#35 hudson yards | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

youreirrelevant · 2 years ago

Text

I'd Love To Take You Down And Leave You There

pairing: kendall roy/reader

summary: You feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

words: 9506

tags: EXPLICIT, angst and a little fluff? weird power play stuff, coerced drug use, and therefore dubcon, choking, slapping, hair-pulling, manhandling in general, SUPER unhealthy relationship, emotional manipulation, friends to lovers ig, unprotected sex, drug and alcohol use, suicide and death mentions, degradation, corruption kink?? sadism and masochism and also sadomasochism, spitting in someone's mouth, references to sexual acts like shining a shoe with your tongue, face-fucking, and water breathplay, non-negotiated kink

a/n: idk i watched prague and saw how Kendall could be a manipulative sadist (along with his established masochistic tendencies) and decided to go with it.

35 Hudson Yards. Limestone and glass; eight sleek tiers. Wealth, abundance. An eighth of an ounce. Crazy. Some things slotted into place so easily for Kendall Roy, and others, not so much.

You have to tip your head back to look up at it. So far back your mouth has to fall open.

-------

You’d been to the old apartment, or at least, the old building. Dragged to Greg’s party, though if it was even his to begin with was debatable. He seemed worn out about halfway through, slumped above his guests. You felt deep empathy for him then-all the people and the noise, it was exhausting. And if it had been where you lived, well, you’d probably be a little more than tired. Angry, really. The friend who had brought you there had gone off somewhere, with someone, else, and you felt practically paralyzed by the intensity of it. Flush with one of the pillars between the windows, trying not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. The lively atmosphere had been fun at first, but now you’re alone among a bunch of bodies-people you don’t know, a place far out of your reach.

The edge of your phone hit against your palm in a slow, steady tempo, your other hand swinging it, needing something to fidget with. You could’ve looked at it, scrolled through Twitter or something to pass the time, but you felt the need to watch, see where everyone was and what they were doing. Hypervigilant. Which is how you saw him, headed your way from your left. His eyes looked dark in the low lighting, lingering on some of the faces he passed, some of their bodies. But he kept moving forward, seemingly your way, so, your eyes didn’t leave him.

A woman passed him as he emerged into your little bubble by the windows, and his head swiveled to check her out, too. Your eyes swept over his profile quickly, pouty lips and prominent nose, thick lashes and the gentle slope of the back of his head. Baby hairs neat at the nape of his neck. A little rush of heat ran over your skin, and you bit the very inside of your bottom lip. Your hand had stilled, phone heavy where it lay. Finally, he looked at you, first his head and then his eyes soon after, gave you what seemed to be the required once over as he sipped some drink from a can. Like something you’d see at a frat party, juxtaposed against the high ceilings of the apartment, and the dark sweater he wore that just looked expensive.

“Hey, you, uh, tweaking over here? Take something too strong?”

Words slurred on a deep voice, and he sounded more curious than concerned. Did you look that nervous? There was an urge to try and hide your phone out of embarrassment, still poised as it had been when you had checked him out yourself, but you instead clung on to it tighter. You must’ve taken too long to answer, because he took another sip, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“Uh, no. I’m just… not big on parties,” as if to illustrate, or to make sure that’s actually where you were, you glanced to the crowd. Your stomach turned at the sight of it, at the knowledge that there was so much space and it was all filled up.

“Uh-huh,” he sounded condescending, dismissive. His eyes scraped down your body, slower this time, and you couldn’t tell if he liked what he saw or was judging you deeply. You tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, only allowing yourself to press the toe of your right shoe into the top of your left. There was just a small gap between his eyelids, the length of those lashes almost touching his cheeks, and you hated how you were annoyed with him but felt a weird, compelling force drawing you toward him. Gravity.

Somehow, over the music and voices, you heard him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if he’d made up his mind. Not that you could tell what his decision was from it.

“So,” he looked back up to you, put his free hand in his pocket, and you saw him sway a bit on his feet, “did you come here with someone?”

You rotated your phone in your grasp, the screen now pressed into your left palm, fingers and thumb wrapped around the edges.

“Yeah, just my friend. She ran off with someone earlier.” To do who knows what.

He stepped closer to you, narrowed his eyes a bit like he was trying to remember, see if he knew you. How he wouldn’t know by then-

“What’s your name?” You felt like you were being interrogated, like you weren’t allowed to be there or something. Brows pinched and rose in the middle, imploringly, lips pursed just a bit. Still, you gave it to him, with what you hoped was a normal and not at all suspicious amount of hesitation.

Dude didn’t even have the decency to give his back.

“Do you have her number- your, uh, friend? Like, could you text her to tell her where you are?”

Okay, you were really confused. She already knew where you were-

“You know, if you wanted to leave? With me?” There was an edge of annoyance, like you should’ve known that’s what he was getting at, where all the questions were headed. And maybe you should’ve? You looked off into the middle distance, frustrated and looking for answers. Pressed your fingertips into the bridge of your nose.

“You’re kind of rude. I’m clearly anxious and you come over here and ask me a million questions, and you don’t even give me your name, and aren’t you drunk?”

His face split in a big, toothy grin, filled with way too much mirth and incredulity. Corners of his eyes crinkled up prettily, and despite your glaring you’re charmed by it.

“I’m Kendall,” he says it like its so fucking obvious. How would you not know? Your eyes flickered around again, as if you were searching your brain for actual clues. He stood there, watching, and you felt stupid.

Wait…

“Oh.” He nods his head exaggeratedly at your realization, eyes closed, eyebrows raised again in a superior way that pissed you off but made your stomach flip. It was surprising. Flattering, in a way, that he’d shown interest in you. It wasn’t supposed to be, as if he deigned you, a mere peasant, worthy of his time. (And he probably knew you were one, too, with that heavy appraisal he had given you earlier. Just from the material of your clothes, the way you held yourself.) You tried to put aside the other reasons that it was flattering-that you found him attractive. And charming. Somehow.

“So?”

“You’re drunk,” you reiterated.

Kendall smiled again, like he knew something he shouldn’t. Then, he sighed, through his nose.

“One more question. It’s the last one. Promise,” you gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he meant to cross over his heart, but instead he crossed his fingers. Drunk.

“Sure,” the disbelief in your tone was clear.

“Can I at least get your number?”

Surprised again, written all over your face in the way it slackened, eyes widened. You really thought he’d just move on, (and he would, afterwards, for the night.) Blinking it away-unaware of the way his sluggish mind tried to figure out the length of your lashes as you did it-you moved your phone into your back pocket, and held your hand out for his.

“Yeah, sure,” pressed your lips together to stop from smiling bashfully, your mood turning on a dime from the question.

Kendall handed it over-you wondered if he had more than one, if he carried them both? Or all? With him everywhere, and what he used for his business phone, since this was an iPhone-and you entered your number and name into his contacts. He watched as you did it, noted the way you didn’t give yourself a cute little nickname, or use emojis. It’s your full, government name. He also watched the way you went into the notes section, and stop-started several, embarrassing times, on putting in where you both met. The implication-that he’s so drunk he wouldn’t remember-made you reconsider, but the fact that he actually might not had you eventually doing it.

You gave it back with a nervous smile, and his index finger brushed yours as he took it. It was so, so stupid how you had to stop yourself from reacting, like this was Pride & Prejudice or something.

“Well, I’ll… see you around.”

“Uh, yeah,” hopefully.

When Kendall turned from you, you made the decision to find the friend who dragged you here in the first place.

And he, well. He could feel all that weight settled on his shoulders again, on his chest. Seemed like it could pull him through the floor, through all of them, and down into the molten earth where he belonged. Where he’d burst into a cloud of red steam, the pressure finally released.

Until then, a little thought kept him above, like a bobber on the water, half submerged-

You were really easy.

----

It’s dark out; a little late. A chill in the air, a little more than what one would expect for an April night. You’re trying your damnedest to see the top of this building, where he is. Like you would see him looking down, down the length of his nose, and almost all 92 stories of this thing, to your minuscule-insignificant- form at the bottom. The idea makes you tingle all over.

You run the pad of your thumb over the freshly filed-short edge of your nail, the one on your index finger. It wasn’t for him-your irregular, at-home manicure just happened to have… happened, the day before. He messaged today, a few hours ago. At dusk, the shadows long outside your apartment window. Asking you to come over, very nonchalant. Said he hasn’t seen you in a while, which is true. You didn’t get to see him often before, but after his press conference, you were lucky to get even a text. Not that you expected it, thought that he would- or wanted him- to prioritize you. He had kids and a divorce and this legal battle and his family.

No, definitely didn’t feel that pull in your chest, that need to see whatever he felt you deserved to. Cracking him open, like a door pulled apart by a crowbar. When you relaxed, the shards would almost fall right back into place.

Walking through the lobby, up to a desk, (that you found out was for the hotel in the building,) asking where the elevator for the penthouse was, (there were four,) you feel so out of place. Worried that you’re somehow going to put chips or scratches in the marble floor as you move across it. The elevator itself is spacious and luxurious, which you’re thankful for because it’s a long ride. Polished, mirror finish walls, so you can watch yourself anxiously pick at the sleeve of your jacket. Watch the numbers climb as you did, a sleek digital readout above the doors.

You’d heard he was unraveling. Confident and self-assured before, but now he’s backsliding. It made sense; there were awful, shameful, things being said, that hurt his credibility. Some of them by his own sister. (And you felt so fucking ridiculous, because this stuff would come out and you’d cringe, but you still felt bad for him. Remembered that vacant gaze that threatened to suck your very heart from your chest; a black hole.)

A crisp, modern ‘ding!’ and the doors slide open. You knew it would open right into his apartment, but it was still weird. Like you were intruding. You step into it, look down at the dark wood floors-those are definitely actual wood, not the cheap laminate (duh!)-and decide to take off your shoes. Straight off the elevators is a hallway, to the right. It opens up to a massive… living room? That feels insufficient, but you can’t think of the proper word for it.

Everything is cream, gray-blue, pops of dark wood. It’s not as sterile as other places, but it still doesn’t feel much like a home. The room is divided into four: a couple seating areas, a bar. A dining room, hidden by an obnoxiously large fireplace. You find him in on the L-shaped couch. Hunched over a round, glass-top coffee table from his seat on it. (It was clearly dragged closer, rug bunched up beneath it.) A scene from a movie; a rolled bill, a vehicle to bring the coke from the table into his nose. The hand on the opposite side is plugging that nostril, pushing the outside against his septum with his index finger. Kendall audibly sniffs, his brows furrowing a little bit as he does it.

You’re frozen in place. Mesmerized by it, by the way he sits up straight and looks up to the ceiling, savoring however it's making him feel. Intruding- you shouldn’t be here. You’ve come around after the drugs have been done, when he’s already chatty and touchy, pupils eating pretty hazel eyes. But it's on the table, and he cut the lines himself, and he’s wiping away whatever fell to his philtrum with his knuckle. It feels way too intimate, and you feel like you should leave, but another part of you wants to see more.

Kendall’s dragging the proximal section of his index finger under his nose, all of his fingers curling as his hand tilts back, and he looks at you without an ounce of surprise. If anything, he looks at you like you’re doing exactly what he wanted, standing just at the entrance of some room that was too damn big, holding your shoes in one hand, not sure where to put them. You look sweet, like you always do. Unfamiliar with it all, the skyscrapers and the money and the people.

And, of course, the drugs.

If you had to guess, you’d say there’s fourteen feet between you. He doesn’t stand to greet you, and you don’t move, either.

“Hey. How was the, uh, the ride here?” Perfunctory; he asked that every time you met him somewhere, every time he sent a car for you. Sometimes he seemed to care more than others. The words jumped off his tongue, rushed, for him. But it felt more like he was just trying to get it out of the way.

You bring your shoes over to rest in front of your thighs, laying them lengthwise, slipping as many fingers of your right hand into the collars as will fit beside your left. You try not to spend too long studying him, try not to find weird patterns in it all. He’s wearing all black, a thick sweater with the sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms, (lean and spotted with the occasional mole or freckle,) slacks that pull taut over his thighs, and hang perfectly creased from his knees. Dressed dark, like when you first met. Big hands hang loosely between his parted legs, and you make it a point to not linger there, eyes darting back up to his.

“Yeah, it was… okay. Y’know. Pretty normal.”

He’s looking up at you from where he’s still perched on the edge of the couch, the only real giveaway that he’d just done something being the way he taps his finger against the back of the opposite hand. Incessant, maybe a little faster than he meant to. That- as you thought of it, privately, stupid, not at all attractive- pinky ring he wears sometimes feels heavy and cool on his skin.

“So, did I, like, come here too early, or…?”

There’s that smile again, a mischievous little v. A secret.

“No, you, uh, got here right on time, actually.”

Kendall always said some shit that sent you reeling. Something weird. He either thought very hard about what he was going to say, or not at all. You scratch the skin just behind your right ear, leaning your head into it, eyes narrowed as you think.

“O-kay?”

He moves to cut the cocaine into smaller, shorter lines, and you watch, mouth falling open, arm relaxing to allow your hand to curl into a loose fist in front of your throat. The cogs were turning, and you didn’t like how the teeth were fitting together.

“I want you to try this.”

A little tug, not even a full rotation on the handle of the fishing reel.

“The coke?”

Stops dead in his tracks, the heavy, metal card coming to a halt midway through dividing the aforementioned drug. He looks at you like you’re fucking stupid, a nasty habit of his, and you scoff, looking at him like he’s fucking insane.

“Kendall-“ you never call him Ken, not even when you’re being soft with him. You’d never admit to it, but it was deferential. And he’d never admit to it, but it hurt.

“What? I know you want to,” he’s being playful about it, singing the words, like he’s asking you to do something benign, like fucking- Skinny dipping. Smoking weed. Drinking some liquor out of a parents’ cabinet. You try to ignore the almost tactile, magnetic feeling, bringing you toward him. Toward what he’s asking of you. Toward what you sadly want.

“No, you don’t know, actually.”

He rotates slightly to face you better. His eyes are hard. Knowing.

“Yes, I do. Come on. Fucking, get over here and snort this. I wanna see how big your pupils get.”

What?

Butterflies, heat seeping downward, you tuck your bottom lip beneath your teeth. Skimming just beneath the water's surface; trembling with the effort to stay submerged. To say no.

“They’re small lines. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

He promises. You guessed he would know, how much was too much, when to stop. He could be a dick, but he’d never let you get hurt. (Right?) Rationalizing it; just once would be fine. Lots of people did it casually. It might be fun. It could be a bonding experience. You might understand him more. It might impress him. You’re gripping your shoes so tight that the fabric squeaks. Looking everywhere but him, brows furrowed in thought, knowing that the only thing that would sway you is the way he looks.

Fuck. It's painful. It literally hurts. The curiosity is pulling at your chest. Despite yourself, you look to him, like he could give you the answer, (though it really wasn’t a question.) You see the way he’s still watching you, his breathing a little heavy from the way his heart is surely racing, chest rising and falling, pressing against the confines of his shirt just enough to be seen.

It all crumbles. Your resolve, your posture, literally slumping in defeat.

“Fine.”

You move to close the distance, and it feels so much wider than it looked. Kendall looks downright victorious, eyes glittering with pride and excitement. Sitting next to him, placing your shoes on the floor and flexing your hand from its tense hold, and trying not to touch his knee with yours. As if all your thoughts would transfer through diffusion, and he’d jump away. Really know.

Nervously, you wipe your hands on your thighs, attempting to still the shaking. The proximity lets you smell him; a spicy, woodsy cologne, the crispness of his soap, the sweetness of cigarette smoke. Familiar, and sorely missed.

“So, uh-“ a breathless, stunted laugh, “how do I-“

Long fingers reach out to pick up the rolled bill-you see the familiar orange and blue of the 100- holding it delicately as he hands it to you. Looking to him with an anxious little smile, and he gives you a patronizing one back. It’s almost soothing.

“You just hold one end up to your nose,” you lean forward over the table, thick clear glass, that reflects the image of the powder back at you. “Its easier if you plug the other nostril,” he supplies, and you feel kind of stupid for asking him to coach you, cause, like. Who doesn’t know how to do this? Still, he sounds pretty while he does, voice deep, enunciating and hitting the consonants in this really satisfying way. And, unbeknownst to you, he’s getting a very sick feeling of glee talking you through it. Heart hammering against his chest, too excited to see what you’ll do.

“Then you just inhale. Quickly.”

Nodding, trying to look confident, but your hearts going so fast you wonder if any amount would kill you. You bring the hundred up to your right nostril, plug the left, line up- then pull away, sitting up straight. Roll your shoulders back, take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.”

Like jumping straight into the pool to get the shock of the cold over with, you do it. Fast. And then recoil, face scrunching up at the sting, a floral scent leaking through the pain. Kendall claps you on the back, like you’re bros or something, says something to the effect of ‘atta girl,’ but you’re just trying to right yourself. Wondering why your heart is still racing, when you did the thing that scared you.

Duh. Fucking, duh. That’s how it's supposed to feel, dumbass.

In a way similar to what he did earlier, you look at the ceiling, eyes fluttering as they make their way. Not out of appreciation, though. Just trying to feel it. His hand rubs over your upper back in wide swipes, and the touch is searing. You definitely got what you wanted, ‘cause he is impressed. Beaming, eyes all over you, taking in the way you shake, the quickening of your breathing, the way you wet your lips and swallow hard.

Up in the air, dangling on his hook.

You practically toss the money onto the coffee table, needing to get your jacket off. Now. Fastened with big metal buttons that feel like ice against your fingertips. He watches you fumble with them, and without a thought reaches out to help, scoffing, like you fucking asked. Like he doesn’t know the way it cuts through the drugs to almost stop your heart. Your hands just sort of hang in the air as he does it, as you watch him, fingers nimble as they break each button’s hold. Nauseous, self-conscious at your ragged breathing when he makes quick work of the fastenings over your chest, holding your breath so you might not push into him.

“You don’t have to- you don’t have to fucking-“

But you don’t move to stop him, and he grabs the fabric under your bust, bunching it up to lift the hem away from your hips so his hands don’t have to be in the junction of your thighs to undo the last one.

Oh. Okay.

Mercifully, he doesn’t push it off your shoulders, too. You do it yourself, feeling infantilized, letting it pool on the cushion behind you. You realize you still have a sweater on beneath it, an itchy wool mix, and you feel a little flash of anger. Short nails scratch deep through the material on your arm, and you turn a bit to face him better.

“Well? How does it feel?”

It's like everything bubbles to the surface when you see his face up close, the lights catching his eyes in this perfect way that makes the golden brown and flecks of green shine in a thin line around his pupils. Unabashed, your own pupils like saucers, letting in more light, more him. Sweeping over the straight line of his nose, the five o’clock shadow, and where it's darker above his upper lip. Pink lips, (pinker than normal, surely flushed from the drugs,) that look absurdly soft and plush, that you’ve seen stick together just a bit when he goes to speak.

“Uh, it, uh, it feels-“

Those very lips pull upward smugly, and your eyes flit to his, caught. But he doesn’t seem phased, just makes sure you’re still watching, turns his head, and wets the tip of his finger before dipping it in one of the lines, making a little crater in the soft powder. You squeeze your wrist tightly, and try not to think of the way his tongue glistened, how soft it’d feel. Or how firm it could.

Fingers then curl around your chin, pulling down softly, and you hesitate, but offer little resistance as he tugs a little harder, tells you to open your mouth, his voice low and raspy.

His finger slips under your upper lip, the delicate skin catching on it, lifting to reveal your teeth, and presses against the hard ridge of your gums. Warm and slimy beneath the broad, squared pad of his fingertip. Kendall rubs the coke in, tingly numbness left in his wake. You’re looking at each other so intently, his eyes half-lidded as he watches what he’s doing, thick lashes creating a dark band. You lean into his touch, eager for more, for something else, fingers inside other places, wetter and more forgiving.

The air is humid between you as he pulls his finger from your mouth, and you can’t help but look down at it, see the shine of spit. Literally biting your tongue, to stop yourself from asking him to force as many digits into you as he can. He takes in your pensive face, wonders what you’re keeping from him. He has ideas, obviously. Suggestions, even.

"Do you want more?”

Didn’t you just have more? You chew on your lip, take stock of how you feel. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth; you can barely feel your teeth where they dig into soft skin. Everything else is still very much there, the heat and thrum of your heart all over. The anxiety. This itchy need.

And want. Greediness, for him, and more. Just to see. Seeking knowledge.

“Is that… safe?”

One of Kendall’s broad hands rests on your arm, a firm and reassuring press. You look up at him with big, glossy eyes, and he feels his own need that he needs to scratch. The other side of the coin from yours.

“If you do just a, fucking, little bit, then, yeah.”

He drops his hand so he can turn away, towards the coffee table, and you miss his touch and full attention so much you could cry. The credit card clacks against the polished surface, and you lock your fingers to stop from touching him. You wished you had no inhibitions. You wished you could cross the threshold that he had, touch him in ways friends shouldn’t. That’s what this was supposed to be, getting over whatever childish bullshit kept you from honesty. Get it out, get it over with. Maybe the drugs will smooth it over, mixed with water into a paste to fill the cracks.

Kendall cuts bigger lines, and smaller. Thinks of the weight of that, what it means. What he was doing to you. What you were letting him do. A touch, a look, a change in tone. He’d sat at the water's edge, hook beneath the surface. A novice; everyone else’s coolers were full. Plenty of fish to be eaten, but he was about to starve. Weeks since a catch. The sun was low on the horizon, glittering red and orange against the water between the shadows of the trees.

A fish on the end of his line, hungry for the bait. A fight so weak the pole barely bows. Then, he has you, the tiniest, saddest, most-insignificant little thing he’d ever seen.

Gasping and wriggling in his palm. He has all the power, to let you have the water. To eat you.

Learned behaviors.

He inhales a long line for himself, thinking too damn much. Burns throughout his nose and sinuses, but he doesn’t do much to show it, just scrunches his nose, licks along his upper incisors. He feels hot and reckless again, heart racing against his breastbone to propel him forward, into action. Pushes his sleeves back up around his elbows, and you watch, see the way his fingers grip the fabric, the way muscles tense under tanned skin. He unrolls the hundred deftly, folds it over lengthwise to try and stop it rolling back in on itself. Then, he scoops some of the cocaine up in the valley created by the crease. Turns to you again, and you bring your knee up on the couch to face him better. With his left hand he makes a loose fist, thumb resting on top of his index finger, creating a nice flat surface to sprinkle some of the drug onto.

“Here.”

You’re looking at him with those fucking eyes again. He’s almost overcome with jealousy; the boldness of it.

“Um, off your-“

“Uh-huh,” drawn out, a little impatient, wondering why you were acting weird when his finger had just been in your mouth.

No big deal. Totally normal. What was snorting some coke off each other’s hands between friends? You lean down a little, maintaining eye contact to see if he’s joking. Kendall raises his hand a bit to make it easier, thinks thoughts that are only natural when you’re high, and him. The upper ridge of your cupid's bow touches the back of his hand, first, and you jump back, readjusting the angle. He wonders if you’ll reach out and grab his arm, maneuver it down so you can be above a little more, but instead you just sit a little straighter, and he knows then that you aren’t high enough to be fucking honest with him. (Maybe after this you would be.) The hard tip of your nose presses into that delicate skin, right next to where the webbing between his thumb and index finger begins. Like last time, you do it fast; your lips brush his wrist, you don’t get it all.

It hurts worse this time. It's all worse. Your ears ring, your heart beats so fast you wondered if there was any equation in the world that could calculate just how fast. Your hand reaches out to grasp his upper arm, holding on tight in an attempt to bring you back to earth. Eyes squeezed shut, feeling like you can’t breathe for a second before the heavy, panting breaths come. When you’re finally convinced you won’t die, you open your eyes and look at him again. Take him in as a whole, from widow’s peak to slightly dimpled chin. Freckles, shine on his face. Nothing in the way; the wall is gone.

You kiss him so hard your noses crush. It hurts, and you pull away with a huff of laughter before going back in. Hand cradling his jaw, index finger resting over his ear. Rain after a long and humid day; it felt like a release. Relieving to do it, and to know that he wants it, too. Kissing you back just as feverishly, hand sliding along the side of your neck to slip his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull. Gripping tight, pulling your lips from his just long enough for you to gasp in excitement, repositioning you so that he has control. Little puffs of air from your nose against his cheek, while he slips his tongue into your mouth.

Every sensation is intensified, brand new. Sends a fresh bolt of anticipation through you. The taste of his mouth and breath, pulling back just to feel each other’s lips again. Wanting to savor it but wanting to go forward and see more. His nose is tucked into your cheek; he can smell your skin, feel the warmth of your flush. It's messy and sloppy but it feels a little sweet to him, because it's you. An air of tenderness, a care that he did not deserve.

Kendall pulls you by your hair to lay you back on the couch cushions, torso following yours, lips still pressed together, perfect pressure. Legs are pulled up to be level with bodies. One of his thighs slips between yours, and the barest amount of friction makes you sigh. You’re so wet, the muscle of his leg pushes sticky cool fabric against your cunt. You don’t miss how hard he is against your hip, and the further confirmation of reciprocation makes you feel weak, makes your heart flutter even more. Somehow.

It feels too cute. Too virginal- innocent. Like the heavy breathing and hurried pulses are from nerves, from inexperience. You feel empty. You want everything he can possibly give you. You want him to take his shirt off so you can see the chest that will sometimes strain against buttons on crisp white dress shirts; you want him to keep it on so it feels even more hurried. You want him to touch your clit, with his fingers or his tongue or his fucking nose. You want him to slap you, your face, your pussy. You want him to say something so fucking mean it makes you cry.

He slips a hand under your sweater, presses against the soft skin of your stomach just enough for it to dimple. It's hot; he can feel your pulse against his palm, rapid and hard. The little gap created by his wrist lets cool air in, and it feels so fucking good. You arch your back just enough to push against his hand, pulling your hand away so you can grab his. Kendall’s eyebrows raise in surprise as your fingers dig into his wrist, as you use the grip to rotate his hand and push his fingertips below the waist of your jeans.

And he doesn’t move. Let’s it rest, pulls his head back so he can look down at you with a restrained smile. That was audacious, honest, real.

“Kendall, fucking-“

He applies pressure to that sensitive portion of lower stomach, letting his closed-mouth grin spread across his face. Playful; Duchenne. Boyish.

“Come on. Please?”

Using both hands to unbutton, unzip, just to be faster. Because, despite the teasing, he really did want you wrapped around him. Wondered just how wet you’d be, how tight you’d be, how soft. Once his hand is beneath the soft fabric (not expensive or lacy or mesh; he’s kind of shocked at the idea that you didn’t wear anything special on the off chance something might happen,) he doesn’t mess around. Sinks his middle finger between your lips to press against your clit.

There isn’t much room, between his thigh and the jeans, so you scoot away a bit, part your legs to make some. His hand follows, uses the spread to press his index and ring fingers into your vulva on either side of his middle finger. Swirls them; they glide so easily you feel a little pang of embarrassment. It’s already so much, senses heightened. Feels like he’d been doing it for a while, halfway there. He presses harder, and you let out a startled little moan.

Then, he’s slipping lower. His inclination is to tease, to dip his fingertip in and see how you react. But he sees the way you’re getting so excited at just the prospect, lip bitten white, eyes looking down to see whatever you can of his hand in your pants, willing him to do it. So, he does. Two fingers, all at once, until his knuckles are flush with your skin. You make a shocked sound, like a scoff, wiggling your hips at the stretch. He seeks out, and finds too fast, that rough spot inside you. Curls his fingers and presses deep against it, so precise that your knees wobble, you groan.

He starts to fuck you with them, slow but rough. Exacting. Your head tips back; it’s perfect. You wanted this so bad, for so long. Thought about it all the time. Stared at his hands and studied the width of his fingers and tried to imagine just how much it’d ache.

“I still can’t believe you actually fucking did that.”

Dragging your eyes up to his, trying not to think of the fact that the oft-mentioned coil is already beginning to tighten.

Right. The coke.

Another breathless chuckle. Anxiety surges in your chest. He sees it- quickens his pace to make your eyes flutter.

“Um, well-“

“But you would do anything I told you to.”

It was like you were trying to hide behind a piece of straw. Of fucking course he could see you, see through you. He pressed a little and you gave. He pulled, and you followed, on a leash. Anything, he could say anything and you’d do it. Let him fuck your face. Polish his shoes with your tongue. See how long you could hold your breath underwater, (because he’s holding you there.) If he gave an ounce of affection in return, that’s all you would need. This, well this was almost too generous.

Slower now, more sensual, long drags against your g-spot that made you whimper. You kinda hope his sleeve will fall down his arm, and rub your pubic mound raw.

“Is it too much?” It’s not sweet by any means. Either way, he plans on giving more.

“N-no. It’s-“ He doesn’t even let you finish, just starts fingering you almost viciously, digits hooking over and over to pull and pull it out of you. Kendall couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to make someone cum this much. He thought that, maybe, if he gave you something, if he gave you a few things, it’d make up for all the taking.

“God.”

You’re so close- he can tell. Your hips jump up to try and meet his fingers, and he has to pin them down so he can be more precise. It practically makes you melt- the manhandling. Every ounce of heat, all the buzzing, itching want, pooled in one spot, ready to pop. Quick bursts of moans, every exhale, thighs shaking and hands grasping. At his shoulder, feeling the flex of his trapezius as he holds you down.

You get so tense you forget the need for air, big pauses between these tiny breaths.

“Breathe,” honey? Baby? Girl? Just a little something, to bridge the gap.

He sounds strained, like he’s fighting against you. It tightens more, impossibly. Then finally, finally, clamps down and holds, and as it lets go-

“Fuck!”

Slides into pulsing, almost gripping so tight he can’t move his fingers. Frantic breaths, patchy moans. Kendall feels you soften further around his digits, thinks about how perfect you’d feel around his cock. And Christ, do you want it. You hadn’t even fully come down from your orgasm before you were thinking of the next, of cumming around something more substantial. It’d be so easy, too- always so quick to after the first one, and even quicker after the next. A dam breaking. Raining harder.

His fingers slip from you, watery strings of wetness between them. And before you can tell him not to, tell him to wipe it on you so it could be dirty and messy and dry down flaky on your skin, he’s sucking it off them. Inhaling deeply. Groaning a little. Really enjoying it. It makes your mouth water; it makes you want to reciprocate. Some other time, hopefully.

You sit up a bit, reach forward and grab the waistband of his slacks, pulling him forward. They feel crisp and starched (do they starch them?) He almost wants to stop you. Is this too far? Is this unfair? You were both high, but there was a clear imbalance here. And he was afraid, that if they kept going, he might lean into it. He’s sat up on his knees above you, and you straighten further, slipping your fingers deeper into his pants to get a better grip on them, nails smooth and scorching against his skin. They slide to meet in the center, grab the flaps of the fly, and you look up at him through your lashes. Eyes dark. Demanding.

“Fuck me?”

Looking down his nose, a strange mix of emotions. You’re too good for him; he shouldn’t even be bothering with you. He knows what you want, and he always has. Pushing each other, but he does a little harder and you fall back. Scramble to be at his feet, and stay there. It feels good to do it. To see a flash of hurt across your face, and the knowledge that your blood runs hot from it is incidental.

He grabs your face, pinky ring digging into the ridge of your jaw, unforgiving. His index finger and thumb press deep into your cheeks; he can feel the upward sweep of your cheekbones. His palm squishes your lips back against your teeth. Your eyelids droop a bit, savoring the pressure. Slowly, you work the button through the hole, testing him.

Kendall slaps you. Really fucking hard. No build-up to it or anything. It’s loud, the metal on his finger feels like it burst blood vessels. He kept his fingers spread a bit, messily, for extra coverage. A thick thumb hits your nose so hard your septum aches. He follows through, too, doesn’t let his hand bounce back once it makes contact. It's a miracle you don't moan.

Just as you’re about turn your head to face him again, working your jaw, his fingers are digging into your cheeks again, so much rougher than last time. Pushing your head back, eliciting a pained noise from you.

“Lay back, if you want me so fucking bad.”

He shoves so hard your neck hurts from the force. You blink up at him, but do as he says, hands pulling away and moving to the place where the cushions meet, tucking your fingers in nervously.

“No,” grabbing a wrist roughly, jerking upward. Awash with shame, hurting for the pride you inspired in him earlier.

“Take your pants off.”

Nodding hurriedly, hands shaking and unstable like they were before. But this time he doesn’t help, backs off the couch so he can do the same. He can feel your eyes all over him; you wanted to do it, but he looks pretty doing it himself. Trying to take it all in, in case this was it. A drug-fueled fuck. You’re distracted, going slow, and he glances your way reproachfully, from where his head is tucked down to watch himself. So, you rush, finally getting the zipper down, hooking your thumbs beneath everything, jeans and underwear. Pushing it down your thighs, watching as he does the same, takes himself into his hand.

You could die. You could burst into flames right then and would be no hotter. Surface of the sun; lightning, even. Paradoxically, you’re frozen, fabric around your knees. Your mouth hung open slightly as he strokes himself a couple times. Remembering the shitty estimates of the size of his hands, and trying to figure out how big he is. Not huge; he didn’t look impossible. But it’d be tight.

The utter lack you felt, (inside, physically,) had you returning to the task at hand, even more eager. Pushing your clothes off your feet, tossing them maybe a little dramatically. Kendall is stepping out of his own to move toward you, and he does hear where the fabric hits the floor a little too far away. And it softens him a little, endears you to him, hurts his heart knowing that you want him that bad. (He, also, feels a little cocky about it.)

Part of him wants to take his time, get a good look at you. Use his fingers to spread you, see parts of you he knows you never thought he would. It was only a matter of time. Galaxies on a collision course; irrevocable changes. Parts of you sent careening into outer space. Was there anyone in the andromeda galaxy to know it would happen? He barely even has to nudge your legs apart, hand just sort of resting atop your thigh as you do it yourself.

He leans over you, and yeah, it’s on a couch, and there are stimulants coursing through both of your veins, but it’s missionary. It’s too intimate, you’re looking up at him with so much want and affection, as if you can’t see what’s wrong with him. That he’s an addict, a fuck-up. That he hurts everyone around him. That he killed someone. He was so sure, that anyone could look into his eyes and read his thoughts and know.

Things keep moving, despite it. He reaches down with a hand to line himself up. He can’t see, but his head just happens to press against your clit in a way that makes you jump. You feel like you’re too excited, and it was probably a mixture of the coke and months of nursing a pathetic crush on him. So hurt by his cruelty, but so enamored with his praise.

Finally, he’s pressing into you, and the stretch makes you whimper, makes your legs part further, hands moving to clutch at his sides. (And your hands are met with fabric, again, and you feel that same anger go through you, slipping away just as fast as it had come on.) His hand rests at the juncture of your hip and thigh, gripping tight, trying to steady himself because it’s always a lot when you’re high like this.

Hips meet, and your head falls back at the feeling, letting out a groan of relief. His lower stomach presses against your clit in a way that makes your skin buzz. You can feel him in your chest; it almost makes you anxious. It’s so much. You open your eyes up to look at him, and his lips are flattened together slightly, he’s almost glaring at you. It feels like your heart is inflating in your chest. He sees you capitulating and it pisses him off.

His hand presses against your sternum to push you further into the couch. Uses his other hand to tilt your hips up, gets up on his knees to rest your ass against the tops of his thighs. No preamble, no easing into it. A rough, unrelenting pace, that has you wincing and gasping in surprise.

The noises you make are almost shameful. Choked sounds of impact, moaning like you’ve been deprived of it for years. You’ll keep realizing what you’re doing, and biting your lip to stifle some of them. You look up to him and see the way his face is pinched in concentration, his eyes watching where your hips meet, the way his mouth will fall open and his brows will wobble like he’s restraining himself, and you feel the need to, too. Clapping your hand over your mouth, hurried breaths making noise over your fingers. And it kind of does it for you. Makes it feel wrong. (As if it wasn’t already.)

Kendall glances up to see you doing it, and he gets a fistful of hair at the scalp, pulls so hard you yelp.

“You were so fucking desperate, and now you’re, what? Embarrassed?”

Your hand is gripping the back of the couch. You want to touch him to appease him, but feel like you aren’t allowed.

“No, I-“ You really are trying to sound serious, but it just sounds breathless and needy.

“Not getting what you want? Am I not being mean enough for you?”

God. You really were transparent. Glass, with all your thoughts printed out in neat script and pressed between the panes. Him knowing hurt; him indulging it made you want him forever.

“N-no.”

He’s stunned, honestly. That you would want more. Less, so, that he did too. Wanted to see how far until you’d break. If you even would. What all you would give to him. His hand slides up your chest, wraps around your throat, and you sigh like it’s perfect. Your knees shake and you clench around him. He makes his own muffled sound, lets out a huff of air, and it makes you ache for him.

“Why do you want me so bad, huh? Is it the money? Need someone powerful to put you in your place?”

So heavy. A whirlwind of emotions; you want to kiss him, you want to tell him he’s so pretty and perceptive and smart, but he’s wrong. That he’s everything. You don’t want him to stop.

“Kendall-“

“You’d let me do anything,” like you needed reminded, “let me drag you down, let me ruin your life. Because you’re so fucking needy.”

Jesus. You wanted to look away; he was right, being proven so every second. Because you were right there, shaking and electric and scorched. It was wrong. He needed you, and you were being selfish. Taking.

“Please?”

Jam-packed with so much emotion it filled him, made him sick with it. Needing him to be nicer to himself, but meaner to you. Like that made any fucking sense. He needs you to cum, to see, to give it to you. The world served up on a platter, if he could get it off his fucking back.

Your lips are already parted, so it’s easy enough for him to slip his fingers inside, press your tongue down. It’s the hand that was in you earlier, and there’s still a lingering taste of yourself, of his spit, the salt of his skin. You do reach out to touch him, then, hand slipping underneath the hem of his sweater. Fingers resting in the groove of his spine. His skin is so soft, hot. Maybe you’re asking too much. Maybe you’re hurting him. He had rubbed your back earlier, in this casual way, like it was nothing. He probably didn’t have some stupid epiphany, then, like you were now. Didn’t feel the life thrumming in your body, and realize that you were just a person.

He spits in your mouth, so disdainfully, and it’s almost tragic how fast you come apart. Clenching over him, so tight he can’t help but groan, (which makes it more intense, makes it all so much worse,) fingers digging into his back, crying out with each wave. Feeling the electricity spark along your nerves.

And as it goes, it feels like something’s pulling behind your ribs. Tugging on your heart, or poking at a bubble, trying to puncture it. Behind your closed eyelids, your eyes sting. Your throat feels tight. He pulls his fingers from your mouth just as it pops, too much. Every sense too alive, brain too wired, emotions too high. Tears slip over your cheeks, your lip wobbles as you let out this pathetic noise, mouth now closed to try and muffle it.

Kendall sees it. There’s no mistaking the way your face falls. He rests his hand on your cheek, goes to stop, and you huff wetly.

“Don’t.”

It was petulant. Okay? He complies, regains a steady, (but slower,) pace.

You slump into the couch. Liquefying, pooling into the creases of the fabric, slipping between the cushions, dripping onto the floor. Still so sensitive, crying out like you’re right there again, but softer, milder. He’s not sure what to think. He finds you so pretty like this it’s unbearable. The beginnings of a bruise along your jaw, from his ring. Lashes stuck together and glossy. Skin flushed. Pink and wet. So pliant. Completely vulnerable.

And honest. Giving him everything.

“I love you,” painfully heartfelt.

Water over him. God. He didn’t deserve it. He should have to die of thirst. Of hunger. In the desert, vultures circling overhead. Should’ve never been able to sit down by the water and wait.

Your hands are on him, cradling his face, pulling him down to kiss you. It should be slow, it should be tender and gentle. But he won’t let it be. Like you were, earlier. Forceful, desperate. As if, if he pulled away, took a breath, you’d rescind. You’d take it all back. Selfish. If you were going to give it to him, he wanted it all.

Now he’s losing his composure. Brow crumpled, moaning behind his lips. Slipping his hand beneath that stupid shitty cheap sweater to work its way under your (stupid, shitty, cheap,) bra, to feel your pebbled nipple, to see how soft the skin of your breast was. You jolt and arch into the touch, and he bites your lip. He’s getting close; he kind of wants you to cum again. It’d probably be easy, it doesn’t seem like you ever went back down to the base of the hill. Moves his hand down to find your clit so swollen, and you jump at that, too, trying to clutch at the short hair on the back of his head. You cried from the last one and he’s still giving you more.

Kendall’s right. It doesn’t take much, he could probably (probably,) count on both hands how many times he circled his fingers before you were falling again. So sweet, fingers slipping down the back of his neck, molding to him, yielding. You look up to him with so much heat in your eyes it burns. It could go on forever.

It can’t, really. It really is a lot. He looks down where his hips press to yours again. Sees himself disappear; sees you take him. A hand finds your waist, trying to steady himself. You still want him so badly. It’s like each time you see him is the first. He’s shaking; you’re flattered. Grinning like an idiot, and hoping he doesn’t notice. Watching the way his chest heaves, the way his bottom lip hangs to reveal his teeth. Eyes closed, hips going slower like he really wants it to last. You can’t help but tighten around him at the sight, and he gasps, spits out a startled ‘fuck,’ before he’s pulling you down over him, fucking you so harshly you’re stunned.

“Jesus,” it comes out of you so shakily, you almost laugh.

Clutching the armrest behind you, riding it out. Eyes glued to him cause you just have to see. His scrape over you, taking in every inch of you, too, the way you’re still breathing heavily. Can hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears, the way you’re still making eager, hurried sounds. Your eyes meet and his immediately fall closed. Finished. The heel of his hand presses into your lower ribs. Black sleeves have fallen down his arms, and you miss the sight of all his scattered moles. Slow again, moaning softly, and you’re practically giddy that he’s doing it. His hips stutter, press against yours in ways that make you see stars. And then, he stops.

“God. Fuck.” Weak, low, broken. He feels light-headed, all the air from his lungs.

It’s bittersweet. He lays his head on your chest and almost forgets. What he’s done, what he did to you. Drugs, dragging people down. Metaphorically. Literally. He doesn’t say a word, lies there motionless. Listens to your heartbeat, slower than it was before. Studies the fibers in the couch. He can’t say it back. He wants to so badly and he can’t.

You can feel it. The mood shift. It’s a mix for you, too. You know that what Kendall did was wrong. But, you feel fulfilled. (Encompassed; eaten.) You kind of don’t regret it. Know you should, at least the cocaine, but you don’t. It was fun. You did bond with him. Understanding him, though? Another good yank, almost making a hole in the door. (In a house, engulfed in flames; you’re trying to get a door open to go deeper.)

“That was, uh. That was a lot,” it’s a little playful, but he doesn’t laugh.

“Uh-huh.”

Muffled. You can hear how his cheek is pressed against your clothes. It hurts and warms your heart all at once.

“I think the coke was too much.”

“Mhmm.”

It’s not dismissive. Just distant. He almost sounds sleepy, if you didn’t know any better. You run your fingers through his hair, and he can hear the way your heart races a little at it. He huffs through his nose, the corners of his lips turn up a bit, just enough for him to feel.

You press your lips to the top of his head, not kissing, just resting there. Breathe deeply, smell the powdery, masculine scent of his hair product.

“I’m not naïve, you know.”

He tenses, not sure what you’re getting at.

“You don’t have to tell me everything, but I do want to help you.”

Murmured into his hair- he feels your breath against his scalp. He wants to melt. Downward, swallowed into the earth, every part of him recycled.

“I don’t think you can.”

Beneath them was an art structure, 150 feet tall, closed from the public because too many people jumped off of it. Sometimes, Kendall would stand in the elevator, on the way up to his penthouse, and think that someone should close that off, too.

#kendall roy #kendall roy x reader #kendall roy/reader #succession hbo #succession #reader insert #took me like four months to post this on here for some reason dfhakjdhka

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javathewildone · 2 years ago

Text

One Day - Heartland AU (Part 34)

Parts: 33, ... 35

People watching was a hell of a pastime. You could learn so much about an individual as well as overall human nature by just observing behaviors and mannerisms of fellow man. Amy spent a great deal of the evening doing just that from her place at the wooden picnic table. She chatted with Soraya for a majority of the time who introduced her to a few of her own friends that showed up, but aside from Ty and Jack, she knew no one well enough to engage in deep conversation. She learned Jack and Lisa were a true opposites attract love story based simply on the clash of rustic cowboys and posh equestrians mingling in the yard. It wasn’t a huge crowd, but enough to make it easy for her to become invisible.

Wherever Lisa drifted in the crowd, Jack wasn’t far behind. Amy wondered if he even noticed how he gravitated toward his wife. She found herself spending a lot of time watching them interact within the venn diagram of their marriage. It was as fascinating as it was inspiring. Amy knew better than to believe in the fairytale she imagined for their love story without even knowing all of it. Jack’s brooding while Lisa was gone for those few months said a lot. She was sure that was probably the root of some arguments over the years. So far as Amy understood, Heartland was Lisa’s home base, but she still owned and operated quite a lucrative farm of her own not far from there, as well as her breeding investments in France.

Feeling eyes on her, Amy’s gaze drifted toward Caleb who grinned and waved, beckoning her over. He arrived not long after Lisa to set up the music, getting into an argument with Soraya over the playlist he was supposed to send her yesterday but didn’t. Amy kept out of what felt like a lover’s quarrel, though spent much of the afternoon waiting for the tension to snap between him and Jack. Caleb didn’t entirely ignore his old boss, but there was clear animosity in their curt pleasantries. They hadn’t spoken a word in the last couple hours since the party came into full swing.

Sighing, Amy stood and wandered over, figuring she could use another drink anyway.

“You looked a bit lonely sitting there. Wanna give it a try?” Caleb lifted the headphones from his ears and held them open for Amy, who hesitated.

“I really have no idea what I’d be doing.”

Caleb only shrugged and dropped the headphones over her head. “Neither do I, really. But I sure look cool doing it.”

Amy resisted the urge to roll her eyes while she shifted over in front of a control board that looked like a complicated network of dials and buttons all backlit by neon LEDs. The entire thing was hooked up to a laptop where Caleb’s Soraya-approved playlist displayed.

“So, I just pick a song?” She scrolled through the list. “Then what?”

Reaching around Caleb explained the Cue and Sync buttons, allowing her to mess around with the transitioning of songs further down the track. Then he tapped the large round platter in the middle, indicating to her to spin it. She jumped, laughing as the track scratched like an old school record. It was a cool device to mess around with but after two songs she’d had her fill and handed Caleb back his headphones. “Thanks, that was neat.”

“Anytime,” he grinned. “So how are you liking Hudson?”

Amy looked out toward the crowd. At Lisa who was in the middle of regaling a small group with a story and Jack who smiled warmly while he listened. At Soraya who was laughing at something her friend Jen showed her on her phone. Then her eyes landed on Ty leaning up against the fence sipping from a red solo cup and nodding absently at something their vet, Scott, was saying. “It’s not exactly what I expected.” Was it a surprise to hear Ty spent time in prison? Yeah. But could she believe it? Also, yeah.

“Is that good, or bad?”

Amy shrugged. “Both. But I’m here for the foreseeable future so I just have to take it in stride, I suppose.” Her attention lingered on Ty while she answered, which she only realized when he glanced up to find her looking in his direction. Blinking, Amy turned away to give Caleb a smile. “So what do you do when you’re not-” She mimed scratching a record, missing the way Ty’s expression hardened at the ease with which Amy was able to be so close to Caleb when she could barely stand to be within three feet of anyone else. He didn’t get it. Then reminded himself that there were a lot of unknowns when it came to Amy. He just wished it didn’t annoy him so much to be left in the dark.

“I’m a rodeo stock contractor,” Caleb replied, moving around tracks on the controller to keep the playlist running.

“I have no idea what that means,” Amy shook her head, passing a sideways glance toward Ty who was no longer against the fence. Her head swiveled to find where he wandered off to but Caleb’s explanation demanded her attention.

“The short of it is I buy roughstock for rodeos. Broncs, bulls, steer. Ever been?”

Amy’s brow lifted. “To a rodeo? No. Coming to Heartland is the first time I’ve been within touching distance of a horse.”

“Well, we’ll have to get you to one some time.” His smile was wide, genuine. Amy once again wondered if this was him flirting or merely trying to make friends. Her attention moved to Soraya. No way was she about to let herself get involved in another undefined, yet clearly drawn relationship.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll tag along with Soraya next time she goes.” The name drop was intentional. She needed to gauge Caleb’s reaction to the idea of Soraya potentially cock-blocking his chances.

“Alright, awesome.” Caleb merely continued grinning, seemingly oblivious to his questionable signals.

Amy let out a breath, more confident now that he was merely just trying to be nice. Otherwise, he probably would have preferred she went alone, right? “That BBQ is calling my name again. Thanks for-” she waved a hand over the table, smiling as she stepped away toward the cooler to grab another can of ginger ale on her way back to the food table. As great as Maggie’s chili was, Stumpy’s pork barbeque was going to undoubtedly turn into a craving. She idly wondered if she could get Jack to talk him into making a large enough batch for her to freeze.

The music quieted as Caleb changed to a slower song, increasing the volume instead on the cacophony of conversation.

“You and Caleb looked pretty buddy-buddy.”

Dropping the tongs with a clatter, Amy shot Ty her signature glare. Pop-up book from hell, indeed. “Jealous?” Stupid thing to conclude, but why else would Ty care that she was talking to Caleb?

“Because you seem perfectly fine with him hovering in your personal space? No. Just curious as to why.” Grabbing for a plate, Ty put himself deliberately in her space when he had to lean near her to reach.

Amy stilled at the closeness, but otherwise didn’t flinch away. Her jaw tightened when Ty purposely lingered inside her invisible fence for a few seconds longer than necessary. She breathed again when he leaned away, though still watched her closely while waiting for some kind of response.

“What are you even talking about?” She avoided eye contact while loading a bun with a heap of barbeque.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Ty insisted quietly, taking the tongs when she shifted down for the cole slaw.

“No,” Amy replied sharply. “I don’t.” She continued shuffling down the length of the buffet, putting distance between them that Ty continued breaching.

“Okay. Pretend you didn’t jump out of your skin that day you ran into me in the barn. Or how you freeze any time someone even comes close to touching you. That is if you don’t jerk away first.” He kept his voice low enough for only her to hear, glancing around them to ensure no one else was close enough to eavesdrop. He might want answers, but the whole town didn’t need to know their business.

“Oh.” Reaching the end of the table, Amy grabbed a napkin. “Yeah, see there is this little thing called boundaries. I like mine.” Nevermind the fact that he cornered her and scared her half to death once already.

“Right.” Ty shook his head but didn’t push. Amy gave him a look as if asking if that was all before returning to her spot at the picnic table where she’d been pretty much all evening.

Gathering his plate, Ty nearly walked right into Kit when he turned around. Her appearance startled him, figuring by now she didn’t plan on showing up. “Ah, hey.” The tension was palpable as she gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey.” “Did you just get here?” “Not long ago, I-” she paused. “I wasn’t sure if I was even going to come.” Understandable. Selfishly, Ty hoped she wouldn’t have if only to avoid this awkward encounter. “Well, Lisa will be happy to see you and there’s plenty of food.”

The disappointment on Kit’s face at Ty’s reply was clear, but he didn’t know what she expected to happen. Claiming he was glad to see her would be a lie and would probably lead to yet another misunderstanding. Saving her dignity, Kit didn’t push for a conversation that would likely end the same as their last. Even she knew now wasn’t the best time. “She was, yeah. It’s nice to have her back.”

Ty nodded in agreement. A strained silence spread between them before Kit broke it. “I’m just, uh, gonna grab a plate to go. I really only came for Stumpy’s barbeque.”

Though he didn’t fully believe that, Ty chuckled. “I promise not to tell Lisa.”

Kit’s laugh was strained. “Thanks.”

“Have a good night, then,” Ty said, finding no reason to continue lingering. “Hey,” Kit said, stopping him. “Do you think we could try our last conversation again? Maybe over coffee?”

And there it was. “You’re the one who drove away, Kit.” After pretty much accusing him of having a relationship with Amy of all people. “I know and I realize that maybe I wasn’t being fair. I want to have a chance to get everything out in the open.” “I told you everything,” Ty insisted. “You didn’t want to hear it.”

Pressing her lips together, Kit’s chin trembled like she was trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry. I heard the gossip and it struck me off guard. I’m ready to listen.”

Maybe it was his perpetual guilt over how he treated Kit white he was gone, but somehow Ty found himself agreeing. “Okay. Sure.”

Kit let out a relieved breath. “Great. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Um, sure, yeah.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t use the inmates as an excuse over the weekend. He didn’t know see how yet another discussion of his fuck ups and lack of communication would change anything, but he backed himself into this corner on his own and now he needed to see it through. —-------

Flustered and having lost his appetite, Ty joined Amy at the picnic table. Amy lifted her eyes slowly from her plate, narrowing them with suspicion when Ty sat across from her. There were plenty of other places for him to sit. Like with Kit, for instance. But he wasn’t paying her any attention, instead watching Kit at the buffet so Amy went back to eating.

“I think I messed up.” Ty said suddenly. Amy glanced up then around, wondering if he was talking to someone else. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“With Kit.”

Amy sat up straighter, putting her hands up. “Uh, uh. Your girlfriend, your problem. I’m not getting involved with your lover’s quarrel again.” Last time it was accidental, she sure as hell wasn’t about to do it by choice.

Ty scoffed, turning back toward Kit only to find her gone. “That’s fair.”

“Damn right it is,” Amy grumbled before shoveling a forkful of food in her mouth.

Pushing his plate back, Ty stood and reached his hand over the table. “Let’s dance.”

The dumbfounded look Amy gave him was almost comical with a mouthful of barbeque. “Wh-what?” “Dance.” He wiggled his fingers at her. Amy stared at his hand while she swallowed her bite of food. “I-I don’t-”

“If you don’t know how that’s fine, you’ll learn if you’re here long enough.” They were invited to and hosted enough gatherings that Amy would have ample opportunity. The shock wore off to be once again replaced with suspicion. “Why are you being nice all of the sudden?” Because he was trying to test a theory. Instead of answering, Ty merely continued to stare her down with his hand out in invitation.

“What about Kit?” Amy asked, looking around the yard at the gathering of people. She was grasping at straws now.

“I don’t see her, do you?” In a way he was relieved for that, though probably wouldn’t have asked if she was still there. That was something he’d have to unravel with himself later, preferably before he had coffee with Kit. “Besides, it’s not like you guys are in competition.”

Amy frowned, unsure how to take that comment. Ultimately, she decided he was right. She wasn’t vying for Ty’s affections, so if Kit wanted to lay claim she could do so without a fight. Amy just didn’t want to be accused of something she didn’t do. Out of excuses, Amy sighed and got up. She didn’t accept Ty’s hand but walked around the table to join him on the patch of grass designated as a dance floor. Amy still hesitated when Ty held his hands up again for her to take. She chewed the inside of her cheek feeling the regret sinking in. She should have declined. Giving herself into his hands put her in a place she might not be able to escape. “We don’t have to.” Ty said, though kept his hands open in front of him. Amy glanced at the people around them. Witnesses in all directions. Then she placed her palm against Ty’s, sucking in air when his fingers curled around her hand, the other finding her waist, connecting them together. She placed her free hand on his shoulder.

He moved and she nearly tripped over his feet in her distraction. Then stiffened in his grasp when his hold tightened to steady her. “Wow, you are pretty bad at this, aren’t you?” He teased, covering up the fumble and trying to take her mind away from her fear. She was a ball of solid anxiety in his hands, her movements stiff and her attention somewhere other than him. His voice focused her attention, though, and when Ty moved again, Amy matched his steps. “Not many opportunities to dance in the city.”

“I seem to recall Vancouver having a stellar nightlife. Though they’re not necessarily dancing the two-step.” Amy knew all about Vancouver’s club scene. Being a college student made it almost mandatory to spend weekends on the town or suffer FOMO come Monday. Freshman year was the time to explore and experiment. To live and learn before getting serious in the next few years. Live was precisely what Amy did, but the lesson learned was harsher than she ever expected. Ty sensed Amy’s mind drift when her eyes stared over his shoulder. “I take it the club scene wasn’t really your thing.”

“Not really,” she answered quietly. It was too loud, too crowded. Too many bodies grinding up against one another beneath strobing lights that only succeeded in giving her a headache. Yet her decision to leave put her in more danger than staying would have wasted her night. Leaving in a group was always safer than alone. The memory caused anxiety to bleed through her veins, her heart leaping into a sprint. Ty could feel her tense further, her hand sweating in his. Looking in her eyes, her pupils dilated to nearly consume the bright blue iris. She jerked away from him, her mouth opening to allow larger airflow as panic began to consume her. “Amy, hey.” Ty didn’t move, merely tried to get her to focus on him. He learned his lesson with trying to touch her when she was in this state. “Hey, you’re okay. Look at me.” Blinking, Amy glanced up at Ty’s worried expression. Shaking her head, she looked for a break in the crowd. “This was a bad idea.” Spotting one, she bolted through it, nearly plowing into Lisa. “Whoa, hey.” Seeing the frightened look on Amy’s face stopped Lisa in her tracks. “Amy?” Feeling her lungs constrict, Amy was barely able to murmur an apology as she darted for the house, desperate to place a solid barrier at her back. Lisa turned to watch her leave, grabbing a hold of Ty when he tried to follow. “What’s going on? Is Amy alright?”

Ty paused, looking toward the house just as the front door shut behind Amy. “I don’t know. She, uh, she got spooked by something.”

“Oh? By what?”

By him. Again. Proving his theory. “Grandpa didn’t tell you?” Of all the things, Ty would have thought Ty’s theory would have been among the first things he clued her into if for no other reason than to ensure Lisa treaded lightly.

“Tell me…?” Jack got her up to speed on quite a bit since she got back, including the heated rivalry that caused so much trouble between Ty and Amy since she arrived. Judging from the way they were just dancing, Lisa figured they found a way to smooth things over. Perhaps not.

Sighing, Ty didn’t know if now was the best time to discuss Amy’s questionably dark past with Lisa, but someone needed to talk Amy into opening the likely locked door and she was probably the best person to do it.

#heartland #one day #fanfiction #amy fleming #ty borden #jack bartlett #lisa stillman #caleb odell #soraya duvall #kit bailey

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kocamaaanbirkucukkiz-blog-b-blog · 2 years ago

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SHORT NY GUIDE

Bloguma hepiniz hoş geldiniz. Beğendiyseniz butona basmayı ve arkadaşlarınızla paylaşmayı, beğenmediyseniz yüzüme söylememeyi unutmayın lütfen, iyi eğlenceler :) 1- GEZİLECEK GÖRÜLECEK MÜZELER Hepsi için online bilet alıp önceden rezervasyon yaptırmak gerekli, sitelerinden kolayca yapılıyor. Pazartesileri genelde kapalı oluyorlar, gitmeden mutlaka sayfalarını ziyaret edin. Kendi öncelik sırama göre hazırladım, ilgi alanlarınıza bakıp hoşunuza gideni seçebilirsiniz. - American Museum of Natural History (28 $) (12:00-17:30) https://www.amnh.org/plan-your-visit - Solomun R Guggenheim (Modern Art) (25 $) (11:00-17:00) https://secure.guggenheim.org/ - Metropolitan Museum of Art (30 $) (10:00-17:00 – Fri/Sat 21:00) https://www.metmuseum.org/visit/plan-your-visit#tickets - The Morgan Library & Museum (22 $) (10:30-17:00) (Cuma gğnleri 5-7 arası FreeFriday var, rezervasyon yapılırsa gidilebilir, bahçesi güzele benziyor) https://www.themorgan.org/visit - 9/11 Memorial Museum (29 $) (9:00-19:00) https://visit.911memorial.org/WebStore/shop/ViewItems.aspx?CG=tickets&C=museum#740747 - Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum (8$) (10:00-17:00) https://www.intrepidmuseum.org/Plan-Your-Visit - Skyscraper Museum (Free) (12:00-18:00) https://skyscraper.org/visit/ - Museum of Modern Art MoMA (25 $) (10:30-17:30) https://tickets.moma.org/orders/198/calendar?cart=true&eventId=5ef36ac25eeba32ee256c78d&ticketsga=1684388127&_gl=1*s4az7m*_ga*Mjc1MTg1NDU2LjE2ODQyMTgwMjY.*_ga_8QY3201SLC*MTY4NDM4ODEyMy4yLjEuMTY4NDM4ODEzOC4wLjAuMA..&_ga=2.225957082.1134058564.1684388124-275185456.1684218026 - Museum of Ice Cream (33-49$) (9:30-11:00) – Çılgın bi deneyim, değişiklik sevenler deneyebilir :) https://www.museumoficecream.com/new-york-city?gclid=Cj0KCQjwmZejBhC_ARIsAGhCqneF7t-hp2mSETALTiFGi97NywX0Pd8Fuico72mp1QnBTxCmZ-yoc1YaAnNPEALw_wcB - New York Public Library - St Patrick Cathedral

��ATI VE MANZARALAR - Rockefeller Center (Top of the Rock) (40 $) https://www.rockefellercenter.com/attractions/top-of-the-rock-observation-deck/#ticket-offerings - Empire State Building (44-74 $) https://www.esbnyc.com/buy-tickets - The Edge (Hudson Yards) (35 $) https://www.edgenyc.com/en/buy-tickets - SUMMIT One Vanderbilt (42-62 $) https://summitov.com/tickets/ - One World Observatory (44-64 $) https://www.oneworldobservatory.com/buy-tickets/ - Liberty Statue and Ellis Island (Ferry 25 $/person) https://www.cityexperiences.com/new-york/city-cruises/statue/search-result/?destination=Reserve%20Ticket&date=20230620 ÖNEMLİ: Şöyle bir kampanya var Newyork City Pass bileti alarak yukarıdaki yerlerden 5 tanesini 138 $’a ziyaret edebiliyorsunuz. Tavsiyem, eğer manzaralardan birine çıkacaksanız bu bilet çok avantajlı, diğer gezeceğiniz yerleri de hemen belirliyorsunuz ve bir rota oluşturuyorsunuz. https://www.citypass.com/new-york PARK, BAHÇE VE YAPILAR - Central Park - Bryant Park /atıştırmalık ve içecek alıp yayılmalık, öğleden sonra dinlenmesi için sosyal bi ortam) - Brooklyn Bridge - Brooklyn Bridge Park (gün batımı için) - High Line (Hudson River) - Times Square - Wall Street - Soho - Harlem - Grand Central Terminal - Broadway - 5th and 6th Avenue - Manhattan - Manhattan Bridge - Chelsea (Özellikle Chelsea Market’e gidin, hem yeme-içme hem alışveriş için ideal bir ortam, keyifli olur) - Madison Square Park 2- YİYECEK-İÇECEK ROTASI Öncelikle belirtmeliyim ki iyi yemeğin köpeğiyiz, sizin için kabalaşmayacağım ama iyi yemeği sevdiğinizi biliyorum. Roof Bars & Local Pubs Bir roof barda imza kokteyllerini içmeden gelmeyin bence. Eğer yukarıdaki “çatı ve manzaralar” bölümünden bir mekana giderseniz bence kokteyl dahil fiyatı değerlendirin, avantajlı olabilir. - Bailey’s Corner Pub - The Sky Room - 230 Fifth Rooftop Bar - Harriet’s Rooftop - Westlight - The Crown NYC - McSorley’s Old Ale House - pub - The Dead Rabbit - pub Güzel mekan önerileri için şu siteyi de kullanabilirsiniz. https://mybartender.com/places/best-pubs-nyc/ Mesela Beer Gardenlar: https://mybartender.com/places/best-beer-gardens-nyc/ Bagels and Sandwiches - Katz Delicatessen – tercihler şunlar olabilir: All beef hotdog, Jewish snacks and deli, pastrami sandviç – Hiçbi yere gitmezseniz buraya mutlaka gidin pastrami için) - Russ & Daughters - Lox sandwich – somon fümelidir dikkat - Numpang - sandviç türevleri Vietnam işi, denenebilir. Bu yukarıdaki ikisi Yahudi restoranı, et konusunda çok rahat olabilirsiniz inek ve türevleri. - Absolute Bagel - Murray’s Bagels - Hudson Bagels - Ess-A-Bagel Burada plan şu, bi öğleden sonra yorulmuşsunuz ve bagel/sandviç+drinklerle birlikte Bryant Park’ta oturuyorsunuz. Sonra bana fotoğraf atın, sad story. Burgers and BBQ - Shake Shack (zincir ama gidin, yerlisi bile bayılıyormuş) - Taim (Falafel tarzı zımbırtılar var, alternatif) - Minetta Tavern (30 $ bandında fiyatlar, kendinize jest yapacaksanız gidin, abartılmış olabilir bilmiyorum.) - Hometown Bar-B-Que – “et yiyeceğim ben klasik Amerikan iteminin tadına bakacağım” diyenler için gidilebilir, her türlü et var. Food Trucks Food Truck deneyimi yaşamak lazım. - Wafels + Dinges - Kimchi Taco (kore + meksika mutfağı, ilginç olabilir) - Coolhaus (çok acayip bi dondurmacı gibi duruyor, gidilebilir, al-götür park yapılabilir.) - The Halal Guys (baya uzun yıllardır hizmet veriyormuş, et yemek isteyen helalcilere alternatif) Desserts - Levain Bakery - cookie masterlarmış – yer fıstıklı ve chocolate chip walnut gibi tarzları övüyorlar. Hiçbi tatlıcıya gitmeyecekseniz buraya gidin. - Crumbly – Crumb Cake - Magnolia Bakery (yerinde iyiym şu banana pudingi diyorsanız, bi şans verin, İstanbul’da da açıldı, esprisi kalmadı diyebiliriz ama hala popüler mekanmış) - Dominique Ansel Bakery – The Cronut (ödüllü şef, bi bakılabilir) - Little Cupcake Bakeshop – Banana Nutella Cake - Jacques Torres Chocolate - çikolatacıymış, şöyle bir bakılabilir, abartılmış olabilir. - La Maison du Chocolat - çikolatacı, antin kuntin şeyler var, sarmayabilir sizi ben olsam bi bakardım. - Sugar Sweet Sunshine – yani rastlarsanız bakarsınız bi aman aman değil. Strawberry Cupcake with PB Buttercream diyorlar, değerlendirilebilir. Doughnut (Amerika’nın National Item’ı :) ) - Doughnut Plant - Dough Ice-Cream - Ample Hills Creamery - Il Laboratorio Del Gelato - Big Gay Ice Cream (arkadaşlar salty pimp veya Bea Arthur meşhur diyorlar, çok acayip tatlar varmış, külahınızı mutlaka biscoff veya nutellaya batırtın diyorlar) - Morgenstern’s Ice Cream Pizza - Joe’s Pizza – dilim pizza ve ikonik-gidilir. - John’s of Bleecker Street – dilim pizza, bu da ikonik. - Fernando’s Focacceria (bakın burada asıl riceball yiyorsunuz, değişiklik olsun güzel bir İtalyan tercih gibi) - Mama’s Too (Doyurucu, İtalyan tarzı sandviçleri de var, öğlen yemeğinde de gidilebilir) Breakfast - Lunch-iesh - Dinner - Ruby’s Cafe - çok iyi duruyor ve aşırı ucuz, kahvalt�� da yapılabilir, öğlen veya akşam da yenebilir. Tavuk burgeri iyimiş. AŞIRI UCUZ, F/P. - Balthazar – kahvaltı mekanı ama biraz pahalı, karar sizin. Gereksiz gibi, daha verimli harcanabilir para. - Paris Baguette Bakery Cafe – sabah gidin alın alacaklarınızı, parklardan birinde piknikle başlayın güne. Tercihen aşşırı gezdiğiniz bi günün ertesi günü olsun. Veya gün batımında aynı senaryoyu uygulayın. Zaten Hudson kenarı yakınındasınız, nehir kenarı keyfi yapılır gün batımında hem drink hem pastry, tatlı olur. - Sunday in Brooklyn – kahvaltı-brunch veya öğle yemeği. Ucuzdan biraz pahalı. - Crif Dogs - hot dog cenneti, öğlen gider bence. Parka al-götür de yapılır, local beerla bi denersiniz. - Clinton Street Baking Company – tatlı da var, yemek de fena görünmüyor. Kahvaltı da yapılabilir gibi. Ucuzdan biraz pahalı. - Vanessa’s Dumplings – çin mutfağı severler için mantıları güzelmiş. (öğlen) - 12 Chairs Cafe (akşam yemeği) - Jack’s Wife Freda (öğlen veya akşam) Fine-dine tarafına hiç bakmadım, isterseniz bikaç alternatif bakarız. 3- KONSER & ŞOV Gönül isterdi ki Broadway’de şov izleyin ama biletler 250 $’dan başlıyor, çok da güzel şovlar var karar sizin. Güzel bir konser veya festival de bulamadım o tarihlerde, Temmuz’da başlıyor güzel konserler. Şansımıza küselim. Yine de: HAFTALIK KONSER TAKVİMİ İÇİN: https://www.songkick.com/metro-areas/7644-us-new-york-nyc?filters%5BmaxDate%5D=06%2F22%2F2023&filters%5BminDate%5D=06%2F18%2F2023 Benim tercih edebileceğim Bebe Rexha (R&B-fiyat göremiyorum) ve The Blaze (elektronik – 70$dan başlıyor) var, gerisi çok açmadı. Bir de şurası var bakabilirsiniz. https://www.jambase.com/concerts/us/new-york/genres/hip-hop-rap-concerts?date-first=20230618&date-last=20230622

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