the most fortified alamuddin spaces.

was it a mistake, she wondered? perhaps --- but she was also, long past the point of caring. the want was an ache, deep in her belly, between her thighs; in her hard nipples and the shallowness of her breath. she wanted him, even if it killed her. “and if i told you, that you were permitted to do whatever you wish, for as long as you wish...” slowly, she stepped out of the heels still on her feet, bringing her height down to its natural level. ( unfortunately, ali was cursed with her mother’s average height and build. she wasn’t tall by any means, but not short either. it was in stark contrast to her three brothers, all huge, tall and the spitting image of her father. how the gene table managed to skip her, ali wasn’t sure. ) her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip. she hesitated only briefly, before dropping down to straddle isamel across his hips; a soft whimper breaking free. he was hard --- she knew that, had seen it --- but it was something all the more different feeling it where she was wet and aching. 

her hands reached for his, bringing them up to cup her tits. “and if i told you, that i’ve needed to be touched, by you for hours now...” ali grinned darkly. “would that hinder, or help your plans?”