#rfp

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you mutter as you see the news banner. Written in bold capital letters.

‘UNITED HEALTHCARE CEO BRIAN THOMPSON ASSASSINATED BY UNKNOWN MASKED MAN’

A blurry CCTV image pictured a man in a green hoodie. His face was partially masked, but his eyes were still visible.

Your stomach dropped…you would recognize those eyes anywhere

‘he actually did it, that fucking idiot’, You thought to yourself.

You scrambled to find your phone, debating if making a call would consider you an accomplice in court.

You didn’t give a fuck.

You opened your phone, clicking on the only name you had pinned. Your heart rate increased with every ring.

Dial tone.

“Shit.” Your hands shook as you held back tears.

You faced cardiac arrest as your phone began to ring, the name ‘Luigi’ appearing at the top.

“Luigi, you fucking idiot they have you on the news.” You whispered, even if you were alone you couldn’t risk anyone overhearing.

You could hear his heavy breathing through the phone.

"Don't worry, I did what I had to." His usually calm voice was laced with anger.

"Where the hell are you?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll be home soon." He hung up on you.

You shouted in anger and you flung your phone across the room. Plopping down on the couch, you let your head fall into your shaky hands.

You kept your eyes locked on the door, continuing to curse under your breath. Praying that it would soon open, and the man you loved would walk through unharmed.

Someone, somewhere, must have heard your pleas because several minutes later Luigi came flying through the door. Out of breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had a horrified look in his eyes, rightfully so.

You wasted no time, springing from your seat and rushing towards him. Taking his face in your hands you inspected him for any injuries, thankful for less than a scratch.

"Baby I'm fine." He took your hand in his, moving it away from his face.

"Well, yeah physically. But are we going to ignore the fact that you're now a fucking fugitive?" You shouted, refusing to hold back your anger.

"You don't understand. He fucking deserved it."

You pulled away from him, walking to the other side of the room.

"I'm not saying he didn't. but they're gonna catch you eventually, and then what?"

"I guess I'll go to jail. Sometimes these things have to be done. Violence has to be fought with violence."

Tears welled in your eyes, but they were no longer fearful. They were tears of rage.

"Are you serious?" You threw your hands up in the air.

"This is bigger than us, I want things to change for everyone." He took a few steps toward you, eyes not leaving you.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do if you're in jail? I fucking love you, Luigi. I understand what you're trying to do, but what if I'm not ready to make those sacrifices." Your voice was broken.

Luigi was silent. Staring at you with glassy eyes, and you could tell he was holding back tears as well.

You went back to your place on the couch, beginning to cry. You hid your face, tears falling into your sweaty palms.

After several moments alone, you felt a strong arm wrap around your body. Luigi pulled you into him, your cold skin pressed against his warm chest.

"I'm sorry." From the sound of it, Luigi was crying along with you.

"Hey, look at me." Lugi placed his hand under your chin, lifting your gaze.

"No matter what happens, I swear on my fucking life that I will find my way back to you." He didn't stutter, he didn't falter. He was the most honest man you knew, and his words gave you hope.

His lips crashed against yours, pulling you into a passionate kiss. It was as if it was the last time your lips would ever meet, and perhaps it was.

He pulled you even closer to him, and you wished for your bodies to melt into each other. Your hands found his hair, tugging at his loose curls. You let out a small moan. Luigi bit your lip, and the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth.

A pair of warm hands pressed themselves against your torso, tightly gripping your skin. Your lips disconnected for only a moment as your shirt was removed, your bra along with it.

You were pushed back against the couch cushion, Luigi's lips exploring your body. You took the opportunity to pull his shirt off, exposing his toned abs.

Before you knew it, your shorts and panties were gone. What had started out as an argument, had turned into the complete opposite.

Luigi sat up, examining you with a loving gaze.

"You're so beautiful." He said before diving into another kiss.

Your tongues tangled together, as Luigi applied pressure to your sensitive clit. You let out a low moan.

Luigi let out a deep laugh, before plunging two fingers into your aching core. You arched your back, unable to take the wave of pleasure that washed over you.

"You like that?" He whispered in your ear. His deep voice made you wetter than you already were; if that was even possible.

Luigi sucked and moaned against your skin as he worked. Your orgasm was approaching faster than normal.

"Fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna.." You panted.

"Shhh, it's okay baby, cum for me." His free hand comes up to caress your face.

You ride out your orgasm with his fingers still inside of you, and before you know it; he is removing his belt and pants.

It's a blur, and his cock is inside of you. He's pumping in and out of you, slow but not too slow. A passionate type of slow. You had never felt so loved during sex until you met Luigi. Intimacy meant more to him than just pleasure, it was an act of love.

He laced your fingers together as he continued to fuck you, and you had never felt closer to him than you did at this moment. No one but the two of you, and the sounds of your moans.

"I fucking love you." It was the hundredth time he'd said it in the past hour, but it felt the same every time.

Luigi released himself inside of you and collapsed on your chest. He pulled out, his cum leaking from your cunt.

He continued to litter kisses on your skin, whispering praises between each one.

"We'll get through this." He whispered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

a simple routine was quick to fall together; most mornings, you’d find yourself slowly blinking awake, eyes adjusting to the steadily increasing yellow light pouring through the open windows surrounding, white linen drapes flapping and flowing in perversive hot air to the rhythm at which the waves just beyond crashed. only a thin sheet lay itself over your full exposure, much more for modesty than comfort, as the blistering humidity made for sticky sweat prone skin, thus any more coverage was plain unbearable. jack, despite rose’s early declaration that you were to dorm alone in the girls wing, in a room jack-and-jill’ed to kick’s - he immediately whispered in your ear “no way,” - would be bare-bodied and fast sleep to your left, with said cotton cloth giving him only slight respect, as the prominent v-line and subsequent sparse brown hair happy-trail of his waist pokes out from above it.

as it was with every night since arrival, he’d quietly exit his bedroom on the first floor once he felt sure joe and rose had fully retired to sleep, quickly making his way through the expansive halls, occasionally passing a sibling or two and giving them a smirk, before reaching your door, allowing himself inside with no hesitation.

more often than not you’d still be awake, penning a small letter home or undoing the perfectly made bed in awaiting his arrival, when he’d shut the door behind him, and immediately - only ever in the solace of your privacy - remark how pretty you looked, enjoying the coyness of your blushing, thank you, jack.

the times that you were already sleeping (sometimes he’d become distracted while making his way, getting caught up in conversation with joe jr. or in an attempt to snag a snack from the kitchen) he’d give his best go at being silent, which wasn’t very good but something you became accustomed to, considerately ensuring all windows were open for the best ventilation, before discreetly slipping in right beside you: he’d place a hand on your arm, not to shake you, but only to see if you’d stir - if he was lucky enough and you did, he’d soften his voice to just above a whisper, “tell me to go and i will.” never did you, thus he’d end up blissfully buried in the glory between your warm thighs - if you remained adamant to sleep, he’d simply brush his lips to your temple (a full kiss was much too brazen for his liking) and slightly sulk back to his room.

always you’d wake before him, sometimes to his warm arm strewn across your abdomen, even though the suffocating heat made for reluctance in touching - with broad exception for routine escapades in the dark - he nevertheless found a way to keep his presence beside you known, even in the treks of sleep.

the bright colored cushions of the wicker chairs and lounges of the yard were, more often than not, stained darker in the outline of a person, dripping wet bodies taking no mind, knowing it’d dry in just an hour laying in the blazing sun - jack frequently sat down in his soaked bathing shorts only to get back up again and swim another few laps, perpetually leaving a mark of his presence beside you. rare was it to see you without him, but in the event, there were usually imprints of his thin thighs and strong shoulders that indicated to everyone where he’d been and where he most likely was.

said outdoor furniture was where most of your hours were idled, the days strenuous task of sunbathing and dozing off taken in these designated lounges; with your bare tanning legs crossed and jack’s sunglasses saddled behind your ears, reflecting the world back unto itself.

he had an unspoken habit of taking them off as soon as you came around, handing them over for you to wear; the first time he’d done it, you only kept hold of them in your palm, assuming he was just looking for a place to put them, it wasn’t until he did a double take, looking back to you, that he grabbed them from your hand, rather cautiously placing them upon the bridge of your nose. afterward, subtly gazing down at you with his coveted smile of pride.

a novel plucked from the one of the many scholarly and sprawling kennedy bookshelves was the preferred accompaniment to this, a nice way to ease away the days, contemplation complimenting relaxation. with his all siblings, typically in clusters, bobby with kick and pat or jean and teddy, decorating the furniture surrounding, eventually jack too would mosey over to the barren spot beside you, wordless as he gracefully lay himself on his stomach, arms crossing beneath his cheek to pillow. though you’d pretend to be nonchalant, the peak over to graze his glistening body was anything but.

there’s an inability to tell the difference between the pool water and sweat droplets that litter and swim in the prominent muscle divots of his browning back, nonetheless, he glows all the same under the light, practically angelic. his green blue eyes would squint up at you, and you’d hear his unspoken question ring in your ears - thus, you begin to read aloud. the cadence you use is soft, not a whisper, but just enough for only jack to hear. minutes pass by, your voice still carrying a tune he is partial to, and some time between them, he’d switch to laying on the other cheek, his head turning away - you’d still continue, until his breathing would seem to level, heavy and steady; you’d naturally assume he’d fallen asleep, transitioning to reading silently - and though there were occasions where this was the case - sometimes, he’d lazily turn back, small curiosity coloring his face, and look up at you expectantly, as if to say, “why’d you stop? please continue.”

afternoon laziness could only last so long however, before the bustling and forever antsy kennedy children were urging for activity; usually it was joe jr. who would entice jack with a not-so-friendly challenge that jack would wave off at first, citing exhaustion, before his brother would quip a wager he simply could not refuse.

you were designated referee, which you were almost certain jack volunteered you to do so you’d have to watch him in whatever it was they were doing; you were almost certain joe only agreed because he enjoyed having his brother’s girlfriend’s (a term you and jack rarely, if ever, used yourselves but never corrected whoever did) eyes on him, too.

whether it was swimming laps, one-on-one touch football, or wrestling on the lawn, it always ended in an brawl of bruises, and your “refereeing” no longer seemed to matter; the rest of the clan crowding around to watch and egg on the two - eventually one or the other would give up, pushing his brother away, becoming ‘the bigger person’ all of a sudden, pretending they were much too mature for such silly things as fighting for display. jack would saunter back to you, readjusting his shorts or running a hand through his hair while grumbling how he didn’t even want to get up in the first place.

the only correct response, you learned, was to hold in whatever laughter begged to be released and offer to play cards or chess, which he never found himself saying no to, mostly because you were the one asking.

after sweaty hours in the sweltering weather, a cold shower was a common luxury; though the joke was on you for ever thinking you could take one alone. you and kick, blossoming in closeness, had worked out a schedule for the shared bathroom, thus the need to lock the door seemed moot - this, rather naturally to him, seemed to be an open invitation for jack. the shower-head would drown out any noise of his entrance, making you blissfully unaware of him until his head was suddenly popping in from behind the curtain, a slick grin adorned.

you began to think he somewhat enjoyed seeing you practically jump out of your skin every time, dropping whatever might be in hand to put it to your wet naked chest, feigning grabbing your heart when shouting, “jesus, jack!”

“let’s not waste water, shall we?” is all he’d say, never waiting for a reply, pulling the linen curtain back while undressing faster than ever.

dinners, promptly at 8:15, no earlier and certainly no later, were affairs to be beholden; the extravagantly prepared food, sprawling table, endless conversations - it was the pinnacle of the kennedys. who you sat beside was always a revolving door but never did you have to worry about who you sat across; jack enjoyed the illusion of elusiveness, that after a long day attached at the hip you both could go an entire dinner without a word to each other, sat on opposite sides while engaging with family and friends as totally separate entities - all while your pointed toes glide up and down his pantsed calf underneath the table, he stares down your low neckline dress when he thinks no one’s looking, and in passing gazes, sends you a fast yet unmistakable and intentional wink, your eyes conveying messages all on their own, seamlessly, getting lost in the fray of the kennedy festivities.