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rebouks · 11 months ago

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Previous // Next

Hi Alex!

I don’t think it’s stupid or cheesy to miss someone, I miss you too! Going back to normal after being on holiday is always horrible, especially after this one, and especially having to go back to school, I’m not a big fan! Do you go to school too? I wanted to ask if you did but I couldn’t… it’s nothing personal, by the way, sometimes I just can’t speak to people and I don’t really know why. I thought it was my decision if I did or didn’t before I met you but maybe not. My parents n’ the teachers at school call it selective mutism but I won’t bore you with all that crap.

I can’t see your new teeth but they grow fast so maybe next time! If they don’t maybe you could get some gold one’s like your dad has, unless you don’t wanna look like a pirate lol.. my littlest sister has four teeth now, and I have all my big teeth! I haven’t counted the twins though cos they’d probably bite me if I tried haha!!

Ava is the tiny one with the blonde pigtails! She’s cute but she still sleeps and poops a lot haha, she’s sorta chill though and definitely doesn’t cry as much as Wren and Byrd used to (have you noticed we’re all named after birds yet? I guess my parents thought it was cute since our last name is Finch) Wren’s the ginger one with plaits! She’s pretty funny but she’s super grumpy sometimes and likes to bite and kick (not me though, she loves me) I think it’s cos she’s tired a lot cos she never sleeps at night, kinda like dad.. they’re twins but Byrd is way different, I couldn’t get a picture of him cos he kept running off, he’s crazy like that but he’s super snuggly and loves playing doctor! He likes to pretend to break my legs so I can’t go anywhere then fix them for me haha. Brothers and sisters are fun but they can be a pain in the butt sometimes! We have a cat called Lou too, his full name is Toulouse and he likes to bring us leaves from the garden and scream about ‘em, and he loves stealing food when you’re not looking.

Dad’s been teaching mom how to cook cos she sucks at it (don’t tell her I said that though cos I always pretend it’s not THAT bad) she’s sorta getting better though so I suppose the whole practice makes perfect thing pays off eventually. I got a school project to make a lame volcano that I didn’t wanna do as well, but my parents made me do it anyway.. we all know that real volcanoes aren’t full of baking powder and vinegar though so I dunno if there was much point to it but they seemed to think it was important so I did it anyway, at least I got a picture of it “going off” I guess. No one likes homework, even if it’s supposed to be fun, right?!

It’s cool you set Amber free!! I’m sure she’s happier wherever she is now so I guess you could just think of that when you miss her? The rocks are way cooler anyway! My aunt Aspen has loads of crystals too, sometimes she even charges them in the sun or the full moon.. I keep forgetting to ask her why but I’ll try and remember so I can tell you next time!

Hahaa your poor dad with those birds! I’ll definitely keep the picture cos it’s hilarious, Wren found it the funniest but don’t worry, I’ll keep the picture safe from her sticky hands! I have a hiding spot in the attic for all the stuff I don’t want them touching. I guess birdwatching is sorta fun sometimes but you’ve gotta be quiet (easy for me I guess.. hah!) I’m not sure there’s any other birds round here other than seagulls since we live right next to the sea, those are the ones you can hear the most anyway cos they never shut up! My dad jokes that he used to be a seagull in a past life cos he’s loud and greedy like they are lol.. he’s been building me a treehouse too, I bet that’d be good for birdwatching!! It’ll be super cool once he’s finished but it’s taking ages cos he mostly does it all by himself, I try n’ help sometimes but I’m still too small to carry or lift most things.. I wanna be as strong as him one day, he can build and fix almost anything (he swears a lot during it though haha!) Do you ever think about what you wanna be when you grow up? I don’t really think about that sorta stuff cos working sounds boring, especially if it’s as lame as school!!

I’m ten, by the way! How old are you and when’s your birthday? Mine’s February 22nd. I don’t think I have a favourite food, anything my dad makes is amazing cos he’s a good cook and my mom makes the BEST pancakes! We’re always stuffed after dinner but dad says (lies) that pudding goes in a different part of your stomach so there’s always room for cake haha.. I think I like it best when he makes spicy food but Wren and Byrd hate it so he doesn’t make stuff like that too often. It’s fun to see how much you can eat before your mouth feels like it’s on fire and I’ve decided I’m gonna beat him one day so he better watch out!!!

I didn’t know what to write at first but I guess I sorta ended up writing quite a lot since I had some catching up to do! Are you and your dad on holiday in the tower or are you living there for now? It sorta sounded like you’ve been there a long time, where do you usually live? What kinda stuff does your dad dig up for work? It’d be cool if he dug up dinosaur bones!! I watched something like that recently and they were HUGE!

It’s hard to think of questions on the spot but you can talk about anything you want too! I probably owe you a million answers as well so you can ask anything you want too! I had fun reading your letter and I’m glad we can be pen-pals even if we don’t get to see each other! Maybe next time we meet in person I’ll be able to say something, but writing would still be fun too so I guess it doesn’t really matter, right?

Love Robin c:

ps. I’m keeping the funny photo of you yelling at your dad and there’s nothing you can do about it!!

pps!! I don’t have a way to print out photos yet otherwise I’d have sent some new ones. Dad gave me an old polaroid ages ago but it’s still broken, his friend said he might be able to fix it though so hopefully I can use that next time. Mom said you can have some of our old ones and the ones from her disposable camera whilst we were on holiday for now though so I’ll send those to you as soon as they come back!

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desmond69miles · 7 months ago

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The Catch

This is sort of a prologue to 'An Artists Eye'. It uses the same way of meeting/Élise and Bellec are still alive, but reading the previous fic is not necessary! This is supposed to be after the game (but obviously a different ending), it more so came out as a completly different timeline- what the hell it's fiction anyway

Arno offers to show you around the hidden assassin base below Cafe Theatre. He also offers a risky sexual time in a small, curtain-drawn study in the archives.

Warnings/Tags: Google translated French, GN reader (no descriptions listed), oral sex/blowjob, risky sex, getting caught, probably ooc Axeman but IDK anything about him (he 'flirts' with you).

Word Count: 3.4k (rounded up)

AO3 LINK: Here

Enjoy.

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Arno Dorian was a man of many suits. He drank like a monster, risked his life daily in more ways than one, and fought like a madman. But, he was an attentive lover. Caring and somewhat good-natured when it came to you.

You were wary of Arno's regular disappearances and injuries once you started dating him, perhaps a little more worried than a normal partner would be. You weren't sure if his gambling was getting him into fistfights or if he got into one too many scraps with local drunks, but you could never recall a time when he didn't come back to you unharmed.

At first, you’d thought him a thief or maybe a smuggler. To your surprise, he was neither (or both) but an assassin. You laughed at him then, giving him a look of disbelief, but when he stayed stone-faced, your look of humor soon turned into panic.

“Arno,” you had said, “you cannot be serious. An assassin?” He gave you a slight smirk that you can still picture perfectly today and took your hands in his. “Yes, an assassin. I’ve been one since I was twenty-two.” He said it so plainly that there was no other truth besides that- a killer. You weren’t scared, though, and perhaps you should have been. You trusted him not to get himself captured or, worse, killed.

Despite your trust, he did come home wounded quite often. The unexplained injuries suddenly made a lot more sense, especially the stab and slash marks from a sword--and, god forbid, a bullet hole once in a blue moon. While you weren’t thrilled about becoming skilled at suturing your lover, you got exceptionally good at it. In return, Arno affectionately called you ‘mon infirmière.’

My nurse.

“Arno,” you sighed nervously while threading a needle. “You know that you’re supposed to stick them with your sword, not be stuck by their sword, right?” He laughed and winced after, fists clenching at the two-centimeter-deep slash wound on his right side. “Oui, mon amour, I’m well aware. Sometimes, it’s a bit difficult while fighting three people at the same time.” You side-eye him then, tutting. “I have you, though, mon infirmière. You are much more gentler than Elise and not as scrutinizing.”

You also missed him a lot, even when he was right beside you. The constant fear that he might one day leave and never come back haunted you. Every time he returned in the dead of the night, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. You would thank him, your voice barely audible as he quietly removed his boots, careful not to disturb your sleep.

It’s been six months since you’ve started dating Arno. Your worry decreased dramatically during that time. Partially because the longest missions Arno’s been on are only a few days to a week at most, partially because he’d always spend a day or two before that mission with you doing things he’d know would quell your stress. This time, though, he’d be traveling to Toulouse for three weeks: six hundred and seventy-eight kilometers, a day and a half carriage ride away.

Arno was going to leave in two days, and he had been spending time with you in between the preparations. You sat in a chair by the fire, scribbling around your sketchbook. Arno was gone—probably below Cafe Theatre or in the study—the only thing keeping you company was the gentle crackling of the flames and the songbirds chirping outside in the terrace garden. Summer was coming to its final stretch and starting to transition into fall. Leaves were turning into gorgeous shades of red and orange, the temperature just warm enough to leave without a coat, and the apple trees were blooming to make the perfect apple cider.

A beautiful time of growth and change, and you’d be experiencing it with mostly Elise and your best friend (not that you had anything against Elise or your best friend; you did love them, but something about fall was so romantic).

“Mon amour,” a disembodied voice said, “what are you drawing?” His hands rested on your shoulders, squeezing lovingly before he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Eurasian jays,” you replied, moving your gaze from the crisp paper to your lover. He stole a chaste kiss and looked at your page of elegantly drawn birds. Arno recognized them as the bird that stole a piece of your bread a few months back, a smile drawing to his face.

Arno sighed through his nose. “How are you?” he asked, his voice ever more soothing at this peaceful moment. “Alright. How is your work going? Are you still leaving in two days?” His slight noise had confirmed, although he did not speak, and he moved one of his hands down, carefully taking your sketchpad away and setting it down on the table next to the chair.

“I have something that might put your mind at ease during my mission,” Arno said softly. “The Council has permitted you to visit our headquarters. You can meet my mentor and our fellow assassins. While you can't go there alone, I thought it might comfort you to see where I spend my time.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, quickly taking his hand as he helped you stand.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I weren’t certain,” he replied, reassuringly smiling. “There aren’t many people there right now, maybe my mentor or a few friends. We could go now if you’d like?” You chewed your lip briefly, pretending to ponder before nodding. “Alright, let’s go.”

Arno led you down the familiar hallways of Cafe Theatre, but this time, he stopped at a spot you had never taken much notice of before. With an odd-looking key that you’ve never seen before slotted into the lock, the dark wooden door swung open with a quiet groan. Inside was a dimly lit staircase that descended into a stone hallway with a red rug lining the middle. “This way,” he said, taking your hand as he guided you into the dimly lit corridor.

The passage trailed downward, the air growing cooler and damper as you descended. The walls were lined with old, worn stone, and the faint scent of old books and earth made up the air. Arno walked with the confidence of a man who’d traversed these halls too many times to count, his gloved fingertips brushing against the bricks while his arm that didn’t wield the blade held your hand.

Eventually, you arrived at the bottom of the staircase. The hallway was much grander than you had seen from the top of the stairs--curtains framing big paintings of what you assumed were important figures in the assassin world, numerous pedestals holding silver or iron statues, and a large red tapestry with a white emblem on it hanging from the tall ceilings, the Creed’s sigil. The room was illuminated by torches mounted on the walls, casting a warm, flickering glow that danced over Arno’s face and shadowed a beautiful gleam on him.

Once the hallway ended, there was a room containing a long table surrounded by haphazardly pushed-in chairs. On all four sides of the room was another hallway, but the one in front of you led into a vast room resembling a courtroom. It was no less magnificent than the hallways—possibly a little more—such as the oak table covered in various maps and documents and the walls lined with weapons and other neatly organized tools of the trade.

Arno turns to you with a gentle smile, speaking in a tone that feels a little too loud for the setting, “This is where I spend much of my time when I’m not with you. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

You took in your surroundings with a deep breath. There was a strange comfort, as well as uncertainty and awe, seeing where Arno lived most of his life. You had talked about seeing the creed’s hideout when you first found out about his position, and honestly, what you saw now was not what you envisioned in your mind. When you think of Assassin, you think of torturing and other dark things. While you were sure it did happen, there was no hint of it here.

True to his word, there weren’t many people in the hideout. In fact, there wasn’t a soul around. “Is it normal for there not to be people?” You ask, looking at Arno as he wraps an arm around your waist. “No. Usually, there are many people, but most of us are out on missions, and the council is out on a meeting with-” “Arno!”

“Axeman, mon ami!”

You turned your head to the right to see a man walking towards you, an axe strapped on his back. You rolled your eyes playfully at the ‘clever’ name of his friend. Axeman slapped his hand on Arno’s shoulder in a hello, his brown eyes meeting yours. “And half of us thought you made them up,” he jests, sticking his hand out for you to take and gently kissing the back of your hand. “How could I make someone so great up?” Arno smiles, and his arm briefly squeezes you closer.

Axeman chuckles while running a hand through his pushed-back brown hair. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat with your lovely partner, I do have a mission to get to.” He gives you a small smile and Arno a playful smack again, turning to walk the way you came in. “Bellec’s around, so be on your best behavior.”

Once his buddy left, your lover turned to you, giving you a frisky smirk. “Let me give you a tour,” Arno grabbed your hand again with a slight squeeze and led you deeper into the underground hideout, his hand warm even through the worn leather glove. “This way,” Arno said, pulling you to the left hallway. This passage was thinner than the others and dimly lit by candelabras placed every five feet, occasional carvings etched into the stone walls between large pillars. Large wooden doors started after the fourth pillar, and Arno took you to the second one on the right side, swinging open the heavy door and nodding you inside.

“This is the main training room.” He gestured with a flourish, letting you step inside and look around. The space was huge, with mats covering the floor. Wooden dummies and targets lined two of the four walls, some riddled with throwing knives and arrows, some looking so broken it was just remembrance of rough training. Three assassins were sparring, one sitting down to the side drinking water and two practicing their knife skills.

“Care for a quick lesson?” He teased, knowing full well that you weren’t one for battling people, instead gnats or annoying flies that buzzed around. “Maybe later,” you replied with a grin, “What’s next?”

He followed you out and closed the door behind him, leading you across the hall into the next door. “Here is the armory.” The room opened to reveal wooden walls lined with weapons of every kind: swords, daggers, pistols, rifles, smoke bombs, bomb bombs, and, of course, things to maintain the hidden blade. Each was meticulously maintained and ready for action. “Most of us have our preferred weapons, so this is mainly for recruits or people who have lost a weapon. Pick any weapon, and it’ll have a story,” Arno said, following you inside.

His fingers brushed an ornate-looking sword, the beautiful engraving on the blade glinting in the candlelight. You reached out, touching a dagger with an intricate hilt next to the sword Arno was looking at. “What about this one?”

“Ah, that belonged to Thomas de Carneillon, an assassin in the 13th and 14th century,” Arno explained, “he tried to steal a sword of Eden, the same one that killed Germaine.” He gives you an inquisitive look and lets you wander around the round room, watching as you observe the weapons with a curiosity that makes his stomach twinge in an absurd kind of attractiveness.

Once you circle the room and return to Arno, he offers his hand again and leads you out of the room and deeper into the hallway. “You’ll love this,” he assures, motioning towards the end of the hallway where a huge arch opened up to a library. “This is the south archive,” he said, smiling at your giddy smile.

It smelled like old parchment, ink, and worn leather-bound books, a scent that engrained itself in your brain. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes, scrolls, and books lined the walls, going up to the ceiling where a giant metal chandelier hung. Maroon velvet curtains lined the arch, and when you slipped into the library, you didn’t notice Arno tugging the golden rope that held them back. The drapes made a soft noise as they closed, dimming the room just the slightest bit, and Arno watched as your fingers trailed over the spines of the books.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “You said that this is the South archive?” Arno hummed a ‘yes,’ coming up behind you as you pulled one of the smaller books off the shelf. He wrapped his arms around your hips and kissed your temple, scanning the book you opened. “This library isn’t the biggest one here, but this one is always empty, perfect for us.”

Arno watched the trail of your fingertips against the worn paper, gentle like your fingers when you trail them over Arno’s back. His eyes followed your hand as you turned the page, forefinger and thumb pinching the page like when you pinch your nipple while he’s fingering you. He should not be turned on right now.

“Arno,” you said, head turning to look at your lover behind you. His eyes caught yours, your pretty eyes that always glistened right before you orgasmed, and right then, he made up his mind. Before you could speak again, Arno had pressed his lips against your soft ones, maybe just a little too roughly, the leather of the book in your hands creaking with how hard you gripped it.

His hand grabbed the book from your hands and placed it back on the shelf with a little bit of struggle. Nipping your bottom lip, Arno’s hands gripped your hips and slipped his tongue inside your mouth. He tasted like wine and something sweet--something him-- and god, you’d be lying if it wasn’t intoxicating for the both of you. When you did pull away, a slim bridge of saliva connected your lips and snapped when he licked his. You were suddenly very aware of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into--his erection pressed into your behind and his needy hands wandering your body.

“We’re in the base,” you un-needily whispered, sucking in a small breath as his lips moved to your jaw and pressed a kiss just behind your jawbone. “Oui, but we are alone. No one is near us, and we’ll be quiet.” You shakily breathed as he continued to kiss along the side of your neck and fuck; if the thought of risk didn’t set a throbbing between your legs, you weren’t sure what did.

With an enthusiastic nod, Arno grabbed your hand and pulled you to one of the curtain-drawn study rooms off to the side. As he did with the entrance to the archive, Arno pulled the rope holding the drapes back off and dropped it to the floor. The ambient candlelight under the curtains, the only light in the ‘private’ study room, set a surprisingly intimate aura as Arno’s hand cups the side of your face and kisses you again. This one was headier, making your mind swim as his other hand grabbed your butt, pushing your hips into his.

Your hands that had been resting on his shoulders slipped down his chest and to his belt, one palming his obvious arousal and the other fiddling with the belt buckle. He groaned into your mouth, hips chasing your hand as you moved it up to help undo the buckle. His hands joined yours in a messy struggle, and once his belt was undone, you immediately sank to your knees.

Arno swore--a short, breathy ‘merde’ that sent every single ounce of blood that was in your brain rushing south, and with that blood came a fleeting thought of how easy it was to get you to suck him off in a place with people. It wasn’t the first time that you had sexual interactions in a public place--far from it--but it was the first time that you’d be on the giving end.

His hand came to rest on the back of your head as your fingers unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down with his undergarments just to free his cock. Even in the darkness, you could tell that he was fully hard, your hand that didn’t rest on his hip coming to stroke him teasingly slow. Your thumb swiped over his tip that dribbled precum, and his hips twitched with a soft groan that was nothing short of heavenly.

You softly pressed your lips against his head and trailed them down his shaft, letting your spit dribble against his heated skin and slicking him up with your hand. His quiet groans and the schlick of your hand made up the space--an erotic opera--and finally, your lips slipped around his tip and gently sucked. “Dieu, fuck, don’t stop,” Arno groaned, hips rocking in time with the drawls and push of your head. After enough saliva drips from your mouth and down his cock you took him deeper in just so the head of his cock was resting against the back of your tongue.

Arno moved both of his hands to the side of your head and gently held you in place, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and he began to thrust into your mouth. At first, his thrusts were shallow, but as your hands came to his thighs once again, Arno gave a chuckle and picked up his pace. You slid your tongue against the underside of him, and he let out a groan, one that was a little too loud. “Good job, mon amour, good job…”

No matter how many times you took him in any way, there was never a time where he failed to make you so painfully aroused.

“Suck,” Arno said, stopping his movements rather deep inside the constrictive heat of your throat and petting your head. And just like he said, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. His head thudded against the wall he had his back rested on, and, oh, that groan. Primal and needy and wanting in every sinful way known to man. “S'il vous plaît, continuez, putain, juste comme ça. Tu me prends si bien- si bien, fuck!”

His fingers threaded through your hair and gripped the strands, holding them tight as he rocked against your mouth. Arno was so, so close, you just needed to suck a little harder and-

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ARNO?!”

You immediately pull off of Arno, who seems equally surprised but, strangely enough, not embarrassed. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and turned around, face mortified at the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. He shook his head and turned around, letting the curtain fall behind him, and you could still tell he was outside due to the shadow from under the drapes. Arno haphazardly tucked himself back into his pants and offered you a hand up off the ground. When he pulled you up, you gave him a look, one that said Arno, are you fucking kidding me? but all he did was chuckle and step out of the study.

“Désolé, Bellec.” Your lover said, utterly unphased by the fact you had just been caught in a very precarious and intimate moment, and you heard a sigh from not Arno. “You never fail to amaze me, pisspot,” The man- Bellec- laughed.

You stood in the study for a good fifteen minutes with your face aflame, too embarrassed to even walk out of the hideout.

Thankfully the second meeting with Bellec was not when you were sucking Arno off and instead over wine (that doesn’t mean you weren’t a hot-faced mess with an embarrassed smile on your face throughout the whole thing, though).

#arno dorian x reader #arno dorian #arno dorian smut #assassins creed x reader #ac unity #ac unity x reaer

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calmmyfears · 1 year ago

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Toulouse 🧡

yesterday was not good but I did see my cat and gave him lots of hugs and kisses of course 🥺 do you want to see a picture? 🥺

#too bad if you didn't want to see a picture #here you go #the cutest cat!#toulouse #furry baby

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cliozaur · 8 months ago

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Nothing special, just a picture of Napoleon by Toulouse-Lautrec

#Toulouse-Lautrec #Napoleon #art

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the-hinky-panda · 2 months ago

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War of the Roses Series: Part II

Warning: Mention of miscarriages

Next time ends up being a couple weeks later when Bill and his crew arrive in Tulsa to survey the land that’s going to be turned into a weed farm. Bill had been trying to come up with an excuse to show up at Thresher’s door, asking if you happen to be around, just so he could see you again. That accidental kiss in the coatroom has left his world slightly askew. He isn’t sure if seeing you again is going to put it right again or tilt it even more off-balance. So when Carl suggested they pay a visit to Thresher to make sure he really was set up to start the business, Bill jumped on the idea.

When they arrive at the house, Bill is constantly searching the background for you, or any sign of you. The house is massive, all dark wood, dim lighting, and expensive art work. There’s a gigantic medieval tapestry that hangs behind the large mahogany desk in Cal’s office. There’s no warmth to the belongings, no family history. Everything in here is a showcase of trophies, expensive baubles collected to show wealth.

He thinks of the hundred year old bronze of a cowboy on a bucking bronco that his grandfather bought after making his first million dollars. The Toulouse-Lautrec painting his grandmother bought to hang in the dining room so guests could converse over the subject matter of a young woman seated at a table. There were silver trophies, cups, and punch bowls his father had won on reining horses. Hell, sitting on his desk at the autoparts warehouse was a signed baseball from Mickey Mantle that his father had secured for him.

The difference between generational wealth and new money.

Cal spreads out a map on the desk and shows where the fields are going to be located. There are places marked for where the greenhouses are currently being built and he’ll show them the progress in that construction that is almost complete. Bill has to give it to him, he’s thorough and organized in the approach. That’s a good sign. What’s not that great of a sign is that there’s no personal pictures of you in the office. There’s framed portraits of Cal and what look to be his relatives but not one picture of you. It irks Bill.

He doesn’t see you, or any presence of you, in the house. He knows he’s not going to see you out on the land and greenhouse tour. It does make it easier to concentrate on Cal and his development plans. Bill has to admit, this may just be the top producing weed farm out of all the ones he has growing. The one to beat would be in Texas but Texas is prone to drought and that could be an issue in another year or two. Cal has had the foresight to acknowledge drought as a problem and has a mobile irrigation system that will cover most of the acreage. They’re riding back from the demo of the irrigation system when Cal invites Bill and his guys to stay for dinner. It gives Bill the opportunity he’s been waiting for.

“Is your wife going to mind having to feed all of us?”

Cal shakes his head. “No, she likes cooking. At least that’s what she said this morning when I told her you were coming today to have a look around.”

So you are around, know he’s here, and offer to make food for everyone. He takes it as a positive sign, shaky as it is, that perhaps that kiss has had lingering effects on you as well. He uses this time, just the two of them in the four wheel drive UTV, to try to get more information out of Cal.

“How long have you two been married?”

“Six years.” Cal frowns. “That might be it though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say she’s not exactly holding up her end of the bargain.” He sighs. “Sometimes it just doesn’t work out. You ever been married?”

“Once upon a time,” Bill looks out over the gently rolling hills and wonders what exactly is the bargain between you and Cal. “She was from California and thought she’d give farm life a try. She didn’t care for it or me. Moved back to San Franscisco and married some silicon valley fucker.”

“You would think with the lives we provide them, scenery like this, homes like ours, never wanting for anything, they would be motivated to do their actual fucking jobs. But they’re never satisfied are they?”

Bill bites his tongue because he doesn’t know the details of what Cal is talking about and it causes him hesitation to agree with anything when he doesn’t know both sides of the story.

***

As soon as the meal is over, when the last dessert fork has been laid on the table, you excuse yourself from the table. It’s not the first time that you’ve attended a business dinner at the house and your presence is never welcome past the completion of the meal. The house staff clear the dishes and set everything back to its pristine condition while the men find some appropriate spot either inside or outside to smoke their cigars, sip their whiskey, and talk about their interests.

You remove yourself from the gathering and head down to the small barn that Cal built for you and your four horses. He refuses to have any more than that because the horses you have don’t make money, not real money at least. There’s really only one horse that has a six figure value but he’s a retired reining horse. Two are classified as therapy horses and the other one is just a sedate trail horse. You’re thankful Cal allows them on his property at all but you’re not sure for how much longer they’ll be there.

After your return from Kansas City, Cal gave you an ultimatum. You had one more chance to deliver a healthy baby before divorce papers were drawn up. Your parents have already told you that if a divorce occurs, you would not be welcome back to Texas. Your sister has already had three children in the last six years so infertility shouldn’t be an issue for you. Therefore, you must be doing something on purpose to cause the trio of miscarriages. But you don’t know if you can handle another pregnancy, another loss. Every time you lose a baby, a piece of your soul goes with them. Maybe if Cal showed some sympathy towards you it would be worth another risk but you doubt he’s going to change his ways now.

You like being in the barn at this time of the day. The stable manager is gone for the evening and it’s just you and the horses. You put the halter on one of the therapy horses and tie him to the cross ties so you can brush him down. There’s a couple students from a school program that are coming out tomorrow to ride and you want the horses to be clean and ready for the appointment.

The truth of the matter is, you needed to get out of the house, away from Bill specifically. You had spent the last two weeks replaying that kiss in the coat room in your head on a constant loop, trying to remember the exact feel of his lips on yours, the sharpness of his cologne, the gentleness of his hands. You were ashamed to admit that there were times when your daydreaming was so immersive that when you came back to reality you’re startled by seeing ice blue eyes instead of whiskey brown.

Now, he was sitting directly across the dining table from you, the candlelight dancing across his tanned skin and highlighting the flecks of green in his eyes. You hadn’t seen those before in the dim light of the coat room. His smile is different when Cal says something humorous and then when he makes eye contact with you. It’s more subtle, more personal in a way that made your face heat up and you had to concentrate on the feel of the linen napkin in your lap. But then your mind drifted from the napkin to what it would feel like to run your fingers over his stubbled jaw, into his dark hair. The way he held his wine glass, the round bowl sitting perfectly in the wide expanse of his hand, was practically obscene. You were afraid to stand up when dinner was over because your knees were so fucking weak.

You take a deep breath and lean your forehead against the sinews in the horse’s neck. You had never believed just sitting across from someone could create such want. That is the part you struggle with, you want Bill in a way that you have never experienced before. You’ve tried to feel that way with Cal, tried to feel the passion and desire but it was never there. Your wedding night had been spent on your back, tense, and staring at the ceiling. You were too afraid to engage and Cal never did anything to encourage you otherwise. So even though you had that desire for Bill, you don’t know what to do with it. It’s frustrating on multiple levels and that’s why you sought out the horses.

“Hello?”

Your eyes fly open and your breath catches in your throat. “Fuck.”

Bill is standing in the doorway of the barn. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was down here. Cal said I could check out the horses.”

He doesn’t realize it’s you. You’re too far away and most likely backlit. Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the rush of nerves that cause goosebumps to race across your skin, you step around the horse.

“That’s fine, Bill. It’s just me.”

The problem is, Bill is not backlit. You can see his facial expression perfectly. And when he starts to move towards you, with dark eyes and clear intent in his step, you realize it is not fine. There is no hesitation when he reaches you, when his palms cover your cheeks and he kisses you with such force you have no choice but to hold onto him. You feel his fingers apply pressure on your jaw, permission to deepen the kiss, and you grant it immediately. Whiskey and raspberries, that’s what he tastes like and you’re becoming lightheaded. When he finally releases you, it’s to rest his forehead against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re even sweeter than I remember.”

You smile at that, your fingers doing what you had wanted to do at dinner and skate across the scruff on his cheeks. “I can’t stop remembering.”

He kisses you again, moving you until your back is against a stall door. His one hand rests at the back of your head to make sure you have a buffer between your skull and the metal bars. The other moves slowly from your waist, rising up your rib cage until he cradles your breast the same way he held the wine glass. You gasp when his thumb drags over your nipple, even through your shirt and bra, a moan coming from him when you arch your back. He takes the opportunity to slide his knee between your thighs and you grab fistfuls of his shirt to hold yourself upright.

“You like that,” he whispers in a rough voice.

You can’t even form words right now. Everything about this is new to you. The desire for this man, to give yourself to him and whatever he wants to do to you, is more intoxicating than the entire wine cellar in the house. You grind down on his thigh and your wontoness surprises you.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Your mind is completely shrouded in want you have no idea what he wants you to say. “Wha…what?”

His cheeks are flushed, his pupils blown completely black. “Do you want to do this?”

You nod your head immediately. “Yes, please.”

He groans as he kisses you again, nipping at your lower lip. He moves his thigh up higher and you move against it. The seam of your jeans with the flex of his muscle provides the perfect pressure on your clit. Your fingers dig into the sinews of his shoulders.

“Fu…fuck…”

He leans back to watch your face. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Come for me. I want to see you come.”

Your head tips back as you shake when the release breaks over you. You bite your lip so hard to keep from making noise that you taste the tang of copper. You’re sweating and panting, still holding onto Bill because you’re shaking so hard, you can’t stand. You’re surprised at the gentleness he shows in just holding you, gently running his hands over your back and shoulders.

When you get partial functionality back in your hands, you reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. You found your release, he didn’t find his. You need to fix that, even the score. He reaches down and takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. “Next time.”

You struggle with that mindset, where your pleasure comes first. You touch his face, trying to memorize all the details from the colors in his eyes, to the rasp of his scruff, to the shape of his mouth. “Next time, huh?”

He gives you a quick smile before turning very serious again. “He doesn’t love you.” His lips skim across your cheekbone, your jawline, and he presses his face in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. His hands curl around your waist and shoulder blades, pressing you tightly against him. “I can’t imagine why.”

Tears prick the back of your eyes as you lean into the embrace. “I can show you why he doesn’t.”

#bill bevilaqua x you #bill bevilaqua x reader #bill bevilaqua fic #bill bevilaqua

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