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sarahjkl82-blog · 4 years ago

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 4 years ago

Text

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 6/9

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 6: And I Don’t Blame You Dear for Running Like You Did

She finished the last of the dishes from breakfast, putting the plates away in the cabinet and turning toward the dog beside her feet on the floor. “What shall we do today?” The dogs barked, standing, and running in circles around her legs.

She looked around the cabin, books littering every surface. She grabbed one nearest to her, flipping through the pages to find them blank, empty, and begging to be filled. Looking around she found a pencil and blanket and gathered her items, opening the door and letting the dog outside. She followed him to the bench on the front porch.

There was water all around the cabin, some of it threatening to flow under the structure. Killian was standing on the side of the cabin, knee deep in the brown liquid, a shovel in his hands, his shirt tied to his side in a knot. She bit her lip as her eyes trailed his upper body, sun kissed from days he must have spent standing in the hot sun before the weather had turned cold.

She sat down on the bench, drawing her knees up to tuck her feet under her, wrapping the blanket around her as the dog curled up below her. She looked at the empty page and the pencil in her hand started to scratch at the white surface. She had no idea if she could draw, couldn’t remember ever trying, but the way the images took shape she thought maybe this was something she was good at in her other life. The one that was just out of reach of her memories.

She drew the forest, the water lying motionless in front of her, a dog splashing through the muddy sludge as a man stood, staring at the horizon. When she looked down at it minutes later, the shape of a swan in the distance was floating away from the cabin on the page before her. She sighed, looking up to watch Killian, now covered with beads of sweat, dripping deliciously down the crevice in his back, and she bit her lip. The man was the picture of sexy and mysterious. She wanted to know more about him, the story of how he got here, why he was alone. Yet she could tell that he was holding back from her, keeping pieces of himself hidden from her sight. What she wouldn’t give to tear back the layers and have him invite her in.

She turned the page of the book to start a new drawing but was surprised to see writing on the page, handwritten in a beautiful script. She should close the book, put it back where she found it and yet she found herself reading it.

Dearest Milah,

My love, I am in darkness without your light, I curse the sun for trying to replace the warmth that you no longer provide. I am in misery, these bars are not my affliction, my prison is of my own making. Even as I am released tomorrow, I will never escape the prison I created for myself. I have failed you. I failed Alice. There is blood on my hands, hate in my heart, revenge destroyed me. Destroyed our life. Our beautiful home. My perfect Alice. I am cursed. I fear that my heart will always be. I will never be at peace knowing the hell I brought upon my family. Your last moments knowing that I destroyed us. My life is forfeit, doomed to walk this earth with the knowledge that I am a monster. Undeserving of love. My fate is sealed. Hope is lost.

Killian

She ran her fingers across the lettering of his name, looking up at the man facing away from her, tearing at the soil beneath his feet. She needed to know more, yearned to understand how anyone could feel so tormented, so worthless. She ached for him.

Closing the book, she stood, watching from the corner of the house, observing his labor. She couldn’t exactly leave him this way. A few extra days to try and solve the mystery that was Killian Jones wouldn’t hurt her. Her life could wait if it meant helping the man who had so selflessly helped her.

She went back into the house, burying the book beneath a larger one, not wanting him to know that she had invaded his thoughts, his privacy. Looking around the cabin she decided she would do something nice for him. She began by picking up the items from the corner, dusting off the surfaces she could. She folded blankets, organized his books, placed the logs evenly beside the hearth and gathered the clothing to be washed in the bucket he kept by the back door.

When she had finished she looked around at the result of her work and smiled. Maybe she was married in her other life, she was pretty good at this house cleaning thing. She frowned, touching her ringless finger. Maybe she was just a maid in her other life. Was she hoping for that instead of having a husband who was lovingly looking for her? A man she had thus betrayed by her night with Killian.

The door opened abruptly, and Killian stepped into the tiny cabin. Tossing his boots into the corner by the door he turned and met her eyes. He seemed surprised to see her standing there, holding a broom, and sweeping the floors. It was so ridiculously domestic that she cursed herself for being found this way.

“I cleaned up.” She announced and his eyes roamed the room and to her surprise the corners of his mouth ticked upward.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” She finished her task, setting the broom back behind the door and walking closer to him, reaching out to take the dirty shirt from his hands. “I was doing the wash.” She smiled shyly. He didn’t react, probably from the shock she imaged when she ran her fingers across his chest, dirt and grime slipping through her fingers. “You should do the same.” She added with a flirty grin. “Take a hot bath.” She turned away from him, her smile growing on her face, pleased with the reaction she elicited from him a moment before.

“Uh, yeah I’ll do that.” He stammered, walking toward the bedroom. “Thanks, Swan. For um, for tidying up. I’ve never had a guest before.”

She bowed her head. “Go bathe.” She returned her gaze to his eyes. “I’ll make some dinner.” He left the room, and she swore her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. She had half a mind to follow him right into the bathroom and have her way with the man. But instead, she walked the few steps away to the kitchen to start the meal she promised she would make. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, she thought. She had no idea why she knew that, but she was determined to find out if it was true.

~*~

Killian retreated from the room, trying to create as much distance as he could between him and the beautiful Swan who was currently domesticating his home. Seeing his place so neatly put together, the blonde woman putting such care and attention into something she had no investment in both confounded him and stirred emotions in him that he had buried, burned, destroyed years ago.

He shut the door to the bathroom, filling the buckets with water to put on the stove to heat but instead tossed the cool water into the tub, perhaps a hot bath was not what he needed right now unless he intended to do something completely stupid and reckless like ask the woman to join him.

He sunk down into the cold water, breathing slowly, erasing all the thoughts he had of how she had felt the night before. The taste of her skin, her intoxicating aroma as he plunged his tongue into her center.

Fuck.

Sinking below the water, he lay there, holding his breath, counting to ten before breaching the surface and gulping in air. He scraped at his skin, letting the soap cleanse the dirt and grime he had accumulated from his earlier work. The trench he had dug would allow the water to escape in a few days. The roads would be clear, and he would be able to drive back to town. This would be over, and he could return to his solitude.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, wandering into the bedroom to dress and pull a comb through his hair. If he was going to play house, he should at least look presentable to the woman who was sharing his fairytale. He rolled his eyes at the mirror, admonishing himself for playing along with this fantasy. Could it really hurt him to have a few nights of pretend? None of it was real. They both knew that. Perhaps it was a reprieve from the devil, or yet another way to torture him. Either way, he would take it.

He stepped from the room quietly as she flitted around the kitchen, humming a song to herself as she worked. She was a marvel to observe, a beautiful treasure in every way. When she caught him staring, she blushed, quieted, and turned back to the stove.

“It was lovely, don’t stop on my account.”

“I don’t know where it came from, it just sort of formed in my head. I guess I must have heard it in my other life” She mused, humming the notes again to You are my Sunshine.

She seemed almost angelic, standing in his kitchen with the sun shining across her golden locks. Before he could stop himself he realized he was singing the words to her melody. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”

She turned toward him, their eyes meeting. “That’s lovely.” She smiled. “Is that what I’m humming?”

“Aye.” She continued humming. “You’ll never know dear; how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” He finished softly, standing in front of her with her back against the counter. Neither one of them moved and he was afraid to take a breath for fear she would disappear right in front of him. He wasn’t ready for her to dissolve, to leave his life. He cursed even admitting it. He liked having her here.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“I used to sing that to Alice before she went to bed.” He said with a sad smile. “It was her favorite.”

He expected her to go back to her food preparations, to break the spell he was in, but instead she surprised him, reaching up to brush the wet hair from his forehead. A smile sweeter than any he could remember fell across her face as she stepped into his embrace, her lips grazing his jaw before touching his lips. It was over before it began, short yet sweet and full of emotion. He squeezed his lids tighter together to keep his emotions from spilling out. She stepped from his arms and his lids flittered open. “Food will be ready in a minute.”

No one had taken the kind of care she had. Cleaning his house, preparing a meal, comforting him. These were not things that were afforded to him. Yet here she was, a stranger, a woman who was within her rights to demand to be released and taken home immediately and yet she instead opted to care for him. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to. Because it would be gone before he had the ability to embrace it. Taken from him like everything else in his life.

“Smells good.” He announced suddenly, sitting down at the table.

“I wasn’t really sure what to make but you have such great vegetables.”

“Aye, I’m sure my garden is flooded now. But at least it’s watered.” He chuckled.

She sat the food in front of him and then made her own plate, taking the seat beside him. They ate in silence, but it was comfortable in the way she would smile at him between bites, or blush when he caught her eye.

After the food was consumed, they each took to the mundane task of cleaning up, side by side, working together. It required no forethought or communication, like they had been doing this their whole lives. “I don’t wish to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” He teased, an expression that must have come from a moment of weakness pushing through his hardened exterior. “The place hasn’t looked this bright and cheerful in…” He scrunched his nose, “well, ever, I suppose.” Ending with a laugh that started low in his belly, but he felt through to his toes.

“Then I have completed the task I set out for myself this morning.” She smiled.

“What task was that love?”

“Getting you to do that.” She chuckled before continuing her thought. “Trying to ease some of that burden you seem to carry.”

He swallowed. “I suppose I can bury some of it for a few rare moments.” He pursed his lips. “Thank you.” He added sincerely.

“Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged, “I suppose.”

“What are you punishing yourself for?”

He exhaled, “Why do you assume I’m punishing myself?”

She shrugged, “You live alone, cut off from the world, as if you are condemning yourself to loneliness. I can’t imagine the man I know doing anything that would call for such isolation and sadness.”

“I have done many things in this life, Swan, most that I am not proud of. I am not a good man.”

“You saved me.” She whispered, her hands reaching for his. He wants to pull back, to keep the connection broken, but instead he allows her to take his hand.

“One good deed does not forgive a lifetime of bad behavior.” His voice cracked. He wished things were different, that she could stay here, maybe she would even heal his soul. But her life was not his to control. She belonged somewhere else; he was sure that her heart must even belong to another. Someone noble and deserving of her. A good man.

“It’s a start.” She leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column in my book.” Her words warmed his heart, he rewarded her with a genuine smile.

“Thank you, love. That means a great deal more than you know.”

She stood and wandered toward the couch, lighting candles along the way. As she sat down she gestured for him to join her. “It should be a few more days and I should be able to drive into town.” He added as he sat next to her.

“Well, let’s make sure the roads are safe before you try, perhaps we should wait until things are completely dry.”

He turned toward her, a hopeful feeling rising in his heart, a few more precious days with her. “Aye, good idea. Better to be safe.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder and for a moment he let himself get lost in the gesture. Imagining a new reality where this woman, his swan, stayed, and they would spend nights on the couch, lying together and talking about nothing.

“So, what do you do out here every day? Surely you must find something of interest to keep you busy.”

“Jolly and I do a lot of exploring, fishing over on the west banks, or hunting for game. I suppose when we aren’t doing that I read.”

“I noticed you had a lot of books.”

“Aye, my brother taught me how to read when I was very small. I suppose it become a passion of mine.”

“You have a brother.”

His chest rose and fell with the exhale he exerted. “I did, yes. Liam. He was a good man.”

“Was?”

“Aye. Gone.”

“Your parents?”

“Died when we were young.”

“So, you truly are alone.” She offered sadly.

“Well, I have Jolly.” The dogs head lifted off his lap as he lay next to him. He patted his head. “He provides good company.”

“Have you ever thought of moving back home?”

“No home to return to.”

“But you could move back to where you are from, start a new life.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option for me, love.”

“You could come with me.” His heart stilled.

“Love, whatever is waiting out there for you, I assure you, it is far more worthy of you than me. You don’t know anything else right now, that’s where all of this is coming from. You’re clinging to what you know because you can’t remember what you don’t.”

She sat up, staring at him. “Stop doing that. Stop discounting yourself like you are some demon, unworthy of compassion. I don’t care what you’ve done in your past, I only see who you are now.”

“Swan, you wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head in frustration.

“Why not.”

“Because…I don’t want to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. I can’t bear to have one more person hate me because of what I’ve done. I just want you to see me as you do right now. Before you leave. Even if it’s only for a few days.” His honestly surprised him, almost scared him to admit his feelings out loud. He enjoyed that she stared at him with compassion, almost reverence. He wanted her to want him, to see him as the man he used to be, long ago. He couldn’t keep her, but perhaps he could have this feeling long after she was gone. Someone had seen him, the Killian Jones he remembered, the one that Milah trusted and loved. The man who would sing lullabies to his daughter and earned her devotion. If someone could still find that man in him, maybe it was enough to keep him sane long after she was gone.

“Take me to bed.” Her eyes were full of passion, desire, need. Killian rose from the couch, hoisting her into his arms. “Be my love, if only for a while.” She whispered against his neck and he found her mouth, taking her lips with his. Tonight, he would take her as his own, they would have these moments together, no matter how fleeting they would be.

As he buried himself inside of her, pouring every ounce of passion into his kiss, he thought only of her, his Swan. As she lay, curled into his side afterwards, her eyes staring into his with a warmth of devotion, he imagined a life that wasn’t his. A life where he made her happy, where he loved this woman with all his heart and he drifted off to sleep, knowing that even though it wasn’t real, he could almost believe it, almost feel it burrowing deep into his heart.

Hope.

#waterfall memories #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au

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knollridge · 5 years ago

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Long Day

Smosh

Damien x Reader

1,583 wordcount

Hello!! Second attempt at fic writing~ thank you so much for the love on my first one, I really appreciate it ❤️

No warnings, just absolute fluff involving a rough day that (y/n) is having and how Damien helps/comforts you through it in which I may or may not have heavily projected quarantined touch-starvedness through

Enjoy!!!

——————————————————————————

Pressure builds in your head as you feel an onslaught of angry tears make their way to the front of your face.

Your skin is lit, as if by match-strike, with the dirty pink hue of heat and frustration.

Your whole body screams and you want to do the same.

But you can’t.

The toilet a few stalls down flushes and you hear the regular clicks, clatter, and rushing water of someone leaving the bathroom. Every part of your concentration goes towards suppressing what should have been a pleading and violent sob. Tears spill hotly down your flushed cheeks and you know that you’ll need more than the short period allotted for break to fix this.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

Your phone light burns just a bit too brightly on your stinging eyes as you search your screen. You have 4 minutes to pull it together. Feverishly pulling at the toilet paper roll you take immense notice of how loud the uneven cardboard cylinder makes every single turn, but choose - in an effort of timeliness and frustration - to ignore it.

2 minutes.

You grab eye drops out of your bag that Olivia thankfully gifted you last Smoshmas in an amazingly elaborate pun and dot them in each eye.

1 minute.

One last check in the mirror, and even though your eyeliner and mascara are gone, you have to call it good.

You briskly walk out of the bathroom and bump directly into Damien.

“Woah hey (y/n) I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He places an apologetic hand on your upper arm as his soft, brown eyes peer into yours.

“Hey, sorry I wasn’t watching where I was going” you mumble as you quickly cut the line between your shared gaze and turn to walk away from him.

“No worries! I wasn’t being as vigilant as I normally am, it’s been a long day already” he continues with a light sigh as he moves in to walk next to you. “Looks like its getting to you too, are you doing okay?”

Wanting to burst back into tears at the thought of anyone - much less Damien - noticing and caring about your emotional state, you keep focus on your footsteps and try to choose your words carefully. Right, left, right, left...

“Oh yeah I’m fine!!” your voice catches a small hitch as an upbeat persona takes over. “You’re right, it’s been a looong day hahah.” You turn your head towards him and flash a wide and almost believable smile with your eyes squinted closed so he can’t read them any further. Damien studies your expression, his thick brows coming together in question of your sincerity. A knot begins forming in your stomach as you realize he’s been looking at you without your makeup on. God, he knows. I mean, who loses their makeup halfway through the day?? It’s only a few more doors down to the conference room, I’m sure he’ll forget about it by the time we-

You don’t have time to react as Damien’s hand grips your forearm and pulls you into a small room and closes the door. You can’t see anything until you hear him flip a switch revealing a tight, three-walled room shelved from top to bottom with miscellaneous board games...and you and Damien, with standing room only, in the middle of it.

“Wai- what?” You let your arm drop away from his grasp, still feeling the weight from his hold on you. It knocks into a folding table topped with props directly behind you and as if for safety, you wrap both hands around the edge. “What are you doing? The meeting is going to start back up again soon and Ian is gonna be pissed if we show up late, especially if- if he...thinks we’re goofing off or something...” Your voice trails away as you see Damien move towards you. Leaning forward slightly, he rests a hand on the folding table, making the little space between you achingly overt. Eye-level with you now, he raises his head to look you full in the face.

“I don’t want you to worry about all that right now” he says in a low voice. “I want to make sure you’re actually okay.” Tears well up in your eyes and you immediately look down, causing them to spill to the floor. “Oh, (y/n)” Damien says in a hushed tone as he pulls you into a hug. “It’s alright, I know that meeting got really hectic.” You can’t help but to collapse into his shoulder. Each broken breath that you take feels cradled and cared for as his arms wrap tightly around you. You both stand for a minute, waiting for your sobs to subside while he lightly rubs his thumb in a circle on your back.

“I-I’m so sorry about this” you finally manage to say while wiping tears from your face. Damien loosens his embrace and places a hand back on the table, by your side.

“Don’t ever be sorry for feeling whatever it is you’re feeling. It’s like I always say, you should take 5 minutes each day to allow yourself space to just let it all out.” His gentle admonishment makes you feel more at home at Smosh than you’d felt all day. “I’m just sorry that those five minutes happened to be right now” he chuckles.

There’s something about his smile that brings on a small one of your own. “Oh gosh, I was already halfway there before you pulled me in here” you joke. “That meeting was supposed to be pretty big for me since they want me to do more with the scripts and stuff now...and it just seemed like everyone was talking over me and it was very loud and I really didn’t feel heard or understood...it was just a lot.” You think back on your initial reaction and realize you might have attributed a bit too much to the moment, but you see Damien nodding his head in understanding.

“Yeah, I noticed that you could barely get a word in and I was about to say something, but Ian called for a break and you ran out so fast, I was a little concerned.” Your mild surprise is clear on your face, and its almost as if Damien can read your mind. “You’re not as slick as you think you are (y/n)” he says with a growing grin. “First you rush off without saying anything to anyone, then you bump out of the bathroom and you won’t even make eye contact with me but I can still see that those pretty little wings that you do everyday are missing...I knew something was up.” You hope your slight embarrassment is covered by the subsiding red on your face from crying just moments ago, but you’re unable to keep a smile from appearing there as well. After feeling so invisible for most of the day, you can’t believe that he noticed as many of the little things that he did.

“You sound like a detective” you playfully scoff as you go to push his shoulder away. You end up resting your hold on his upper arm as you continue. “But...thank you...so much, for even bothering to check on me.” Your face is turned towards him, but your eyes fall to the details of his Jordans and your Converse in between words to keep focus on your train of thought. They’re so close together. “I definitely wouldn’t have made it through the rest of the meeting very well if you hadn’t. Thank you for making me feel at home.” Damien’s dark brows are tilted up towards the middle of his face, almost in confusion. He brings his hand to your upper arm as well, resting it right below your shoulder. You can feel his thumb just underneath the hem of your sleeve as he gently rubs it back and forth.

“Oh, (y/n)...that’s all I- that’s all we ever want for you. Any of us here. You’ve worked so hard and I know Ian was over the moon to bring you on as a writer...it really was just a weird and hectic start to the meeting.” You can barely fight back a new wave of tears and have to wipe a few stray ones away before they reach the ever-growing smile rising on your face. “Oh man, here you go again,” Damien teases. You let out a short laugh and try to gather yourself with tissues from your bag.

“I can’t go again! We don’t have anymore time!” You say contently, and slightly stuffed up. He can’t keep his eyes off your newfound happiness in the moment, but still takes the opportunity to rag on the situation a bit more.

“We never had any time (y/n)!” His eyes follow your smile as you laugh in agreement. “But I’m glad we made some because you deserve it. What do you say we go into that meeting and knock ‘em all out with your killer scripts?” You gratefully pick up an impression of confidence from his words and nod your head. “After you then” he says with a graceful twirl of his hand towards the door.

Your hand placed on the knob, you take a deep and thankful breath knowing that Damien has your back going into this meeting. You turn it open and can’t wait to begin sharing what you’ve created with the rest of your Smosh family.

#damien haas x reader #damien haas fanfic #damien smosh #smosh damien #damien haas #smosh fanfic #damien haas fluff fic #damien haas angst fic #damien haas fluff #damien haas angst #smosh angst #smosh x reader #smosh fluff #smosh games damien #damien haas fic #damien haas smosh

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years ago

Text

90 Days - Part Two: Solitude

90 Days Masterlist

Mini-Series Summary: You’ve been hit by a curse. Now you only have 90 days to live. Sam and Dean race to find a cure while secrets are revealed and feelings are discovered in the process.

Word Count: 3696

Warnings: angst, danger to reader, light fluff, swearing

Pairing: Sam x Female!Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“Dean!” you raised your voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

He seemed to snap out of his frightened state as he turned towards you, a mixture of pity and dread in his usually calm and resolute green eyes. “(Y/N),” he breathed out, the fear in his voice causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dean...” you said, your voice quivering. “You’re scaring me.”

He paused for a moment and searched your face as if debating whether he should say anything else. “You’re cursed,” he finally said bluntly. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes fluttered in disbelief. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And you’ve only got ninety days to live.”

“Wh...what?” you whispered, praying to god you’d heard him wrong.

“I...I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Dean said again, his voice guilty as if it were all his fault.

“Wait,” Sam finally spoke, coming to your side. “How do you know she’s only got ninety days to live?”

Dean swallowed and shook his head. “When...when you motioned for me to go see if I could find out anything about those words that (Y/N) said she thought the witch said to her…. I Googled them and found something almost immediately. They translated to ‘ninety days’ and ‘life force ceasing.’”

“Wh...what does that mean?” you asked, your voice rising in pitch as you glanced between both brothers.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, moving closer and putting his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t panic.”

His strong and protective touch was comforting, and you felt some of the tension leaving your body as your shoulders slumped a little. You nodded and Sam sent you a small smile before turning back to Dean.

“You, too, Dean,” Sam said firmly, giving his brother a pointed look. “That’s the worst thing any of us can do right now. I don’t know what that means, but we’re all going to calmly walk to the library, we’re going to sit down, and we’re going to see what else we can find. Okay?” You and Dean both nodded in unison, following Sam quietly out of your bedroom door. Your heart never stopped pounding.

**********

“Okay, you said you found it where?” Sam asked. You were all seated at one of the library tables, Men of Letters books and scripts strewn haphazardly across the table. It had been nearly two weeks since the incident in the shower, and although you'd had a few other minor 'episodes’ as Dean called them, they were never as bad as that day.

“I’ve been looking up a ton of shit,” Dean said, rifling through the pile on the table. “But the only place I could find anything about it…” he said picking up a giant leather-bound book. “Was here.” He passed it to Sam.

Sam set it down, the yellowed pages fluttering and the light scent of mildew wafting towards you. You wrinkled your nose as you leaned over Sam’s shoulder to get a better look at the text. He was silently reading it, his eyes scanning carefully.

“I tried deciphering the text,” Dean said. “But the only words I could make out were ‘ninety days’ and ‘life force ceasing,’ like before.”

Sam nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I see them,” he said, pointing to two words. They were separated by several sentences, all of which you couldn’t read.

You frowned and shook your head. “Why would whoever wrote this, write those two words in Latin, but then use a completely different language for all the others?” you asked in confusion.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know…. And the language. It’s not one I’ve ever seen before. But it’s definitely some kind of curse,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

You slowly sat down beside him, your head spinning. How had this happened? One minute you were a confident and experienced hunter with a normal life - well, as normal as the life of a hunter could be. And the next, you were being told you only had three months to live.

“I think I’ll call Rowena….” Sam’s voice grew muffled as everything around you seemed to almost disappear. Your mind was numb and your ears were ringing as the gravity of it all settled around you. It was hopeless. You were going to die. You were going to die and not even Sam and Dean could save you.

Without warning you found yourself on the floor, looking up into Sam’s frightened hazel eyes, Dean standing over his shoulder with a concerned frown. Sam was saying something, but it was like everything was moving in slow motion.

As if a switch had been turned, everything seemed to come back into focus. You could hear Sam’s voice now, shouting your name. His hands were on your shoulders firmly as if trying to get you to calm down. But from what you weren’t sure.

Then you heard it. A scream. So shrill and loud it hurt your own ears. You looked around, trying to find the source of it when you realized it had come from your own throat. You screamed again, this time your hand grasping at your chest. The pain. It was almost overpowering.

Your heart was beating erratically, the pounding uncontrollable. You convulsed and continued to cry out in pain with each palpitation. Sam’s grip on you tightened, but it did little to hold you down as you rose to your knees, continuing to claw at your breast, your fingernails digging into your skin and drawing blood.

You were aware of Dean running back into the room from down the hall and skidding to your side. Sam grabbed you around the shoulders, pulling you back tightly against his chest. Dean raised a syringe, a squirt of some foreign liquid shooting from the top as he tested it. Then he firmly turned your head to the side, his jaw set and face hard. You felt a prick on the side of your neck as he inserted it into your skin.

You continued to thrash, but Sam held you solidly against him, preventing you from doing any further damage to yourself. Your flailing started to slow as you felt yourself slowly relaxing. Your heart was still pounding, but it was as if you didn’t care. You finally stopped altogether, your eyes growing heavy. You fought to keep them open, but you couldn’t control your own body and everything went black.

**********

Your eyes slowly fluttered opened, finding yourself shrouded in darkness. You groaned as you lolled your head to the side, your body aching. You glanced at the digital alarm clock on the table beside you: 5:00 p.m.

You rolled over gingerly to turn on the lamp, hissing in pain as a sharp sting emanated from the left side of your chest. You flipped on the light before pulling down the neckline of your oversized t-shirt and you gasped. There were several red, angry marks across your chest where your fingernails had pierced the skin. You lightly ran your fingers over the raised and irritated flesh, grimacing at the pain.

You jerked your gaze up as the door suddenly opened. You smiled once you realized it was Sam, carrying a tray.

“Hey, you're up,” he grinned. “How’re you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess,” you said, wincing at the pain in your raw throat.

Sam smiled. “Brought you some food,” he said, gesturing to the tray as he set it on your lap. You glanced down at the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and apple juice.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said, giving him a small smile as he lowered himself to the side of the bed.

“I figured you'd be hungry after...everything that happened,” he said, watching you intently.

You frowned. “What exactly did happen?” you asked.

It was Sam's turn to frown. “You don't remember?” he asked incredulously.

You shook your head slowly. “I remember bits and pieces, but for the most part...no,” you said.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” Sam said, running his hands through his hair roughly as if it was too painful to even think about. “I don't see how you can't remember…. One minute you were sitting in the chair beside me, and the next...you were...convulsing or something on the floor.”

He shook his head as if he could barely fathom it. “And you were screaming. These god-awful, shrill screams. Reminded me of a banshee to be honest,” he said, a small but unamused smile forming on his lips as you chuckled at his parallel. “Honestly, (Y/N), if it hadn't been for Dean giving you that sedative, I don't know that we could've saved you.”

You swallowed hard, the possibility of what he was implying causing a cold prick of fear to settle in your stomach and your heartbeat to pick up slightly.

Sam cleared his throat, the memories becoming too much for him to keep discussing and the air thick with solemnity. “Your soup’s going to get cold,” he said, motioning to the untouched bowl.

You gave him a half-smile, picking up the spoon and bringing a spoonful of the now lukewarm liquid to your mouth. “So how's the research going? Find anything new since I went down?” you asked, taking a sip of the juice.

Sam shook his head, watching as you continued to eat your soup. “No, unfortunately. But I called Rowena and even though she's never heard of the language or the curse, she's working on trying to find something. And Dean's been trying to get ahold of Cas to see if there's anything he can do. Maybe break the curse or something.”

You smiled and nodded. “It's worth a try I guess.... By the way, Sam,” you said, toying with your spoon and absentmindedly dipping it in and out of the soup. “I wanna thank you for doing all this. It really means a lot.” You looked back up at him, your eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Hey,” Sam said, scooting closer to you and putting his hand on your upper arm. “You're family, (Y/N).”

“I know,” you said. “It’s just…. You and Dean. You could be out there looking for Lucifer, but instead you’re here. Taking care of me.”

“Yeah, so maybe we could be out looking for Lucifer or whatever,” Sam said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “But (Y/N).... It’s not just me and Dean. You’re one of us; you're part of the team. And we need you.”

You smiled, your lip quivering at his words. “Plus,” Sam said, getting up from the bed with a grunt. “There’s no place me or Dean would rather be.”

He reached down to pick up the tray from your lap, and you quickly swiped at the tear that fell before he could see it. “You want more?” he asked, glancing down at the now empty bowl.

You shook your head. “No,” you said, stifling a yawn. “I’m really tired.”

Sam grinned and nodded. “Okay. Get some rest. We’ll check on you later.”

You watched him walk away, closing the door behind him softly. You leaned over, turning off the light before settling back against your pillows. You could hear the muffled voices of the Winchesters from down the hall and you smiled, feeling your eyes growing heavy.

**********

Two days later found you tossing and turning, finding it nearly impossible to turn off the raging thoughts swirling in your mind. You were still reeling from your last episode, and you were trying to pinpoint exactly why it had happened and what had triggered it.

You finally gave up on sleep when you realized it was already almost three in the morning. You'd have to get up in a few hours anyway. You slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to relieve yourself before making your way to the kitchen, your stomach growling. You knew the boys were probably already asleep, so you made sure to be extra quiet. You didn’t want them to hear you and worry. They were already going through hell, and you didn’t want to add to their burden.

You were surprised to find Dean still sitting at the library table where you'd left him earlier that evening, laptop open in front of him. “Hey,” you said, causing him to jerk his gaze up to you, your presence startling him.

“Hey,” he greeted. “You doing all right?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile. “What’re you doing up so late? Or should I say early?”

Dean chuckled. “Research,” he said, gesturing to the laptop. “We're taking shifts, and it's my turn.”

“Shifts for what?” you asked, pulling out a chair opposite him and sitting down.

“Searching for answers and keeping tabs on you,” he said.

You gave him a grateful but almost apologetic smile. “You guys really don't need to be so worried about me. It's been two days since my last episode.”

Dean sent you a skeptical look. “Yeah, well, we wouldn't be able to sleep knowing no one was looking out for you.”

You smiled softly, knowing there was no use in arguing with him. “Well, I appreciate it, Dean,” you said, getting up from your chair. “I think I'm gonna make myself a peanut butter sandwich. I'm starving.” You chuckled, hoping to break up the tension and get everyone's mind off you, including yourself.

“Hey, make me one, too!” Dean called after you. You chuckled, raising your hand to signal that you would.

Ten minutes later you walked back into the library with two sandwiches. You handed one to Dean before settling yourself back down across from him. He grinned his thanks before biting into it, a hum of appreciation leaving him.

You chuckled before taking a bite of your own. “You find anything new?” you asked past the food in your mouth.

Dean rocked his hand side to side in a so-so gesture. “Nothing concrete,” he said once he’d swallowed. “I’m thinking we’re gonna have to talk to Row…. Holy fuck,” he breathed, sitting up straight, his eyes wide with alarm.

“What?” you asked nervously, leaning forward.

His eyes darted over to you before he glanced back to the screen. He set his sandwich on the table and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Uh, it...it’s nothing,” he said nonchalantly.

“Dean,” you implored, knowing he was brushing you off.

“(Y/N), I really don’t think…” he started, but you shook your head vehemently, cutting him off.

“No, Dean!” you snapped. “Tell me what the fuck you just read!”

Dean paused for a moment, but then he finally sighed and shook his head. “Fine,” he huffed out. “I just found another version of the text in that book. In this one, ‘life force’ translates to…’heart.’” He looked at you warily, gauging your reaction.

You swallowed and stared back. Finally you nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said. “What...what does that mean exactly?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know…. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking cryptic!” he snapped, his eyes flashing.

Dean continued to read on, his face hard. You wanted to get up and look at what he was reading, but you felt glued to the chair. Your eyes darted back and forth as you felt that all too familiar ache starting in your chest. Your heartbeat had picked up slightly, and you could feel the erratic rhythm against your rib cage.

You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, trying to remember the breathing patterns Sam had shown you. But your breathing was ragged and it grew more and more labored as your heartbeat picked up, a dull throb now running through your entire chest. You gripped the armrests on your chair, the wood digging into your palms.

Dean was talking, but you barely registered what he was saying. “D...Dean,” you breathed.

Dean didn’t seem to hear as he continued to speak, his voice rising in irritation when the site he was on abruptly crashed. “Dean!” you gasped, your eyes snapping open.

He glanced at you, taking a double look as if just noticing your distress for the first time. “(Y/N)?” he asked cautiously. “You okay?”

You shook your head, your chest constricting. “What’s wrong?” he asked, getting up from his chair and coming around the table.

You managed to relax your grip on the armrest enough to point feebly to your chest where your heart was now violently beating. Dean’s eyes widened, and he immediately reached for you, helping you up from the chair.

“Okay, okay,” he said, bringing your back against his chest. He breathed in and out deeply, attempting to mimic what he’d seen Sam do. But his breaths were uneven with no real pattern. He was just as freaked out as you, only adding to your torment.

You cried out as the first sharp pain tore through your chest. “Sam,” you managed to wheeze out.

Dean nodded, fumbling for the phone in his pocket. One of his arms remained firmly around your waist, and you grasped his arm, desperate for something to keep you grounded.

“Get your ass in here now,” Dean growled before tossing the phone on the table beside you, wrapping both arms around you again. “It’s okay,” he reassured. “Sam’s coming.”

You nodded, closing your eyes against the pain. You were almost certain you would pass out when you heard running footsteps as Sam ran into the library.

“Move!” he commanded, practically pushing Dean aside. Sam spun you around, your face burying into his chest as his muscular arms enveloped you. “Hey, hey,” he said. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m here.”

You closed your eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall steadily against your own, his heartbeat strong under your ear. You clung to him, almost afraid you’d succumb to the darkness that threatened to pull you under.

Your breathing eventually evened out and your heart calmed, returning to its regular beat. Sam loosened his grip as you pulled away. “You okay?” he asked softly, carefully brushing a strand of hair off your brow.

You nodded, butterflies dancing in your stomach at his gentleness and attentiveness. He smiled and nodded before helping you back to the chair, your legs shaky. You sat down, leaning heavily against the table for support. You were utterly exhausted. This episode hadn’t grown to the severity of the last one, but it was intense nevertheless, taking everything out of you.

Sam sat down beside you, his eyes still concerned. “What happened?” he asked.

“I...I was just sitting here eating my sandwich, and I was asking Dean if he’d found anything and then...the episode just...happened,” you said in bewilderment.

“Actually,” Dean interjected. You and Sam looked up to find Dean standing on the other side of the table, arms crossed, listening intently to your recount. “The episode didn’t start until I told you what I read.”

His revelation was like a lightbulb going off in your mind. You nodded. “You’re right,” you breathed out. Dean proceeded to tell Sam what he’d read and how you’d reacted.

“It makes sense,” Sam said. “The episode before this one happened after we found the curse in that book. And the ones over the last couple of weeks have all taken place after something unexpected happens. I think stress is what’s triggering them.”

You nodded slowly, thinking back over the last few weeks. It all added up. How you didn’t connect the dots earlier, you hadn’t a clue.

You were jerked out of your thoughts by Dean’s voice. “I don’t think (Y/N) needs to stay here.”

You looked at him incredulously. You were about to say something when you saw Sam nod out of the corner of your eye. “I think that’s probably a good idea.”

“What?” you screeched, pushing back from the table, your chair squeaking across the floor.

“Hey,” Sam said, raising his hands. “Just calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” you grit out, your hands clenched at your sides. “Not when you’re the one fucking kicking me out!”

“(Y/N),” Sam sighed, giving you a look that begged you to understand. “We’re not kicking….”

“You know what? Forget it,” you said, stomping out of the library, making your way outside. You walked over to the Impala and leaned against the hood, looking up at the night sky.

Your eyes stung as you fought to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. But your body and will to fight were slowly wearing thin, and you finally broke down, all the anger, fear, and uncertainty from the last two weeks tumbling out.

You quickly swiped at your tears and scrambled to compose yourself when you heard the bunker door open and close and then footsteps approaching. But you couldn’t hold back the sniff and swipe at your nose as Sam settled down beside you.

“(Y/N),” Sam said quietly.

You looked over at him. His head was turned towards you, watching you. “Please understand. We’re not kicking you out. It’s just...you’re too close to all of this right now and each episode seems to be getting worse and worse. We just want you to be safe.”

“I know,” you finally admitted, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “But...I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice quivering. You turned to look away so Sam wouldn’t see the fresh wave of tears. You were so scared of everything going on and the uncertainty of exactly what to do, and the thought of being away from the bunker, away from the boys, away from all that was familiar, frightened you the most.

“I understand that,” Sam said, moving closer to you, his shoulder now pressed to yours. “But, (Y/N), we need you…. I need you.” His voice was husky when he uttered those last words, and you turned to face him again, startled to find his face only inches from your own.

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb running over your cheek gently. “Please,” he whispered.

You swallowed. “Okay,” you finally acquiesced, your voice a breathy whisper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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hailene · 5 years ago

Text

𝚁𝚊𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚁𝚊𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎| 04

𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

(𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮– 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴, 𝘕𝘊𝘛, 𝘉𝘛𝘚, 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦, (𝘎)𝘐-𝘋𝘓𝘌, 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘰, 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬)

Genre: angst, racing!au, college!au, gang!au, underworld!au

Word count: 3.6K

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

00| 01| 02| 03| 04| 05| 06| 07| 08| 09| 10| tba

I wake up to the sound of a door shutting closed. After what felt like a couple of hours later, the roaring of a motorbike rings in my ears, making me slightly frown as I was slowly waking up. If it hadn't been for the loud noise, it would have surely been for the terrible hunger that I was feeling.

I inhale deeply and stretch my arms, realizing that I fell asleep in an incredibly uncomfortable position and that my spine was probably going to stay C-shaped for a while. Just after opening my eyes I become aware of where I am.

I sit up straight, looking at the fluffy grey blanket covering my body. A pale morning light was entering the windows of the living room I was in and I figured out it was still really early. The house seemed utterly silent, whoever was still in the house was most likely still sleeping.

So what am I supposed to do now?

My stomach grumbles angrily and I sigh, hoping that if I go to the kitchen, I will find something to eat. After all, I had no idea where the bathroom was, to my despair, and I was definitely not going to ghost around a stranger's house to find one.

Not a stranger. Mingyu.

Right, not a stranger...

I stand up wearily, folding the still-warm blanket carefully and head towards the kitchen. A fruit would be fine. I was really awkward with the whole situation, as I felt really bad that I had to roam through Mingyu's snacks. But I was so starved that not even the embarrassment could stop me.

As soon as I get to the doorstep, I freeze for a few moments. I could swear, right in that instant, that an angel was staying before my eyes, in the pale morning light, preparing some steaming liquid, but I realize soon enough that it's just Jeonghan making coffee and I mentally scold myself for being so blindly infatuated with the boy that I start to mistake him for angels. The power he had over me, I hated it.

He notices my presence before I can get a hold of myself. He smiles and I try to ignore it as I step closer to the counter where I recalled seeing a basket filled with fruits.

"Good morning," I say, not wanting to be impolite.

There were apples, bananas, pears and-...

"Same to you," he speaks, his voice almost making me drop the green apple that I picked from the basket. "I would ask you if you slept well, but I don't think so..."

I look at him and he grins. He might look like an angel, but he is the devil. He was leaning against the counter beside the cooker, a few feet away from the twin counter, where I was standing. His arms were crossed expectantly over the white loose T-shirt that was covering his upper body.

"Coffee?" He asks me as if he had a script in mind and this was his next line.

I shake my head, playing with the apple in my hands. I wasn't a big coffee drinker, unlike my sister who basically breathed iced americanos.

"You should wash that," he says, pointing with his chin to the fruit in my hands.

I sigh and realize the only sink in the room was the one beside the cooker, therefore I had to step closer to the devil in order to wash the damned green apple that I wanted to eat.

He did that on purpose.

I step towards the sink, Jeonghan watching me with feline-like eyes. I wash the apple in cold water, trying to ignore his gaze that was so focused on me that I could almost feel like it was burning my skin. Or maybe I was just imagining that.

I turn the tap off and hesitate for a second.

"You're so tense," Jeonghan says slowly, lifting himself from the side of the counter.

I freeze in the spot, feeling my cheeks redden as he steps towards me, one of his arms flying on my upper back, rubbing it gently. My skin was electrified under his touch and I could feel the hidden intentions in his gestures. I could feel there was something more about it. But what? Why is he doing this?

Tease, he is such a tease.

"Would you like a massage?" He asks and I almost feel myself melting under his touch before I snap back to reality and shrug away from his hand.

"No, thank you," I say and look around the kitchen for somewhere I could sit without being too close to Jeonghan.

I see a chair near the twin counter and go to sit on it hesitantly. I avoid his gaze because I knew all too well that he was amused, probably smiling cockily at my reaction. Yeah, I wasn't that proud of it myself but at least I managed to snap back to reality before things could get out of control.

Not that I would have really minded if it had happened.

"You're right, I don't think your sleeping position was the problem," he chuckles and I frown, taking a bite from the green apple.

It tasted sweet but sour in my mouth, exactly how I liked it. But of course, I couldn't enjoy it at its fullest because a certain dyed-blonde head was watching me insistently.

"You're weird," he says eventually and I almost scoff, amused by the fact that he, out of all people, said that.

However, I look at him questioningly and to my surprise, there was a small frown on his face.

"Why?" I ask and he leans against the counter again.

"Who even eats a green apple first thing in the morning?" He asks and I frown.

"I do," I say and he throws me an amused look.

Then, he sighs and walks towards the fridge, opening it as if searching for something. I watch as he pulls out a few eggs, cheese and something that looked like bacon. He sets the ingredients on the counter and looks at me.

"What are you doing?" I ask him and he smiles.

"Preparing a real breakfast for you," he says, returning to his ingredients.

I feel something warm and sweet like melted honey lingering on me and I try to shake it off. He looked pretty and not as in the pretty he looks in general, but rather soothing and beautiful like a chilli summer morning. I watch him as he cracks the eggs in a bowl and prepares what was supposed to be my breakfast. It's not easy, I sigh to myself. It's not easy at all.

He has me wrapped around his finger. And it's a dangerous thing, because he can use this strength whenever he likes. All I can do is wait and pray that he will never want to.

"What happened last night?" I find myself asking out of the blue.

The mixture was frying in the pan, a nice smell of delicious food filling the kitchen. Jeonghan didn't look surprised at my question. As if he had this all scripted out already and this was my next line.

"Last night?" He repeats my words and I hum. "A street race, nothing much."

He was brushing it off, I could tell. It was something much.

"The boys looked worried when they found out," I shrug, trying to make him spill the tea.

"We always worry about each other," he says nonchalantly and I frown.

"Right," I say, unable to push the conversation further.

Jeonghan was suddenly bitter. I thought that he, out of all people, would be willed to tell me anything. And not because he trusted me or because he felt like I need to know, but because he found pride in his actions and he would have told anybody about them if he had had the chance.

But I was wrong.

"Why didn't you want to win though? The race, I mean," I ask, thinking about the question that has nagged me so much.

He looks at me, his bitterness being suddenly covered with a malicious smile. He was back.

"That wouldn't have been the right thing to do," he speaks as he flips the scrambled eggs in the frying pan. "Ah, I don't know if you'll like this but it's better than some apple-..."

"Why did THE8 leave so early?" I ask suddenly, making his smile falter again.

The motorbike engine from earlier, it must have been him.

"He went home, he has other stuff to take care of as well," he says, putting the contents of the frying pan on a plate.

Jeonghan is weird, it hits me. He doesn't leave questions unanswered, undeniable. But he answers them in such manner that you feel hardly enlightened. He wanted you to believe he had answered your questions, he wanted you to believe you have consumed your thoughts... when he was just messing with your head.

He'd make a great manipulator.

He puts the plate with scrambled eggs and bacon on the counter beside me and my stomach grumbles in pain at the absolutely heavenly smell of a proper breakfast.

"If you want to get the hang of it, too..." he says, looking at me with some kind of wicked glint in his eyes "you need to stop thinking so much."

An answer without a question, is the first thing that crosses my head.

"Let yourself go with the flow," he speaks before returning to the other counter in order to wash the dishes.

"How do I even choose one?" I hear Vernon whining across the table and I chuckle.

We were in the library now, doing some research for the literature and film extra course that we were both taking. None of us was majoring in anything related to this field, that's exactly why we had thought it would be fun to try such thing. And we were not wrong, the classes were really interesting. I didn't mind reading and watching movies for an assignment, however, sometimes, it was challenging, as it is now.

"Just pick randomly," I suggest and he sighs.

"What did you pick anyway?" He asks and I show him the book that I was flipping through. "City of Ashes? Isn't that some Harry Potter thingie?"

"No, it's not," I say. "Do you want me to choose for you?"

He shrugs.

"I'm pretty sure City of Ashes is a Harry Potter thingie, though," he speaks in a small tone.

I laugh.

"Not everything related to magic is a Harry Potter thingie, Chew."

He mutters something along the lines "It's Chwe, not Chew," which I could only figure out because that was his standard line whenever I was calling him Chew or, if I was in the mood, Chewing gum.

"I'd say... go with the third one," I say pointing towards a dark-brown-covered book, its title being written in golden letters. "It looks like the kind of book which has beautiful descriptions."

By the look on his face, I could tell he didn't enjoy the idea too much, but there was no way out. Vernon loved reading webtoons and basically anything that tells a story, but artistic descriptions did not seem to be his thing.

"Fine," he says and I smile.

Vernon had been the first friend that I made in college. It had not been easy to make friends when I first came to New York. However, one day, I decided to wear my favourite colour splashed T-shirt to college and of course, I was shocked to see a guy wearing the exact same T-shirt in the library. When he saw me, he laughed so hard that the librarian asked him to leave.

Things were easy with him. He was the kind of person who made you feel comfortable in your own skin and I was really thankful to him for that. He was a great listener and always ready to cheer you up whenever he felt like something was off. He wasn't pushy though and that could only be counted as another quality of him.

That was probably why I enjoyed his company so much.

After a while, we decide we should just head home since it was already dinner time. I knew Joshua was supposed to pick me up today since Yuri had some kind of workshop to attend. I could only hope I didn't make him wait for too long.

After parting ways with Vernon, I go in the parking lot, looking for Joshua and hoping that I will somehow recognize his car. Damn, I think, remembering his driving style, I should really try my luck and ask him to let me drive next time.

I spot Joshua leaning against the porch of a grey car and I start walking towards him. He was typing something on his phone, the rose light of the sunset painting his face in warm colours. Joshua was pretty, more than good-looking. And I could tell I wasn't the only one thinking so by the way he was turning heads even while doing something as basic as texting.

"I'm sorry if I made you wait for too long," I speak as I approach him.

He looks at me and smiles. His smile, God, it was so beautiful. As if all the flowers in the world bloomed every time his lips were forming a playful grin. And the warmth of his presence, it was similar to a spell.

But I couldn't let myself get lost in thoughts too much, no matter how much I liked Joshua. There was something wrong with me, not with them. I was the one catching feelings too easily.

"I have just arrived," he says, unlocking the car and getting in the driver's seat.

I knew he was lying, but I also knew he had my number and he could have texted me in case he wanted me to hurry. I get in the passenger's seat and fasten my seat belt.

"There is somebody else we need to pick up today," he speaks softly, as he starts the engine.

I nod, not giving it too much thought. It felt weird, suddenly having to live with a stranger. It wasn't necessarily uncomfortable, it was simply... strange. Jeonghan told me that I should stop thinking so much, that I should let myself go with the flow. That is why I decided not to ask anything about what happened Saturday night. If I am meant to find out, I will, eventually.

The car comes to a halt and I wake up from my thoughts. We were in front of the college, so I guessed the person we were supposed to pick up was studying here, too.

It was probably someone new, since Joshua would have probably told me who we were supposed to pick up if I had known them.

I hear the back door opening, followed by a shuffling noise. I look in the rear-view mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the new comer's face, but the backseat was too dark to see anything.

"Shua, do you have any idea how difficult it is to pick a book for the literature course?" I hear the stranger's voice.

...except his voice didn't exactly sound foreign to me.

I turn around to look at the new passenger and I have blink a few times after my eyes meet the familiar golden gaze of a certain cat-like-warm boy. This can't be...

"Emma?"

It really is him.

"Vernon?"

"Oh, do you guys know each other?" I hear Joshua asking but his voice barely reaches my ears.

Dear God, don't tell me he is tangled in this too...

"Dude, why are we kidnapping her? She's-..."

"Kidnap?" I ask and my voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"Nobody is getting kidnapped, calm down, you two, will you?" Joshua speaks softly, suddenly catching my attention. "Vernon, Emma is Olivia's sister. I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Wait, Liv is your sister?" Vernon asks incredulous and I almost scoff.

There we go again... I am just Olivia's sister for them.

"Yeah," I mutter as Joshua starts the engine again.

I want to say something more, I want to be mad at Vernon or at Joshua, I want to take my frustration out on somebody. But I can't because, technically speaking, none of them is at fault and I have no right to be mad. I sigh in frustration and close my eyes. Not even the pretty sunset could make me feel better now. Why am I like this? I should be happy that somebody I'm familiar with is in...

Is he in Seungcheol's group?

I slowly turn my head towards Joshua, who was focusing on the road. It was like he was silent only because he was expecting me to say something. Know me so well already?

"Is he one of those thirteen?" I ask quietly.

He nods calmly.

"Woah, Em, this is crazy!" Vernon suddenly beams. "Why didn't you tell me you are-... Oh, yeah..."

He was probably going to ask why I hadn't told him about my sister. But of course, there has never been any reason for me to do so, which is probably why he refrained himself from finishing whatever he was going to say.

"How are you even linked with them?" I ask, turning around to look at Vernon.

He looked confused, as if he had no idea what I was talking about and oh, how much I would have wished it was true.

"Vernon helps Woozi with computerized data," Joshua speaks in his place.

My eyes widen as I look at the hazel-haired boy, as if waiting for him to deny it and tell me that it wasn't true, that he had no ties with Seungcheol nor with the others.

But then again, why do I want it so bad?

"Great," I mutter, realizing that Joshua wasn't joking.

Joshua looks at me without saying a word. There were things I couldn't understand about this whole situation, but Jeonghan's words were constantly popping up in my head: Let yourself go with the flow. I shouldn't be worried. I should just wait and see where this path would lead me, because I had no other choice anyway.

However, I couldn't help but long for some sort of normality.

It's all pointless, I think. This is my normality now.

"Are you mad?"

Hearing Vernon asking me such thing made my heart crumble in some sort of pain. I couldn't be mad on him. I could only blame myself that I acted in such way that I made him believe I was. Even while looking at him now, I can't believe he knows so much about this world. Vernon has always been a ray of sunshine in my eyes, a warm caress in a sunny morning. I can't picture him being any other way and I can only hope that he hasn't been faking it all along.

"No," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I am not mad, just..."

Vernon pauses the movie that we were both watching while Joshua was preparing a late snack for the three of us. Seungcheol and Yuri weren't here yet and I was trying my best to push this thought away, reminding myself that I should let myself go with the flow. I had no idea where Jeonghan, Hoshi or basically anybody else was, but I didn't want to question it too much.

"Surprised, I guess," I finish my sentence.

He simply nods.

"I don't know anything and it's stressing me out," I say, forcing a laugh. "I was told I should just... let things flow, but it's not easy to do so..."

"I don't think any of this is worth your worry," Vernon speaks. "I know being in a situation where you barely know anything about what is going on can be stressful, but what's the point in trying to figure it out if you can't do anything about it anyway?"

He is right. But the realization feels bitter because his words resemble Jeonghan's advice.

Let yourself go with the flow.

Dammit, if only it were this easy...

"But," he speaks again, making me turn my head towards him.

He looks at me with curiosity. He is the same boy I spend hours and hours in the library with, his involvement in this little mafia thing doesn't make him a different person. He is still Vernon. He is not changed.

"What is it that you want to know?" He asks.

Everything.

I look at him without saying anything. I didn't know what I wanted to know exactly, or if I wanted to find out anything right now in the first place.

"Would you explain it to me if I told you?" I ask hesitantly and it takes him a few seconds to nod.

What do I want to know?

"If Vernon had to explain everything you want to know, you might miss college tomorrow," I hear Joshua saying.

I close my eyes and lean against the backrest of the sofa. I'm never going to find out anything, am I?

"Emma, don't get me wrong," Joshua speaks and by the proximity of his voice, I can tell he sat somewhere near me.

"I won't," I sigh before opening my eyes and snatching the remote from Vernon's hands. "I don't wanna know anything anyway."

I knew both of them could tell I was lying, but I could deceive myself at least. I could make myself believe that there was nothing I wanted to know. Maybe like this, I would stop worrying and overthinking and being scared.

Maybe like this, I could really let myself go with the flow.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

00| 01| 02| 03| 04| 05| 06| 07| 08| 09| 10| tba

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Text

Betting on the Bullseye (26/30)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation.

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: This has turned into one of my favorite stories, so if you guys have to force me to give you the new chapters, don’t be surprised. They’re all just chilling in my documents ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag list: @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

“Have you seen my nude heels?”

“Have I seen you nude?”

“My nude heels.”

“Swan, I have seen you nude. Are you okay? I feel like you should remember things like that.”

He doesn’t hear back from her until suddenly she’s walking out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest, already dressed in a red skirt and tucked in white blouse with sleeves that flow from her elbows. He’s not really looking at her elbows.

“Well you’re certainly not nude,” he sighs, thumbing a page of his novel and flipping it over. “That’s only a little disappointing.”

She clicks her tongue before she starts tapping her foot on the ground, her lips continuously parting and closing like she can’t decide just which way she wants to tell him off.

Living with her is the joy of his life.

“I asked if you had seen my nude heels, not if you had seen me nude.”

“Well that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

“You need to get your hearing checked.”

“My hearing is fine, love. The walls are thick, and you’ve got your music playing. Plus, I was concentrating on this novel. I think the murderer is about to be revealed.”

“Killian, I promise I will listen to you talk about whatever you want when I get home from work, but I’m running late and need these shoes so I don’t look like a bum for my presentation.”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, sticking his bookmark on the page and throwing the covers on the bed back so that he can climb out and help her look for her shoes. He probably needs to get ready for today as well, but it’s usually easier to wait for Emma to be mostly ready before he starts moving around in the bathroom. “So the nude ones, then? Your black ones would look nice with your skirt.”

“Ruby borrowed them.”

“Ah,” he sighs, walking into the closet and over to her shelf of shoes to try to look for them. They have to be here. He cleaned the living room yesterday when he was finishing up some of their final touches of unpacking so that they could start decorating for Christmas, and they weren’t in there. It’s a never-ending cycle, but he’s enjoying it. “They’re up at the top with your boots, Swan.”

“What? They are not.”

“They are,” he points out, reaching up to grab them out between two of her riding boots. “You probably just looked over them in your haste.”

“You had to have put them there. I wouldn’t have. It’s up too high.”

“I promise you it wasn’t me.”

“It had to have been you.”

“Fine, we can say it was me if you put the shoes on and stop freaking out about them.”

“Sorry,” she huffs, taking them out of his hands and sliding them onto her feet, using his shoulder to prop herself up. “I’m nervous over this final presentation for the gala next week. It’s so far and above what I do on a daily basis, and I’ll never understand why we didn’t hire an event planner after how well it went last year.”

“Because you cost less.”

“True, but I don’t like that answer.”

“You’re going to do wonderful,” he promises, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer so that he can brush his lips against her cheek, letting his nose inhale the flowery scent of her perfume that she’s spritzed on her collarbone. It’s new, and he’s rather fond of it. “You’ll kick arse like you do every time, and then instead of stressing out about it, we can go and enjoy the night.”

“I don’t remember asking you to be my date.”

“I figured it was assumed,” he murmurs against her neck, teasing her with the way she cranes her head to the side to give him more access, the smallest of moans escaping past her red-painted lips. “Though if you want to ask me out again over a video, I’d be okay with that. You can even wear your sweater.”

“I’d only do that if I lost a bet, and I’m smarter than to do that now.”

“How quickly they grow up.”

“You’re – ah – ridiculous.”

“I know,” he whispers before gently biting her neck, pulling back only after he’s gotten a firm squeeze of her arse. “You look beautiful, and you’re going to have a good day today at work. I’m sure of it.”

She reaches up to mess with his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead while her lips are pressed together in a kind smile. “How?”

“I can feel it in my bones.”

“I think that’s the cold weather.”

“Go to work, Swan. I need you to financially support me while I lounge around at home all day.”

“What are you doing today?” she asks as she steps back from him and over to the case where she keeps all of her jewelry, picking up her pearl necklace and clasping it over her neck. “Do you have any plans?”

He does, but he’s not about to tell her all of them.

“I’m going to go to the gym to work out for awhile before running a few errands and coming back here to clean up and to get some more decorations put up. I’ll save the tree for us to do tonight. I might go meet David for lunch.”

“That would be nice. I’m sure you love sitting at his messy desk at the precinct.”

“We go out, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you do,” she hums, putting an earring in. “Well, have fun. Give him all of my love and invite them and the kids over to lunch one night soon. Like, next Sunday or something.”

“Won’t we be exhausted from the gala?”

She shrugs. “So we invite them over for late lunch or early dinner. This month is super busy with work and the holidays, and I don’t want to let anything slip.”

“You’re not going to.”

“Thanks, KJ. Alright,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her skirt, “how do I look?”

“Beautiful. Go kick some arse.”

The moment Emma leaves the apartment, he quickly gets dressed in some of his gym clothes, pulling on sweatpants and a jacket over his shorts and t-shirt to combat the cold. Emma says it’s not too bad, but he’s not used to this weather yet, not at all, and he knows it’s only going to get worse. He remembers when he came in for the gala last year, in the few times that they were outside, he was freezing. It wasn’t even that cold, the winter chill not nipping at his nose quite yet.

He’s been listening to a few too many Christmas carols.

It’s also been a long time since he lived somewhere with weather like this. England was a bit similar, but it’s been…sixteen years. He’s practically been gone for longer than he lived there.

That’s an odd thing to think about.

It’s a quick drive to the gym now that he has his car here, having had it shipped to Boston instead of driving it across the country, and he spends the next hour running, letting his legs burn and his lungs gasp for air while his entire body drips in sweat. He needs to find a trainer here in town, but it can mostly likely wait until he has to start prepping for Life After, which is so close to what Emma had suggested for the movie title and yet so far. She’d been damn frustrated when he told her the title they were officially going with, but there’s always time for them to change it. They might not require him to train much for it, especially since he’s playing a father who is likely going to spend most of his time indoors grieving, but he never knows.

Plus the script is being written for the next Superman movie, and, well, his suit is indecently tight. It’s not so much about looks for him but for comfort. How he managed to score that roll, he’s got no clue, but damn it if it’s not fun to do it.

That’s his mindset with everything he does if he’s honest with himself, though he does think he’s becoming rather adept at historical and fantasy pieces. He’d like to do something like Highland Waters again.

So he runs and runs and runs until he knows that he has to stop. He doesn’t want his legs to be like jello tomorrow, even when he’ll likely only work on his upper body, so he does eventually stop and head to the showers, letting the cool water rinse him off before he gets dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up his boots and pulling a beanie over his head before he pays for a few more hours for parking and walks the seven blocks to David’s precinct, pushing through the double doors and waiting in the lobby as he pulls his phone out.

Killian: I’m in the lobby.

David: Give me ten minutes to finish up this paperwork, and I’ll be right with you.

So he finds a seat in the corner of the lobby, tugging his beanie off and shaking his hair out, letting it dry a bit more as he thumbs through his phone, reviewing the list of jewelry places he’s found and the pictures he’s saved to his phone. It’s been a bit of a covert operation managing to find a ring. He’s only told David and Liam. He thought about telling Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa a million times so that they could help him, but honestly, between the three of them, one of them would definitely let it slip to Emma. They all talk to her so often that he knows it would slip. He and David talk to her as well, but he had to tell someone who lived here. Plus, David already knew from Emma’s birthday dinner.

Lying to Emma is difficult, but there’s no way he could lie to her about reasons for flying back to California to get Elsa or Liam to help him look at rings.

She’d spot the lie in a second with her superpower and uncanny ability to know just when he’s telling the truth and when he’s not.

And she definitely knows him far too well that she’d realize something was up with him. So he doesn’t lie. He simply…leaves things out.

It’s a fine line, especially when Emma has put her trust in him after having others betray that trust, so he doesn’t want to do that, even if this is a good thing. He’s not cheating on her or hiding a family. He’s not doing something to hurt her, and he doesn’t want her to think that he is.

There’s the element of surprise as well. They’ve talked about the future, how they want one, so this won’t be out of the blue, especially with what Anna told him after Thanksgiving. He simply wants to be able to do something romantic for Emma…not that he knows how he’s going to propose yet.

He wants to have this ring in his possession and not need to sneak around Emma. The tenseness in his shoulders will go away, and absolutely everything will be fine. He’s got no bloody clue how people do this. That’s another reason he’s told both Dave and Liam. They’ve both been through the exact same thing, and it seemed to work well for them.

Support in numbers and experience, he guesses.

“You look familiar,” a woman starts, and he startles a bit as he looks up at the older woman sitting across from in, her legs crossed at the ankles as she taps her fingers on the chair’s arm. “Do I know you? Do you work with Lance?”

“I don’t think so, love,” he says, flashing her a smile, “but I do get that a lot. I believe I’ve just got one of those faces. Is Lance your son? Does he work here?”

“My grandson. He’s a forensic analyst. Just started. He’s supposed to take me out to lunch today.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Are you meeting someone for lunch or are you here to file papers or something? Have you gotten yourself in trouble?”

“No,” he laughs, amused by this woman’s concern for him and if he’s gotten on the wrong side of the law, “I haven’t. I’m meeting a friend.”

“For lunch?”

“Aye. I’m taking him to lunch since he’s doing a bit of a favor and helping me with something for my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t know why he’s sharing this, but he figures it can’t hurt to talk to an elderly woman who has absolutely no idea who he is, even if she does recognize him on a certain level. She seems kind, and he realizes that he didn’t ask her what her name is when they started talking. He should have, but he might be able to coast by without it now.

“I should have known a handsome young man like you would have a girlfriend.” He winks at her, making sure to really exaggerate his movements. “Oh, lass, you flatter me, but don’t try to hide your disappointment that I can’t take you out on a date. I can see it written all over your face.”

She throws her head back in laughter, all of the lines on her face scrunching up. “I don’t think my husband would be very happy, but then again, he’s not as handsome as you are.”

“Well, I promise I won’t tell your husband that you said that if you don’t tell my girlfriend that I practically asked another beautiful woman out on a date.” “Oh I don’t know. I think it might be good for George to hear that he needs to be sweeter to me. Is your girlfriend good to you?”

“She’s wonderful,” he gushes, totally amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “I’m actually taking one of her best friends to go with me so that I can find her an engagement ring.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, love,” he promises, reaching over and holding out his hand so that so he can shake hers, figuring now is as good of a time as any to introduce himself since this woman is one of three people in the world who knows that he’s getting engaged (hopefully). “My name is Killian. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Sarah,” she smiles, squeezing his hand before letting go. “It’s been lovely talking to you. I’ll have to tell Lance to be as kind as you. I hope your bride says yes.”

“Ah now, Sarah, she has to say yes to the question before she’s my bride.”

“With a face like yours, how could she say no?”

“If you keep charming me like that, I’ll be asking you to marry me instead of Emma.”

He smiles at her one last time while she continues to laugh before getting up and walking to the other side of the lobby, waiting by the door that David should be coming out of any second now. He could have stayed talking to Sarah, but he’s a bit anxious to start looking at rings. He does have other things he needs to get done today, decorating included, and he only gets David for an hour and a half. He’ll have to do everything else alone.

The doors swing open three minutes later, David coming out as he shrugs on his jacket, and he flashes him a smile before David pulls him in for a brief hug.

“You ready to do this?”

“I’m ready.”

He almost says “I’m ready, Freddie”, and that’s when he knows that he’s past the point of no return on picking up on Emma’s speech patterns. It’ll only truly be bad when Emma starts calling people lass and love.

Sometimes she calls him “my love.” That makes his heart swell three sizes.

Maybe he is a bit of a sentimental fool.

He doesn’t mind.

When he asks, David fills him in on Mary Margaret and their kids, telling him all about how excited Leo is for the upcoming holidays and sharing far too much information about Brody’s growth and bodily functions, but the man is taking time out of his day to help him find a ring. He can listen to him talk about his kids, even the things that are a little too much information. Dave is simply a proud husband and father, and Killian can only bemoan him a little bit for it all. As long as he doesn’t keep talking about bathroom habits, of course.

There’s only so much he can handle.

Something very obviously gets twisted in one’s mind when they have kids to think that other people want to hear about how often they use the toilet…diaper.

This is not the thought process he should be having right now.

It only takes a few minutes for them to hop on the train and get to Bond and Green. Parking has been hellish lately, so even if they could have taken either of their cars, it takes up too much time to walk to their lots, work their way through traffic, and then find new spots. This is the place he’s most wanted to go to look at rings, and he’s in a hurry to look over it all. There’s one he found online that’s an oval cut with a halo surrounding it (he’s now pretty much an expert in rings now), and he wants to see it.

“Why do I feel like they’re watching us?” David asks him as they peruse the cases, thick glass covering every type of sparkling jewelry that he can think of. There’s an entire case of broaches, and he wonders if people still wear those.

He wonders if they ever.

“Because they are,” he answers simply, his eyes glancing up at the sales assistants watching them before he looks back at a few sapphire rings. “They want to make sure we don’t steal anything.” “I’m a detective.” “They don’t know that.”

“I have on my badge.” “It’s underneath your shirt, Dave,” he laughs, pointing out a diamond ring in the case and ignoring David’s offense that anyone could ever possibly think that he could be a thief. “Do you like this one?”

“It’s nice.”

Nice isn’t what he’s looking for.

He’s known that he was stressed about this whole thing, known it for the weeks that he’s been thinking about that, but he didn’t honestly feel it until right about now with all of these options in front of him and none of them seeming right.

Emma deserves right.

“I don’t think it’s very Emma, though,” he sighs, eyes glancing up again at the saleswoman who’s been following them behind the cases. “Excuse me,” he glances down at her name tag, “Mallory, do you have any like this, with the oval cut, but with a gold band?”

“We have a few that I can bring out from the back if you’d like.”

He curls his lips up into a smile, some of anxieties calming. “I’d like that.”

Mallory nods her head and walks away, disappearing behind a door that he assumes is where they keep the nicer jewels. He imagines that the security in this place is wonderful, but it’s likely smart to keep some things in the back. He really doesn’t know. He’s never bought an engagement ring before. It’s always been earrings or a necklace, and those seem to be a little different than this.

No, those are different than this.

For one, there’s far less security.

For another, there’s far more meaning in an engagement ring.

“You’re vibrating out of your skin, Jones.”

He rolls his eyes at David. How the man romanced Mary Margaret he’ll never know. “I’m excited. I want to find a ring, get it sized and, and then have it with me. Do you think if we don’t find anything today I should think about customization?”

“I think you should look at all of the stores beforehand and then maybe. Do you know when you want to ask Emma? If you keep it a secret for too much longer, she’ll figure it out. She would have been the best detective in the city had she gone that route.”

“Aye, she’d be a hell of a lot better than you,” he agrees, tracing his finger over the glass case at some sapphire earrings he might get Elsa for Christmas. He’s got to get his gifts together as well. It’s difficult when no one says what they want. Maybe he’s bad at gift shopping. “And if I can, sometime before Christmas. I don’t know. It just feels…right. We met this time of year, and I think that’d be nice. Not on Christmas, though. I think it should be a separate day, and I was kind of thinking before my family flew in. I have a feeling Anna would somehow find the ring even though she wasn’t looking, and she’d definitely tell Emma.”

“There’s less than a month until Christmas,” David points out, tapping his fingers before checking his watch. They’ve only been to one place, and they’re nearly out of time.

“I know. I should have started looking back in October, but life was so busy with the move and with all that comes with it. I’m probably crazy for doing all of this.”

“Being crazy and in love are kind of synonymous, but it’s in a good way.”

And there’s a bit of the romantic Dave that likely helped him court Mary Margaret.

“Look at you acting a bit like your wife,” he laughs, his fingers tracing the case a bit more while Mallory continues to take too much time in the back. “That happens more and more every time I see you.”

“I’ve been with Mary Margaret for eight years. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It won’t be weird until she starts being realistic like me.”

He briefly wonders if he and Emma have picked up on each other’s tendencies and speech patterns too quickly, but he brushes it away. It’s not an important thought, and he’s rather fond of Emma telling him “it’s a plan, Stan.” It means she’s happy and willing to play around.

“The world will be ending if there were to ever happen.”

“Alright,” Mallory sighs, walking out the door with a black case of what he assumes are the rings, “so these are all of the ones with the similar oval and pear shapes that you’ve been looking at but with the gold and rose gold bands. I put a few different ones that you might like too.”

“Thank you.” His eyes scan over the box quickly, each ring getting a little of his attention. He definitely likes the gold better, thinks Emma will too, and when his eyes scan over a singular oval cut diamond with a gold band, he knows that’s the one he wants. It’s stunning but it’s simple, and that’s what Emma likes. And somehow he knows just like every cliché that’s ever been written. “Do you think she’ll like this one?” he asks David, pointing to the ring.

“Yeah, I think she will.”

It takes longer than he expects to fill out the paperwork for the ring, and while for a brief moment he considers going to other shops, he’s sure on this one. He’s done enough research to know, and he’s got this gut feeling that he’s planning on trusting. So he fills out the insurance, pays for Emma’s ring (bloody hell is that insane to think about) and the earrings for Elsa, and then makes his appointment to pick it up once they’ve sized it for Emma. It’s all a bit of a blur, which likely shouldn’t happen when he’s in the middle of one of the most important decisions of his life, but David assures him that it’s normal as they leave the store and grab lunch to go since they’ve run out of time. It’s the least that he can do for David coming to help him when he should be working.

After he and David part ways at the precinct, David going back to work and Killian walking to his car still in the garage at the gym, he pulls his phone out to text his brother, knowing that Liam won’t answer a call while at work.

Killian: I’ve bought a ring and will pick it up after it’s sized in a few days. Hope you’re having a good morning!

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and hurries the rest of the way to his car, excitement bubbling over him so that he walks a bit more quickly than usual. Maybe it’s relief, maybe it’s nerves. He really doesn’t know. But as the day goes on, as he goes grocery shopping and picks up dry cleaning (one of his favorite things about living in Boston is the fact that he has more anonymity than California and can do things like picking up his dry cleaning without too much trouble), everything starts to settle. The nervous beating of his heart becomes steady, the erratic tapping of his fingers becomes measured, and he’s able to simply focus on what is ahead of him to do for the day.

And maybe a bit for his entire future.

He’s got to stop watching soap operas during the day.

The rest of his afternoon is spent hanging wreaths on their exterior doors, adding baubles and accents to them to brighten up the plain green. He notices that none of their neighbors have done anything outside, and he wonders if they’ll be the only ones to do it. Then again, they’ve lived in this building for over a month now and despite many efforts, he still hasn’t met anyone who lives on his floor. Maybe they’re not interested in decorating for the holidays. Maybe they don’t celebrate them. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s going to leave the wreath up.

His phone starts ringing in his back pocket, and he quickly pulls it out, sliding his finger across the screen and hitting the speaker button as Liam’s voice booms through. “So you bought a ring? Are you feeling like Gollum?”

“That may very well be the nerdiest joke you’ve ever made.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Liam laughs, the gentle thud of a door closing clicking behind him. “All jokes aside, you’ve bought it?”

“I have, so I guess that makes it all pretty official.”

“My baby brother is all grown up.”

He scoffs at Liam’s condescending tone, and even though Liam can’t see him, he rolls his eyes while he shuffles through a box of string lights to find some to put out on the balcony and in the bedroom.

“Is this what finally makes me a man in your outdated ways?”

“Possibly. So how long am I going to have to keep this from my wife? I already deleted your text because somehow she’ll see it from across town.”

“She has superpowers, that woman.”

“And figuring out my lies is the main one.”

“Maybe if you didn’t lie to your wife so much.”

“Oi,” Liam laughs, the sound of a can popping open mixing in with the laughter, “you know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do.” He turns the phone off speaker and presses it between his shoulder and ear before he grabs three boxes of white lights and pushes out onto the balcony door, gooseflesh rising across his arms almost immediately, all of the warmth of inside fading away. “I’ll hopefully have asked before you all come in for Christmas. I’m not…I have no idea how to ask her. I know what I want to say, but I haven’t figured out all of the logistics of it.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s never going to go like you plan. And your speech, whichever one you have in your head, you’ll remember to say about one sentence out of it.”

“That’s how it went with you and Els, right?”

“Elsa didn’t even let me ask the question.”

“She does like to take charge.”

“You have no idea.”

“Oh God no,” he groans, his eyes scanning the balcony to try to figure out just how he wants to set up the lights. He thinks stringing them around the top of the trellis and down the sides will work since he can’t really hang them on the glass railing. “I love you, but that is not something I’m going to talk about with you.”

“Your mind is dirty, brother.”

“The tone of your voice was absolutely salacious.”

“It was perfectly innocent.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever been innocent.”

“I am as pure as the driven snow.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Well, according to you I lie to my wife all the time.”

“Because you do, and you’ll continue to until I ask Emma.”

He’s eternally grateful for a lot of things, but in this moment, there’s nothing he’s more grateful for than the fact that he stopped speaking when he did. He didn’t see Emma come into the apartment through his view from outside, and he definitely didn’t see her make her way outside. She’s already changed into her pajamas, warm flannel and thick socks covering her from head to toe. He has no idea how long she’s been home, but he could have ruined absolutely everything there.

Every cent that he’s worth comes from acting, and he can’t manage to act in his personal life when he really needs to.

“Who’s that?” she mouths, crossing her arms over her chest and walking further toward him.

“Liam,” he says aloud, opening his right arm and letting her come to stand beside him, tugging her close and kissing her temple in greeting. She’s warm, so much warmer than he is. He hasn’t even put the lights up yet.

“Why are you saying my name?” Liam asks, his voice raising in pitch.

“I was telling Emma who I’m on the phone with,” he explains, rubbing his hand up and down her waist. He’s not sure if it’s to warm him or her up.

“Tell him I said hi.”

“Tell her I said hello.”

He chuckles at that, their timing of their demands almost identical. Emma and Liam are two peas in a pod for two people who had a bit of a rocky start. It was all Liam’s doing, but everything seems to be fine now.

“Emma said hello,” he tells Liam, knowing that Emma can likely hear the conversation now. “I’m going to let you go, okay? Text me later. You still haven’t told me what I need to get Aiden for Christmas.”

“Preferably a new aunt.”

He practically drops his phone at that, the glass screen only saved because he does manage to get his bearings. Man does he hope that Emma did not hear that.

She probably couldn’t over all of the hysterical coughing that he’s doing.

Has he officially turned into a madman.

“Bye,” he coughs, not able to get anything else out even with the way that Emma is patting his back.

“Are you okay, KJ?”

“Y-yeah,” he sputters, trying to take a few deep breaths before he looks down at Emma, dipping his head to quickly slide his lips over hers. He can briefly taste chocolate, which means that she stopped for a milkshake on the way home. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign for her day or a bad sign. “Hello, darling,” he mumbles, greeting her properly. “How was your day? How did the presentation go?”

“Can we go inside to talk about it? It’s nothing bad. I’m just really freaking cold and want to sit down on the couch. Besides, I don’t think you’re ever going to get these lights up tonight.”

“I could.”

“You’re not going to.”

He nods before they walk inside, Emma’s steps hurrying until she’s inside first, practically jogging down the hallway to the living room, grabbing a blanket out of the basket and curling up into her favorite corner of the sofa before he even manages to get into the living room. She’s either full of energy or really got that cold in such a short amount of time. Emma should most definitely be used to this weather, but she is cold natured.

“So,” he hums, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch and sticking his feet next to Emma’s legs, “how was your presentation? Did you crush it?”

“Like Fat Amy.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling at her reference. He’s so damn proud of her all of the time, but he’s mostly happy that she likely doesn’t feel as much stress as she has been, even if the gala is still a little over a week away. “You’re amazing, Emma.”

“I know.” She winks, but he still sees the blush rise on her cheeks. “But thank you. I’m so damn excited that it’s over. I mean, I’ve still got the actual gala, but I’m only in charge of a little of that. But John and Ella gave the stamp of approval on everything. I’m free, baby.”

“So celebrations are in order then?”

“If by celebration you mean some hot chocolate that you spike with your good rum, then yes.”

“You’re not interested in decorating the tree?”

“Maybe after I’ve had something to drink. And eat. And maybe after a nap. Ooh, and after catching up on Superstore.”

“So never?”

She reaches forward and grabs his toe, wiggling it a little bit. “Later. I promise we’ll decorate later. You know how I feel about Christmas now.”

He does, and they do.

It’s slow going. Emma takes awhile to get up and get her drink, her exhaustion from weeks of stress hitting her the slightest bit, but once she’s had her hot chocolate (rum included) and watched two and a half episodes of Superstore, she gets up off the couch and they start decorating the tree. With the two of them, it doesn’t take long. Really, it’s pretty quick, even if Emma keeps leaving giant spots in the tree without ornaments. But it does get done.

As do the lights out on the balcony, the white glow covering the trellis. It mixes in with all of the lights of their other apartments and some of the boats down below, but really, all he can think about is the fact that if he can manage to get Emma out into the cold again, this would be a nice spot to ask her to marry him.

Then again, if he truly thinks about it, it doesn’t really matter where or how. He thinks it’d be just fine to ask her like they are now, curled up on the couch with Emma’s head resting on a pillow in his lap while he threads his fingers through her hair, lulling them both to sleep with the comfort of it all.

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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lukawodric · 6 years ago

Photo

sound on – (one shot)

luka modrić x reader warnings: smut (gosh, you’re all dragging me to hell with you). words: 1.726 a/n: probably the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written after almost is never enough. let me know if you like it or if there’s anything wrong with spelling and etc. enjoy, you dirty people.

After some time together, you both knew by heart exactly how the other one used to act. All the manias, all the things you liked and disliked and even the way you could act in front of unexpected situations. The end of classic sentences, the favourite food, the favourite places to visit… It’s cozy and comfortable to be with someone who can see right through you like Luka does. When you arrived home after a dinner with the whole team, you both just lied down on your bed to watch something on Netflix. You had your head restfully placed on his chest as his hand went up from your back to caress your hair. Running your fingers on his torso lazily, you started thinking to yourself that, when it comes to sex, he’s usually very quiet. More than you’d like him to be. Luka is the focused type of person who can’t just let go of this specific characteristic. Not even in bed. Everything has to follow the script on his head so he can please the both of you like his imagination tells him to do. A smirk appeared on your lips as your head moved up a little to see him attentively studying every single frame of the series on the TV. Tonight, you had decided that you’d show him something he’d never expect. The bond between you two, this time, wouldn’t tell him what you were up to. What Luka does to you, the way he satisfies you… all of these things are priceless. He gets you shaking and he reaches the exact right spots. It’s like he could read your body like a map. But this time, you’d return it to him twice as better and most important: you’d make him finally leave his silence aside. Luka glanced back at you and showed you that sweet smile of his. “¿Qué pasa?” His adorable accent sounded like music to your ears, almost making you give up on your dirty thoughts. “Nothing, bub,” You answered him, supporting your cheek on his skin. “Just wanted to admire you for a bit.” Blinking, he smiled even more in response as you kissed the spot where you chin was before. Your lips traveled up, covering his chest with warm and wet smackers and a few goosebumps dared to show up and warn you about the effect you were causing on him. You were now peppering kisses along his neck, licking your lips after each touch to provide him the same good sensation unstoppably. Luka fluttered his eyes shut and took a deeper breath, holding the back of your head lightly and fixing his hair away from his face with his free hand. When you reached his stubble, he licked his lips and waited for yours to catch them, initiating an intense but slow kiss as your tongues touched with caution and took their time to taste and explore each other. You started making your way back down as he threatened to flip you under him. Immediately, you moved up, grabbed both his arms and forced him to cross them above his head. Confused, Luka rested his head on his crossed arms and glared at your face, looking for a reason. You unclasped your bra and threw it somewhere, clinging your bodies once again right after. “Just be good, babe.” You gave him a little taste of the answer he was looking for and trailed the kisses to his perfectly shaped abdomen, catching every freckle embellishing his skin with your mouth. He watched you as you both kept the eye contact and your body went down supported by your knees and making your hips dance, showing him the dimples at the bottom of your back as your upper half went down. Nipping and sucking at his v-line, your hands played with the waistband of his black boxers. He let a sigh leave his mouth at the vision of you teasing him. Good. That’s exactly what you wanted him to do. But that was only the beginning. You squeezed his thighs after removing his briefs, grabbing a handful of his bulge with your right hand as the left hand palmed his abs, going up slowly. Luka squirmed against your touch but rapidly found a way to deal with your traces more quietly. You teased him by pulling his tip closer to your mouth, kissing it so delicately he could barely tell if you were actually making any contact. You continued on playing with him by licking all the extension of his length without going any further than this, leaving an impatient Luka licking his upper lip and exhaling peevishly. You knew the rule the guys from the national team told you on the first day you met them: don’t ever get Luka irritated or you might see the angry side of him in its scariest way. Were you giving a single damn about it? Not at all. When he started rearranging his body to get up and get things done, you grabbed his tip with your mouth, licked it and sucked, letting it go with a ‘pop’. Instantly, his body gave up and hit the pillows behind him. You smiled, while holding his throbbing shaft and pumping it with a little bit more of pressure and calmly just to have fun with his desperate mood. His hairline starting to get wet from the sweat, his lungs working harder to keep on breathing properly, his legs moving uninterruptedly to find a way to feel comfortable with all this torture. Promptly, you pinned his dense thighs down on the mattress and took all of him inside your mouth at once. His back arched, making it reach even deeper on your throat. Luka let out a painful groan, his husky voice made you move your head up again and you smirked at him, holding his soaked cock. He looked down at your expression, still very confused and fighting hard to deal with the agony you were providing him. He wondered a thousand times what happened to you? He wasn’t sure he liked it, but internally he was totally begging for more and dying to see where you were leading him to. You put all of his length inside of your warm and wet mouth once again and begun to apply suction as your head started bobbing up and down against his crotch. The wet sounds filling up the room gave his body chills and Luka felt relaxed enough to release a few sighs here and there. You picked up pace and he gasped for air instantly. The veins on his arms and thighs were now pulsing and marking his white and smooth skin with the purple lines showing. Holding the sides of his body tightly, you slowed down the rhythm when you saw him closing his eyes and dropping his chin, leaving his lips opened and puffing the air strongly, making his cheeks inflate as he pouted in a silent ‘u’. His eyes looked for yours in order to make you notice that he was close and wanting more of that. “¿Qué pasa?” You questioned, clearly noting that he was close by the way his shaft started palpitating inside of your mouth as you took him one more time. He finally worked on some words. “I’m… so close…” With difficulty, his raspy tone responded and he rubbed his face in exasperation. Luka was afraid to be rude to you as he felt his blood boiling everywhere, so he took a deep breath, stood up on his elbows and caressed your cheek with his thumb and ran his fingers through your hair, pulling it so softly and with attitude at the same time. He encouraged you to go down and you obeyed, looking profoundly on his eyes and making him shiver. “What do you want?” You were now stroking his shaft carefully, directing its head towards your tongue. “I…” He had to take a quick moment to appreciate the sensation. “I want this pretty mouth of yours around me. No stopping this time.” It took him everything to leave his shyness aside and ask you and turns out if made him feel dominant again, the way he likes to act in the bedroom. He’s bossy in bed and he just can’t help it. Starving, you grabbed him and worked hard on swirling your tongue all around his throbbing cock to spread the wetness for your lips wrapped around him to slide easily, making Luka throw his head back and move his hips in the direction of your hot and wanting mouth. Languidly and precisely, you moved again and his bulge was now also thrusting to meet your mouth while his tongue started cursing and rolling your name off his throat lowly, but audible enough for you to keep on doing it faster. Groaning, Luka gently pulled your head down for you to deep-throat him as he watched to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you in anyways. As you got up again and started sucking him faster, he let go of your head to support his body on both his elbows once again and his abs begun to contract, warning you that he was close. You mapped his muscles with your fingers as your free hand clutched his thigh. That was it. He released a deep moan, completely unable to keep it for him. “M’gonna cum, fuck!” He was so lost in this feeling that he didn’t even notice what he just said. You moved your hand down to stroke the base of his shaft that couldn’t fit in your mouth as you kept on sucking him and he exploded. Legs shaking, chest moving up and down urgently and hands holding the sheets. You left his length to crawl above him, placing a kiss on his sweaty abs, chest, neck and then cheek. Lying beside him, you covered his body with the blanket and positioned your head on where it was before. Luka tapped your shoulder twice for you to move and you looked at him confused. “Is anything wrong?” You asked, concerned. He held your waist firmly. “My turn.” He mumbled. “Aren’t you too tired for that?” Raising an eyebrow, you challenged him. Rule number two: don’t ever challenge Luka. Challenges aren’t traps. For Luka, a challenge is a fuel. “Wanna try me?” He placed your silhouette under his.

#luka modric #modric #luka modric imagine #luka modric imagines #luka modric fanfic #luka modric fanfics #luka modric smut #luka x reader #luka modric x reader #modric x reader #my imagines #mine

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bisluthq · 11 months ago

Note

“Whether I’m gonna be your wife or gonna smash up your bike I haven’t decided yet but I’m gonna get you back” / “I could take the upper hand and touch your body, flip the script and leave you like a dumb house party, or I might just love you til the end” meanwhile Matty was thinking the same 😂💀

she did say he’s her twin so it makes sense they think alike.

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warriorofdragons · 6 years ago

Text

Some Evening Exercise

Warnings: Language

This was a request from Kandomerezlilbabygumdrop on tumblr

This is a limón. ;)

You step into your apartment and set your keys down in the bowl and notice Kandomere’s car keys are already in there.

“Kandomere?” you call.

There’s no answer.

You glance back at the bowl, the spare keys to the apartment are gone. You wander down the hall and pass the open office door, he’s not in there, and you decide to continue on to your bedroom. You tentatively open the closed door in case he might be sleeping, but you find this room to be empty as well. You stare around the room, and notice the bathroom light is off, where is he?

Walking over to his nightstand, you pull out the bottom drawer and find his gun sitting in it. Ok, so he definitely came home from work. You pull out your phone and send him a text, “Hey, I’m home, where are you?” you wait for a moment and then you can see him typing.

“At the gym, thought I’d get in a quick workout,” he responds.

“Ah ok :),” you send back.

“Hey, could you grab my extra water bottle out of the fridge? I drank my other one,” he asks.

“Sure, I’ll be right down,” you type.

He’s typing again and then a text bubble in elvish script pops up that says: “I await your arrival, My Love.”

You smile to yourself and then head to the kitchen and open up the refrigerator but you don’t see it and you close the doors again and then you spot it sitting on the kitchen counter. You pick it up and it’s warm. Frowning you then focus on it and there’s a crackling sound as a thin layer of frost forms around the bottle.

You take the water bottle with you and you leave your apartment and then take the elevator down to the gym. You enter the code for the gym and the door unlocks and you walk in and immediately spot your blue-haired boyfriend across the room lifting weights.

It’s getting late so there’s no one else working out in here.

His head turns to you as he hears you coming and he smiles at you. He’s in the middle of doing deadlifts and you wait a safe distance a few feet away.

“Where do you want me to put this?” you ask holding up the water bottle.

“Oh, actually I need a sip if you could…” he says and he shifts his gloved hands to where he’s holding the bar in his right hand as outstretches his left to you. You step forward and hand it to him and he pauses for a moment and stares at the ice and then raises a brow at you.

“Somebody left it out,” you say.

The tiniest bit of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips and then he tilts his head back and takes a long swig. His blue hair is pulled into a low bun, but there’s a lock of hair on the right side of his face that frames his jaw perfectly anyway. He’s wearing black exercise pants and a light blue fitted, tank top so you can see his blue arm pit hair under his arm as he holds the water bottle up. Your eyes shift to the weights he’s holding and you tilt your head to read the numbers, there’s a seventy-five furthest from you, followed by two fifties, and the nearest one to you is a twenty-five. Your eyes drift over to the other side and it’s the same over there too. He hands you the water bottle back and you step back and set it down by his gym bag. Then you stand and watch him again for a moment as he goes back to his reps. There’s sweat covering his face, but you sincerely doubt it’s from the weight, “Did you go for a run?” you ask.

He glances over at you, “I did.”

“What was it today?” you ask.

“I just wanted a light workout today so I only ran 10k,” he says.

“What was your time?” you ask.

He thinks for a moment not breaking stride, “A little over twenty-eight minutes?”

You nod and focus on his arms as he lifts the weights up again and you can feel heat suddenly in your abdomen. There are some drops of sweat that trickle slowly down the elf’s neck and as he inhales for a breath, you see him jolt slightly and then his head turns towards you.

You meet his gaze and he smiles, revealing his pointed teeth and he winks at you.

Your face heats up as well and you smile and glance away.

But your eyes are quickly drawn back to him and where he was relaxed in his routine it appears he’s now purposefully putting more flourish into it. He tosses it up in one hand and catches it with the other and then lifts it with only his fingertips. You swallow thickly, you can feel your panties becoming damp, and you don’t know how much more of this you can take.

“If that’s all you needed, I’m going to head back upstairs,” you say.

He stops and sets the bar down on the floor,” Oh, if you’ll give me a moment I’ll join you.”

He removes the weights from the bar and puts all the equipment up in their proper place and then throws his bag over his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist. He downs most of his water on the way up to your apartment and then the two of you head inside and then you both walk to your bedroom. The elf sets his bag down and removes his socks and shoes and you slip off your own shoes finally.

He steps over to you and pulls you backwards against his chest, you let out a giggle, “Kandomere! You’re all sweaty!” you twist yourself in his arms and place your hands on his chest and notice that his hair is now down.

“That’s never bothered you before,” he remarks.

You smile up at him, “True.”

The elf’s scent has never been a detriment to you, even when he’s coated in sweat he smells divine to you. You would say it must be an elf thing, but you’ve smelled other elves before and they don’t smell like Kandomere.

“Still you were in the gym and you should take a shower,” you say.

“Oh? Would you care to join me then?” he asks.

You stare up into his darkened eyes, “I would love to.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you walk to the bathroom and flip on the light. He follows you and shuts the door behind him. You turn to face him and slowly unbutton your blouse as your boyfriend slowly removes his shirt and tosses it into the hamper. You hand him your blouse and then you pull down your skirt. The elf removes his pants and you both put your clothes in the hamper. He steps towards you and his hands meet your waist and you spin around for him. He gently parts your hair from the back of your neck and he presses a kiss to your skin. You feel him unhook your bra and then he sets it on top of the closed hamper. He kisses your shoulder and then the middle of your back and then he removes the necklace with the teardrop-shaped sapphire and then sets it aside in a little trinket dish on the counter. You turn around and he leans down and kisses both your breasts and then kisses down between them and down to your stomach. He kneels in front of you and kisses down your hips and his fingers move under your panties and he slowly slips them off of you. You step out of them and he stands and then you pull his underwear off of him and he sets them both in the hamper. As you finally both stand naked before one another, his hands cup your face and you bring your lips to his. You pull back from him and turn to the shower and slide the frosted glass door open and step inside. The elf grabs a couple of washcloths and follows suit, closing the door behind him.

There’s gray tile covering the wall of the spacious shower and you move to turn on the water and it flows out of the rain showerhead above you. You adjust the water to a warm, comfortable temperature and you feel Kandomere’s arm wrap around your midsection. He leans down and nibbles gently on your right ear and you giggle.

“I need to wash you first,” you whisper.

He releases your ear and buries his face in your neck and he sighs contentedly.

You grab the bar of soap and turn towards him and his grip on you goes slack and you glance to your right and spot the washcloths on the inner door handle where he had placed them. You grab one and lather it with soap and then set the soap back in its alcove and scrub across his torso and up to his shoulders and down his right arm, the fingers on your other hand tracing patterns along his skin. You repeat the process with his left arm and all the while he watches you, his expression gentle and loving.

“Turn please,” you say.

He obliges and you scrub up his back and across his shoulder blades and then you move down and scrub across his ass, giving him a good squeeze with both of your hands and he growls in response. You smile and crouch down and scrub the back of his legs and then reach around and get the front of his legs as well. You stand and wring out the washcloth and set it aside and as you step to the side, he turns back around. Moving behind him, you place your hands on his back and when he steps into the water, you smooth your hands over him and help wash away the soap. You lean forward and press your lips to his skin and kiss along his wet, muscular body.

“Mi Amor,” he whispers.

You pull back and stare up at him as he turns towards you. His hands move to your waist and he pulls you towards him and presses his lips to yours. Your hands move to his face and you feel him slide his hands all along your body. Up your back, down to your ass, in front of your torso to grip your breasts, and then his hands rest on your hips and he steps forward and anticipating his moves you step back. Your back presses up against the tiled wall and he firmly pins you in place. Meanwhile, your hands trail over his shoulders, across his chest, and up to his hair to tangle your fingers in his dampened hair. His lips separate from yours to find your neck and he sucks on your skin and you move an arm across his upper back to hold him closer to you. One of his hands grips your outer thigh and massages it as he nips at your neck. Then his hand slowly moves to the inside of your thigh and further still until you feel him scarcely touch you as his fingers stroke across your folds. You gasp a little and he continues to kiss your neck. Now his other hand cups your left breast and you let out a moan as he now strokes your clit insistently. You scratch your nails against his scalp and against his back as he hits just the right spots. His mouth moves down to encompass your nipple and at the same time you feel him dip a finger in your entrance. He starts to tease you a little alternating between stroking your clit and plunging his fingers inside of you.

“Kandomere, just fuck me already,” you rasp.

He pulls back to stare into your eyes, “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, and you want to fuck me,” you say.

He stares at you and his face is otherwise stoic, save for his eyes, his pupils are wide and have been watching every movement of your body throughout this whole endeavor. He hasn’t ceased stroking you either and you take the opportunity to move your hips forward and grind against his hand. An action that catches him off guard and breaks any poise he had as he relishes pleasuring you. You continue to grind against his hand, “So will you be with me, My Lover? I wish to feel all of you, do you wish feel all of me? Fill all of me?” you whisper.

He removes his hand and he grabs ahold of himself and coats his dick in the fluids he’s already covered his fingers with. And then he picks up your right leg and you wrap it around him and he hilts himself inside you. He sets a good pace and you move in sync with him. He grunts rhythmically and despite the fact that you just washed him, you can already smell him starting to sweat again. You grip the back of his head and lean towards him as you pull him in for a kiss. He happily meets your mouth with his own, only stopping to briefly bite your bottom lip before continuing. The elf eagerly thrusts harder into you and you moan loudly into his mouth.

His lips part from yours, “Are you nearly there already?”

“SHUT UP!” you snap at him.

He chuckles, and lifts your leg higher and thrusts hard, hitting you at just the right angle and you whimper.

“…Please,” you whisper, as you clutch him tighter.

Kandomere thrusts himself further into you, determined to get you where you need to be.

“Have I ever left you unsatisfied?” he asks.

You’re about to answer when you cry out, “FUCK!” instead.

Your climax courses through you and you cry out some more, “OH, FUCK ME!! Fuck! Fuck me…” you taper off and he pulls out of you and lowers your leg.

You’re still catching your breath as you watch him wrap his hand around his length and try to keep the momentum going. You’re watching him jerk himself off, when you feel his hand encompass your clit and you gasp.

His eyes focus on your face and you hold onto his neck with your right arm and stroke his right ear with your left. His eyes roll back and he moans. Coming off your previous orgasm it doesn’t take long for you to build back up again and the sounds you make spur the elf on. You watch as he lists forward and groans loudly and your voice follows his as you both climax together.

And you finally both stop and pant heavily.

After a moment he moves towards you and presses his lips to yours and then takes the shower attachment off the hook and uses it to wash himself and the wall he came on. You finally peel yourself off the wall and rinse yourself off.

Kandomere’s hands find your hips, “You know in all the excitement I haven’t had the chance to wash you.”

He picks up the bar of soap and coats your washcloth with it and proceeds to gingerly wipe and scrub down your body. You rinse off the soap and turn and stare up at your boyfriend’s hair. Grabbing the shampoo you pour some of it in your hand and he leans down for you and you lather it in his hair and then he rinses it and you repeat the process with the conditioner. As he stands with his back to the showerhead, you comb your fingers through his soft, damp hair one more time and then rest your head against his chest. You wrap your arms around him and sigh happily and you feel his arms surround you and then he rest his chin on your head.

#kandomere #kandomere x reader #bright netflix

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