#i need the lightest brush of fingers i need PINING i need YEARNING i need TENDERNESS !!!!!!

[astrobei]

season 5 better have pride and prejudice levels of yearning or i’m going to revolt (based on this)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Black - Chapter 9

This chapter was super hard on me and I'm not confident in it...

But here it is anyway...

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin X OC

Rating : Mature

Warnings: Smut, struggle and a lot of changes of heart

Bringing his hand up, he slowly brushed his fingers through her hair a few times before slinging them gently around the nape of her neck and holding her there.

Whispering her true name, the one she had divulged that first night in her hut, he tilted his face slightly, brushing his lips across her brow. “Oh, sweetling.” He sighed.

“Yes?” Her breath was dancing on his skin, calling to him incessantly and he felt like he was suffocating. He needed the sweetness of the air that escaped her soft lips in quiet pants, and yet, he knew he was not entitled to this.

“It is something you can give away but once, Faith.” He warned, not sure if he was still only referencing a chaste kiss.

“There is nothing I hold that I would not give to you, my king.” She said, bringing up her empty palms alongside his body.

“Don’t tempt me, woman.” He muttered, scraping his fingertips along her hairline, and hearing her utter low mewling sounds.

“Am I? Tempting? At least a little bit?” A new note crept into her voice, a hint of power tinging her breathless, joyous surprise.

“If you only knew. Always bewitching me with your sweet words, traipsing around half-naked and fragile as an autumn leaf, singing to the earth and the sky.” He mumbled, almost angry at her for having that effect on him.

Part of him wanted to take what she offered greedily, push her down and ravage more than her mouth, but her eyes were full of trust; he could not take advantage of her ignorance.

“I am young in the eyes of your people, I know it well, but for my own people, I am a woman grown, a woman past her prime already. I am not afraid.” She said in a hushed voice, pressing in closer. It had been too long since last she had found any release; it would have been unseemly to do so with him only a stone’s throw away, but her body yearned for it.

“You’ve talked about a kiss.” He sounded confused and slightly alarmed.

“Yes.” She smiled, tilting up her own face in invitation, holding his burning gaze that swirled with silver stars dancing on a night sky. “I am feeling very brazen tonight.” She admitted. “But…” Her voice faltered when he didn’t move.

“Maybe you’ll have to touch my hair after all so at least one of us doesn’t lose their courage.” He smirked and sighed when her hand slid into his hair, her long, narrow fingers carding through it tenderly.

“Courage restored. Now, how do you rule, Thorin-king?”

She gave one of his braids a playful tug when his eyes drifted off into the distance, his brows furrowing with thoughts she couldn’t fathom. “You’re the one who offered me something…” She reminded him in an inviting whisper.

“I did not expect you to ask for something that would be so…risky.” He murmured. “Are you afraid of a maiden, warrior-king?”

“No.” He sounded half-offended, and the other half was most probably a lie. “My neck starts to hurt…” She complained lightly, sighing when his broad hand cupped her head tighter again to support it while she stared up at him.

His face drifted in and out of focus, unbearably beautiful and marked by the deep contemplative mood he seemed to be in.

“You asked for it, woman.” He grumbled warningly as if he feared that she’d change her mind after all and run into the solid door like a trapped bird as soon as he came any closer. She hummed her agreement, letting her head rest against his palm trustingly.

It was the lightest of brushes; her king, her master, her friend let his lips glide over hers for a second, with so little pressure that it felt like warm velvet being pulled along her aching skin, and before she could even reciprocate, he was gone.

Her eyebrows shot up in silent indignation. Was that all she was worth? “Was this kiss a gauge of your fondness?” She asked.

“It was a translation of my respect for you.” His teeth clacked shut with an audible sound of frustration. “What would you have me do, woman? Crush you like a sparrow?” He sounded definitely exasperated now. Faith knew that men could be fools and, in this moment, she realised that even mythical dwarven kings were no exception to that rule, so, plunging her hand back into his hair and clenching it into a fist, she pulled his head – that she would have believed was made of wood if she had not known that it was carved of stone – back into her reach and pressed her lips on his.

He could keep his gifts of gold and his respectful distance, she thought while her body roared like a fire under her writhing skin. A smell of tobacco and leather, interlaced with fresh air and warm stone, pervaded the space and, in an almost dream-like trance, she picked up on hints of pine and sandal wood. Pushing in even further, Faith traced the stubborn line of his lips with her tongue and breathed in the tortured sigh escaping them.

Her whole body was arched against his as she tried yet again to fling her whole weight, and every ounce of strength she had, into her physical dealings with a dwarrow, only to have him stand firm and unmoving as if rooted to the ground.

Within the blink of an eye though, the impossible, the inconceivable happened and Faith witnessed the melting of stone when Thorin, the impassable, brought his other hand up to cup her behind, lifting her higher and returning the urgency of her kiss.

There was heat bleeding into her skin, radiating in pulsating waves from his body, and Faith clawed at the tunic he was wearing still, desperate to feel the beating of his heart.

“Woman.” He rumbled again, low in his chest, and she gave his hair another tug, much less gentle than the first ones.

His hand held her up perfectly, so she slung her legs around his midriff, one hand clawed into his tunic and the other holding on to his mane as if she was riding a wild horse bareback.

“Say my name!” He demanded again as she gasped for air, drowning in his eyes, and unwilling to move away for longer than a second for fear that he’d decide that he had enough of her kisses. Despite his actions, she could feel him hold back and pull away; he seemed a ghostly visitor more than an actual person in this second, and she half-expected to wake up bathed in cold sweat any moment, her sweet dream dissolving in the morning mists.

“No titles, just my name. Say my name!”

She whispered his name, blind to anything but his beauty, deaf and dead to the world. He brushed away a strand of her own hair and smiled: “Your first kiss was not supposed to be anything like that, sweetling.”

Regret tinged his voice; she could hear the sadness of the old when seeing the young squander gifts they sorely missed themselves.

“It should have been sweet.” Thorin brushed his thumb over her cheek where the remnants of her injuries painted dying rainbows on her skin and touched his lips almost reverently to hers for a second. “It should have been cautious.” This time, he lingered a little longer, intensifying the delicious pressure and sucking ever so gently on her lower lip. “It should have been seductive.” He went on varying the constellations of his lips on hers, a tantalising dance of sensations and movement.

“It should have been with someone you care about.” He spoke against her lips. “It should have been given freely and not coerced by duty.” She shot back, biting down on his lower lip teasingly.

“Coerced? Oh, sweetling…” He chuckled. He had hesitated, sure, but it was not as if he had thrown her off as soon as she tightened the reins she had wound around his senses and mind. Even now, her legs ensnared him, and her hand was clenched in his hair and yet she had the audacity to speak as if he had outright rejected her.

“And I do care about you.” She added, softer, nibbling tenderly on his skin which made him shift under her, shivering with suppressed urges that set his blood ablaze. “Do you?” He sounded doubtful. Of course, she liked him well as a friend, she had said so many times and, unlike most of her kind he had met, she seemed to understand and respect his status amongst his own people, but did she care for him the way women cared for those they let kiss them?

“Your sister might be right, and you ARE a vain creature.” Faith laughed. “Demanding to hear your own name and to be showered with praise and compliments.”

“She said that? Hmmm, we’ll have words.” Thorin grumbled, looking thoroughly displeased with this piece of news.

“Thorin, I do care for you, and I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me again rather than have words with your sister.” Faith purred against his skin. “Let go of my hair, woman, so I can bolt your door. It would be very unfortunate for both of us if someone tried to have a conversation with you…only to find me half undressed and you wrapped around me like ivy.”

Faith untangled the silken strands from her fingers but kept the pressure of her legs steady. “Alright.” Thorin shrugged, moving over to the door as if she was naught more than a cumbersome garment, his hand warm and solid under her butt.

The bolt was driven home with a dull click that echoed in Faith’s head.

“You are not that undressed at all.” Faith commented, feeling her own shift move inexorably up her thighs with every step that he took. “I thought you were afraid to see me undressed? Bad luck and so on?” He cocked one eyebrow.

“I have luck on my side.” She replied with a smile, wrapping one of his braids around her finger and kissing the tip of his nose.

He had to laugh about that but getting off any more of the many layers formal clothing demanded was rather a difficult enterprise with a woman slung around him and clinging to his body like yet another coat. “If you permit then?”

It was a miracle that his tunic had not just fallen to ashes and dust, crumpled between his burning skin and hers, he thought as he shrugged out of it. “Oh, great creator, I shall have to make adequate sacrifices.” Faith hissed under her breath.

“You are hellbent on ruining the both of us, huh?” Thorin laughed darkly as he saw her lick her lips in quiet contemplation.

Every thought of fatigue fled Faith’s mind as she beheld what could only be described as marvellous; he looked like the princes her nan had described in her fairy tales, like a character out of a bed-time-story for adults.

With her off his chest, quite literally, Thorin could catch his breath and realisation ran like ice through his heated blood; her swollen lips and her gleaming eyes screamed of the trespass he had been about to commit.

“Let me pour you some wine, Mistress. You wanted to talk, let’s talk.” Thorin picked up a carafe and handed her a sturdy mug, filled to the brim. “I do not want to talk, Thorin-king, you…you’re half naked. What is there to talk about?”

He was stalling, Faith realised. “Am I that repugnant?” She took a deep swig of the slightly sour wine that made her tongue prickle. “You don’t know what you’re messing with, woman.” Thorin said slowly, sitting down on the bed so he wouldn’t be towering over her during this tremendously important conversation. It would have been too easy to let himself be caught up in her warm beauty; the door was locked, they were alone and there was a bed…but she deserved better and, as he knew what this would possibly entail and what she risked, it was his responsibility to steer her away from a fatal mistake.

It felt like tearing out his own guts and throwing them into the fire, he had to admit, but he would not falter, he would not give into the greed that was the curse of his bloodline and the bad reputation of his people. Not if he could help it.

Looking down at his bared chest, he realised how close he had come to being seduced and how strong the spell he was under really was, for him to undress haphazardly in a woman’s room, throwing over decorum and years of training.

He should have been able to restrain his own needs and urges better; it was shameful how much he yearned to kiss her again until the rising tide of lust would wash both of them away, along with all the better judgement and the common sense that held him back now.

“I will leave this place in hopes of reconquering my homeland, I need you to be safe in these halls.” He sighed. “I cannot ruin your name. I cannot leave you soiled, exposed to the gossiping of vicious tongues.”

“Nobody needs to know?” Faith cocked her head. He laughed wryly: “They would know, darling. It…what you have in mind is complicated, especially between someone as frail as you and…well, me.” He gestured at his broad chest.

“I might hurt you, and Faith, I’d never risk injuring you. You have to understand, I care too much for your well-being.”

“I understand.” Faith tried hard to swallow the tears that were welling up against her will or better judgement. “Don’t cry, sweetling, ghivashel, don’t!” He felt like a villain, but how could he make her understand that there was an actual threat to her safety? She felt rejected, of course she would, she had all but explicitly offered him her maidenhood and he had stepped back.

Did this make him a liar? He had willingly given in to her kisses, he had reciprocated them, and now he wouldn’t see this through for oh so many reasons that she could not fathom.

It pained him to think that she might believe, if even for but a moment, that it was a lack of attraction on his side that made him pull back. If he could have, he would have shown her the extent of his despair that was throbbing almost painfully against his thigh; yes, he might have brandished the angry, red proof of his desire for her, but he didn’t think that it would allay her pain and confusion. Contradicting feelings and desires swirled heavily in his mind and soul, and he sighed.

“Come here, darling one, come.” He beckoned her to him and embraced the torture of having her nestled on his lap, pulling his fingers through her silken hair, and breathing in her sweet smell. It would have been simple to let her believe that he did not want her, but he couldn’t bear lying to her. “Don’t think for one second that I do not want this, you, us.” He started.

“One day, we’ll have time, oh so much time, sweet one.” He promised. “My life is running out already, Thorin-king, my time is short compared to yours.” She contradicted him vehemently. “Soon, I swear. I shall make haste in my conquest. I will fulfil your every wish, I promise, once Erebor is reclaimed and I know that you are safe and cared for.”

She was not secure here; she was a stranger, a foreigner, and he was afraid that once he left with most of the people she had learned to trust, there would be considerable danger to her life and sanity. Her good name and her integrity would both attract suitors and keep unsavoury characters away from her, or at least, so he hoped. He could not destroy that layer of literal protection, stripping it from her in selfish voraciousness when she needed it most.

“Thorin-king…what if you get lost again?” She asked quietly. “I will find my way back to the right path. Neither storm nor contrary forces shall stop me.” He replied calmly and she believed him.

“In that case, add me to the spoils of your imminent victory, darling king.” She stepped up to his sitting form and rested her cheek against the crown of his head tenderly. She did not see the fire that his boiling blood drove into his eyes upon hearing her sweet, selfless willingness to risk her hale body and her social standing to be his; the torturous need of his life and limb were burning bright within him. God, how he yearned for her, for everything she offered and everything she didn’t yet know she could give to a man. He wanted that sweet mouth on his body and her tender words in his ears while he covered her like a blanket, protecting her, taking her to a world she had never been in before and stay there until the end of time.

Taking off her shift, she stood, naked as the day she had been born and turned in the golden light of the fire crackling in the hearth. “This is what I offer, now and every other day, Thorin-king.” She said in a low, trembling voice.

“You asked me before and I repeat: when you call for me, I shall come.” – “You are beautiful.” He sighed; her beauty in the warm glow of the flames mesmerized him and, once again, he felt himself totter at the edge of control.

His hands closed around her wrists, pulling her close once more and he pressed his lips against her collar bone in wordless adoration. Her soft moan drove him half to distraction, but this was neither the place nor the moment for those thoughts and actions. He wanted to have time and a place that was his own; he wanted to have her, oh desperately so, but he would lay her down on silk and furs and caress her without the looming shadow of impending doom nipping at his heels.

First, he would have to prove himself worthy of her faith and his people’s hopes before he could allow himself the reward of getting lost in her flesh; but, oh, how hard it was to say no to the alluring softness of her skin and the dizzying smell of her arousal. He would carry the memory of her self-forgotten kisses across the plains and the mountains, safe within his heart and burning within his veins.

This one thing though, this one gift, would not be ripped from her, hastily, in passing, casually; no, he would honour her and her sacrifice duly, he would spend hours coaxing the sweetest of sounds from her and he would revel in them.

“So are you, Thorin.” She smiled at him with all that affection he had learned to cherish so deeply. “Will you still call me beautiful me when I am king? Will you let me have then what nobody ever had before and never give it to someone else?” The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back. A terrible fear had taken hold of him; it was not possible, it was not right, it was not decent to deflower her here and now, but still, the idea of someone else claiming that privilege pained him like a poisoned blade thrust ever so slowly between his ribs. It might have been unfair, but he wanted her to know that it was out of respect for the gift she offered that he had declined. He needed her to promise to hold on to it until they were reunited.

“You are my friend, Thorin, and I’ve cared for you wandering, I’ve respected you poor, and I shall admire you victorious.” She answered cryptically, pretending not to hear the underlying meaning of his words.

She would be willing to be his in ways she would never be anybody else’s ever again, Faith knew, but her life was short, and he would have to find a proper queen sooner or later. He was emotional now, that was to be expected, the most important quest of his life was about to begin; a way to right all the wrongs, a redemption, a rewriting of history. Too many half-truths had been spoken recklessly, too many things had transpired that had not been planned, and he had no idea what he was talking about in this moment; she could forget, she would forgive, it was not in his nature to lead people astray and give them false hopes. Not him.

Inner turmoil, that was the explanation for his words, he was merely relieved to be back with his family and apprehensive of the long road ahead to the Lonely Mountain. Also, he clearly had a different notion of time.

She knew not what he expected to happen on his quest, she did not understand why he’d doubt her eternal adulation of his person, but she was too vulnerable and too scared to probe any further. There were other things that needed to be resolved first…

The end of the long wanderings, a return home…she had been wrong to distract him from this singular purpose that would define more than just his own fate. She wished she could promise him what he wanted her to say, but dwarrows lived long and they had a good memory of broken vows and false oaths.

How could she have promised him more than her affection when it was worth nothing? It had been so easy for him to rebuff her, and she would have to nurse this wound in private; the sting of it ran deep and its ragged claws burying deep within her soul were a pain that was new and shocking to her. Still, she did not withhold words he had asked for out of petty vengeance; he seemed so sure that he knew about risks and dangers she was unaware of, well, she was painfully conscious of realities he seemed to wilfully ignore, like the fact that she might not live to see the day he was crowned king.

Lie, to ease his mind, to give him courage, a voice inside her head whispered, but she loved him too dearly to do him wrong like that. He might well turn out to be her first and her last lover if he did not tire of her before her life expired, but that meant nothing in the grand scheme of his glorious purpose and his illustrious life. They had both tried to make this situation into something momentous, something memorable, and they had both failed miserably, shipwrecked on the rocks of social conventions, the promise of dark times ahead and physical incompatibilities. How ridiculous it all sounded!

Then again, he had been more gracious and generous than her, swearing that he would bed her once Erebor was reclaimed. If, Faith thought, if Erebor was reclaimed within her lifetime and if he survived the ordeals that would become necessary, then he might reconsider taking her as a lover; one of many, one in a long line of lovers, or, worse, the only one. One he would lose too soon and that might leave scars on his soul, no, he did not care for her in that way, no matter the inflection of his raw voice.

He had never sworn fidelity to her; he had merely asked for hers. She should have said yes to that, ignoring what it meant for her and how extensive that oath would have been, but she had been too afraid to promise more than she could offer.

Silence fell between them, filled with words unspoken and desires unfulfilled.

“I have stayed too long already.” Thorin got up jerkily, grabbing his clothes, but she stayed his hand.

“Let me see what you’ve promised me, give me something to hold on to while you’re away.” She was a hypocrite, but she needed this much more than him. The months apart would feel longer to her, and she would think of him as there was nothing else to think of, while he would be too occupied with his great deeds to spare her any thought.

“Woman.” He shook his head but took off his breeches and his small clothes in swift, almost despondent movements.

She gasped, breathless, amazed. He really did look like he was hewn from the most elegant of stones, his body made up of strong, broad planes partially powdered with dark hair. As she directed her eyes to that one part of the male anatomy that had occupied so many of her maiden dreams, she revised her original assessment. This had not been a mason’s work, this was a sculptor’s doing; no matter how fine the chisel, such beauty and delicate curve could only be achieved by painstaking moulding of the wet clay.

How she longed to run her own palms along the smooth surface again and again until she could feel the perfection manifest under her fingertips. She had of course seen parts of him undressed, bits and pieces, flashes of skin and wounds, but this was different; this was unapologetic nakedness in all its glory, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the strength of his limbs.

“Glorious!” She exclaimed and touched her forehead in a sign of devotion he had observed in some of the men he had met.

The roaring fire in his veins was not abated by the expression on her face though, there was that ever-present admiration and the respectful awe, but he could also read hunger and unveiled desire in her eyes that drove her to squirm deliciously.

“Can you now see why this would be a potential risk to your health?” He asked, cocking one eyebrow; maybe, he was indeed a tiny tad vain, but she could not even open doors on her own, how would she support his weight or welcome him inside of her?

“I can see that…” Faith whispered, approaching him like a wild animal, one hand outstretched in front of her. She advanced until her hand landed squarely on his chest, tangling her fingers in the coarser hair in the same way she had done with his mane before.

“Sweetling.” He murmured, moaning under his breath when her body pressed up against his: warm, soft, and very alive.

“I do understand.” Faith went on, kissing his neck just underneath the line where his beard ended.

“Faith…” He groaned, his hands wrapping around the small of her back, even though he was not sure if he was trying to push her away or pull her closer still. “Thank you for this. I shall treasure the memory.” She whispered against his skin while her fingers slid into his hair and raked across his scalp.

He would not go back on his word, Thorin swore to himself, but it wouldn’t hurt either one of them to kiss her again. At least he hoped that it wouldn’t because, already, his mouth was on hers, plundering her sweet surrender shamelessly.

Her hands tightened and he could feel her legs clenching in waves. Convinced of his own strength, he dared to let his own hand cup her mount and had to discover how wrong he had been. She was drenched. This would take every ounce of self-control to step away from, even more so because she whimpered into his mouth while pressing eagerly against his palm.

Time was flying, he had been on his way out of her room, he tried to cut through the red mist overtaking his thoughts. How had he ended up with her sex weeping all over his skin while he sucked in her whimpering pleas like a drowning man the saving air of the surface?

This was not the way it was supposed to be, he thought, she deserved more than messy kisses in an empty room. “Sweetling.” He sighed…and cursed.

It was but the slightest of caresses, so light it might have been a gust of wind, but there was no draft in the room and one of her hands had disappeared from his hair. “May I?” She breathed against his lips, smelling, and tasting of tart wine and sweet submission. He wanted to shake his head and ended up nodding, dazed. His teeth clacked shut with the violence of an earthquake as her fingers danced along his length, searching, as if she was a blind person trying to identify an unknown object.

He was not a youngling; he had known handsy encounters in dark corners, but her beatific smile unfurling as her eyes fluttered shut drove him half-mad; he was torn between the rising need to just possess her and damned be the consequences and the urge to lay the whole world at her feet.

“So warm.” She mumbled to herself, visibly happy to have discovered the secret of manhood and to have the opportunity to explore. Thorin had to consider as well that she had no idea what this felt like for him; he had been on the road with her for a considerable time, thinking about her, seeing her half-naked and now, she was in his arms, her fingers wrapping and unwrapping around his cock. He would not make a fool of himself, but it became increasingly harder to swallow the sounds of desperate need bubbling up at the back of his throat.

As the low grunt broke through his defences, she shrunk back, asking if she had hurt him somehow. Her…hurting him…What a ludicrous idea. “No, sweetling, but you make it really hard not to break all the sensible resolutions I have just explained in detail.” He chuckled darkly, struggling to regain the upper hand over his baser needs.

“I am sorry, I am being indecent.” She murmured quickly, hiding her hands behind her back. “You’re not. I…I wish we had time.” He let his forehead sink against hers before pressing a tender kiss on her brow.

“At least now you know how desperately I desire you. I shall leave for Erebor soon, I cannot wait to reclaim the Lonely Mountain and bed you in a way you deserve. Wait for me!” He whispered, his hands caressing her cheek gently.

Faith knew that she would wait until her hair started fading to white and her eyes were no longer able to make out the outlines on the horizon; whatever time was granted to her would be spent keeping a watchful eye on the sky to make sure not to miss his missive. “I shall.” She promised, that much, she could swear easily.

“Oh, this will be a long night.” Thorin groaned, as he tried to wrangle his body back into his clothes. “Do not close the door, I have to be up early, and I do not care to wake the whole settlement.” Faith called out to him, slipping between her sheets.

“You are naked, woman. I will not leave your door open. Especially…” He waved at her heated face and her rosy body, flushed with the fire he had kindled within her. If he could feel her heat, who was to say that someone else would not wander this way and be less scrupulous than him?

“Do NOT lock me in.” she pleaded quietly. “Wait there! Don’t move!” He barked and disappeared, fully dressed again. Within a few minutes, he was back, carrying what looked suspiciously like a sleeping roll. “What are you doing, Thorin-king?”

“I will guard your door like that blasted dragon sleeps on the treasure of my family.” He grumbled, sitting down on the flimsy-looking piece of fabric.

“You cannot do that!” She exclaimed, propelling herself out of bed, dragging the sheets behind her and kneeling in front of him to stare at him severely. “You have seen me sleep on the ground, woman, do not act surprised! Beds will be a rare commodity on the road to Erebor as well…I can stay here without dying.” He laughed.

“You are king here; you cannot sleep in front of my door. You need your bed. I’ll be fine.” She promised, encircling his bulging biceps with both her hands, and giving it a tentative shake that made him cock one eyebrow in confusion.

“Mistress, you don’t want your door closed and I don’t want to find you despoiled and bleeding in the morning. So, I will stay right here. Don’t worry, if I get too tired, someone else will take over for me.” He assured her, caressing her wild hair tenderly.

Not only does he intend to sleep on the hard floor, Faith thought, but he also planned to stay awake for the bigger part of the night. Stubborn, headstrong dwarf!

[monsterb0yf]

Know a Piece of Peace

Pairing: N (Cha HakYeon) [VIXX] x Reader (male)

Word Count: 2.6 k

Genre: Fluff, fantasy, romance, mythology

Summary: He comes to you to steal, but instead he is gifted something much greater. 

a/n: really the gender of the reader isn’t important except for two lines in the story, so feel free to consider this gender neutral! I didn’t originally intend on doing this but the opportunity was there and i felt inspired by the other xreaders within the collab. 

Song: Shangri-La

VIXX PARALLEL Collaboration Masterlist

       When he comes to the garden, it isn't a surprise. You see his ascension, you see the thread of a story slowly unfurl itself from its coil. You saw his family point him to the heavens. You heard the commands he received in order to prove himself. A lowly man, with nothing and no one. The only way for such a human to prove himself is to climb the roots towards the heavens and claim the fruit of your tree. It has been attempted before, and you will surely see it again. Even so, you watch in bemusement as this determined man scales the ever daunting roots of the great tree. His tenacity is endearing. You hope to bring forth a blossom from the hard pit he currently is.

      You wait when he first arrives. It was a silly human tradition, to steal the fruit of gods in hopes of proving one's worth. You have no claim over what the humans culture is though. That was your sister's choice long ago. As the younger brother, you were kept to safeguard the Higher's blessings made physical. The petals fall about your grey robe. He's climbing up the stone steps. 

       "Welcome to my orchard, human. What do you seek?" He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you at the top of the hill. Father's wind blows and your robe smacks your ankles, your hair flutters. The human blinks. 

       "Who. . .are you?" You step down the stairs. This man is barefoot and clearly scraped from his journey. On his back is a bag, assuredly not carrying much. On his face is unease. He seems too mystified to take his hands away when you hold them. 

       "I am the keeper of this garden. A spirit of the tree and its fruit and its blossoms themselves." He looks down at your hands, obviously perplexed. 

        "But-but the lady of the leaves-" 

       "My mother cares for your leaves. She cares for the Higher's leaves. She does not," you smile down at his innocent ignorance and confused face, "care for my trees." He stammers for response as you turn back and led him up the hill by one of the hands you took. They're strong and calloused. His life has been a hard days work. Never had a lover's caress, never a child who looks to him as a star gifted to earth, never a warm embrace of a parent. He is alone, and he is cold. You bring him to the warmth that is standing beneath your ever pink, ever blossoming tree. 

       "I- I expected a goddess or… or at least no body."

        "You expected an easier time stealing my fruit."

       The human looked affronted, opening his mouth and going to protest before realizing the truth. 

       "I don't steal," came his weak reply. You hum and reach up to grab a peach from the branches. Its flesh is soft, barely retaining its shape from the lightest of presses from your fingers. Its skin is pink and gold, divine in every manner of the term. The human goes wide eyed when you hold it before him. 

        "Then you expect to ask?" He is breathless staring at the fruit. He could take it and run. He could very easily snatch it from your loose grip and sprint back down the stone steps to the roots connecting you to earth, but he doesn't. He does lick his lips and gulp however. 

       "I will beg."

       Very . . . intriguing. 

       You take the hand that never left yours and guide him to the cliff edge, where you sit and watch the humans. You have him sit beside you. The peach rests on your lap. 

       "First, sit. Take a moment's peace with me." 

      "What is your name?" 

       "Hakyeon."

        You hum. With ease, you pull the peach apart into its halves. Juice drips onto your robe and hands. The air is tantalizing sweet.

       "Why do you come to beg for my fruit, Hakyeon?" You turn to him, folding your legs. The human avoids your eyes, looking down to the earth below. He cannot see the other humans as you can. 

      "Everyone said this was the only way." You take a bite of one of the halves, letting its sweet juice coat your lips. You know the story, yet you chose to listen anyway. 

       "The only way to get what?" Hakyeon pauses. The gaze that meets your eyes is open and sincere. The words are more honeyed when they are spoken from the human's soul. 

       "Love." 

       "How do you gain love from my fruits?" 

       "Your fruit can make the finest drink in the world. A drink from it would have anyone fall in love. Nothing is as sweet and as warm and as gentle as love and your fruit. Your peaches are love manifest." 

       You mull on that. Love manifest. Could your fruits be a home-like as a lovers embrace? As warm as an early morning waking up in sunlight and a partner's arms? You wouldn't know. No human has made it this far. No one has eaten gods' fruit except for you.

       "All I want is love. I have been shunned from everyone all my life. I want a place. I want, at the least, a friend." 

       You take half of the peach and bring it to Hakyeon's lips. He jerks back the first time, feeling himself unworthy of the gift. You insist, pushing again until his lips part and at least his tongue touches the sweet flesh. You can almost see the sparks he feels at the taste. The sweetest fruit to man or god. A flavor so pleasurable it as though death itself took delicious form. He takes a bite. Juice drips down his chin onto his dirty blouse and pants. You watch him chew, feel, in interest. 

        "How does love taste then, Hakyeon? Is this what you intended to feel?" He grabs your wrist and takes more. His eyes close and roll back in clear bliss. 

       "You don't need my fruit to sense love Hakyeon. We are all deserving. You are strong and beautiful. Your heart yearns for company, but you will not find it in shortcuts." You take the peach away, Hakyeon looking dazed. Your other hand reaches out, caressing his face. You wipe the juice from his chin, smear it across his lips and cheek. His face is soft, yet imperfect. His mortality give him beautiful imperfection. He has beauty marks, his eyes are dark, his skin is enticing. His voice is melodic as he asked for more. There is no mind in how close either of you are, you holding him close enough to mix breathes and count lashes. "There is love for you, but it is not my fruit." 

       "There is nothing down there for me. I will find no love there." 

       "What do you suggest then, Hakyeon?" Your conversation is in whispers at this point. The human leans forward. There is barely even a brush of lips to the touch, but it immobilizes you. A lover's caress. You have never had another being in such proximity. He pulls away just as easily as he had approached. There is a hair's width between you. His eyes don't ask like his voice does. 

        "Let me stay with you here?"

        "This is no place meant for mortal." His hand is in your hair and it's easy to relax into. 

        "I have been here only moments, and yet I have never felt as loved and safe as I am now. Allow me to stay." 

       "Hakyeon…" You feel naturally inclined for another kiss. You're both grasping onto one another as Hakyeon slowly falls back. He tastes like peaches, but smells purely of human. Of mother's pine and soil, of father's dry wind, of uncle's hot sun. He is sweat and he is earth and he is mortal. He is excitement.

       He is crackling embers on your skin and the laughter in your bellies as petals fall down upon your bodies. His smile is dazzling and is a nail in the coffin for the deal. The peaches and other humans never have this feeling. This pleasant tingle from your lips to the soles of your feet. Hakyeon had never tasted the fruit of the gods', and you had never tasted the emotions of men. He looks beautiful on the dirt, surrounded by the pink petals already since fallen. His skin was warm and welcoming, just as his smile, as his eyes, as his laugh. You take a petal and balance it on his nose, delighted by the simplest fact that it stays and looks ridiculous. 

       "You are a very special human, Hakyeon." 

       "You are a very charming spirit." 

       "Your humans ask of you at times," you mention offhand to the lover you lean against. Hakyeon's chest is not broad or stiff with muscle, but he is warm, and his hands are on you. That is all you can ask. The two of you are under the peach tree, as was often the case. You both leaned against the trunk and watched as the panther of night sky chase away the dog's day. A sky alight in colors from the shift of the time. It will get cold soon, yet you don't even bother to fix the robe of which barely covers your chest at this point. Hakyeon's hands were the cause. They liked to roam your chest, caress the perfect body of a god. He liked to lay on it too. Fall asleep under the stars and blossoms with his nose in your neck. For a human so alone, he is well versed in keeping good company. 

       "Do they?"

       "Yes. They question if you succeeded. If you died finding me." 

       "The old me died. I found you and became anew." You smiled up at him. 

       "At times, you sound like the god of love has visited you in your dreams." Hakyeon laughed and shook his head. 

       "No. No, my god of love is right here." He pulls you closer, more flush against his side. "You are devotion taken God like form." He pulls you in for a kiss, but the question falls from your lips. 

       "Do you miss them?" 

       "Miss who?" You reach up and run a thumb over his lips, pensive. 

       "The humans, your people. All you have here is me and the fruit. Don't you miss other mortal company?" He doesn't answer at first. He's looking at you. You know he heard you. He's simply contemplating. You give him the kiss he wanted, albeit more of a peck. 

       "I miss my brothers and sisters. That is all." He fixes the robe that has fallen off your shoulder. "I am happiest here though. I don't want to be without you." You bite your nails in thought. You'd never gone to humans. You've never left your garden. You are, however, willing to do anything to make this miserable man smile. 

       "Let us go down then. I will accompany you to your family." Father's breeze picks up and blows petals onto you both. Hakyeon looks shocked. 

       "No! You've never met humans and they can be terribly cruel and-and… and my family probably doesn't miss me anyway." You pull away from Hakyeon, pouting. By now, the stars have nestled into their places in the sky and it's cold on your bare skin. Not the matter at hand though. 

       "Hakyeon, if you miss them they surely return the feeling. And I am a god, nothing humans can do will hurt more than my feelings." 

       "My love-" 

       "Let us go Hakyeon. Let us both see your family once more and be merry with them." Hakyeon sighs and pulls you back in. Your face is in his chest as he rests his head on yours. 

       "We shall see."

       When your feet first reach the ground, you are amazed. The human realm is so large, so beautiful. There are giant rolling hills and beautiful golden fields of grain that stretch on into the horizon. Your breath catches in you throat and Hakyeon looks to you with a smile. Your appearance doesn’t fit in his human world. So clean and prim, such perfect appearance. He watches you carefully step, feeling the grass between your toes. How is this so different from your garden?! It takes a moment for Hakyeon to actually get you to focus on walking to his village with him and not looking at every bug and plant you see. You hug onto his arm and walk with him to the village. 

       Hakyeon chose today because of the festival. Harvest season. There would be a huge parade, humans in costumes, plentiful sweets and desserts. Easier to hide a god in a costume, Hakyeon claimed. 

       "No one even knows what I look like. You don't need such precautions." Hakyeon hushed you. 

       "Consider it part of the festivity, then. You'll just be celebrating as a human does." The village was busy, filled with music and people. You crushed Hakyeon's hand watching in excitement. He lead you away from the crowd though, to the vendors. A mask was lovingly put on your face for you, Hakyeon tying the string and then paying. The looking class showed your disguise to be a fox. It was darling. Black with yellow and red swirls and designs. It covered your whole face, only showing your eyes. You held onto Hakyeon's hand and he guided you through the crowd. 

       "May we dance?" He came to a halt, looking back to you.

       "What?"

       "I'd like to join! It seems delightful. Please, darling." Hakyeon looked between you and the path you both had been travelling before heaving a sigh.

       "One dance," he relented. He squeaked and stumbled as you pulled him along to the edges of the square. He took your hand in his once he regained balance. 

       "I step in with my left, you step in with your right." His foot came between your legs and you did as instructed. It was a kind of rocking motion, both stepping in to one another and then stepping out. The humans were full of conversation and laughter, full of merriment. All of them, except Hakyeon. He seemed at an unease, always looking around the two of you at the crowd. 

       "What distresses you, Hakyeon?" You spoke softly on a step in. 

       "Nothing."

       "Do you not enjoy dancing?" He sighed. He was looking resolutely at his feet. 

       "I do, deeply. I do not enjoy being seen though. Especially here." You looked about and saw not eyes on either of you. Everyone was about their own little world. 

       "No one is watching." 

       "And if they are? What if they see a mistake? Or question you as my partner? I am already a stranger to this village." His tone was tragic and expression forlorn. You stopped dancing, holding his face. He was such an anxious creature and he wore his fears on his wrist. You wanted to allay them. 

       "If you love to dance, do it. If you love me, savor me. Your mortal life is much too short to live fearlessly. Act as though you do when you are high off the sweetness of the peaches. Love, and love recklessly without fear of contrition." He blinked at you, softening as he always did. Your reassurances were the honey to soothe his aching heart. 

       "You are always so loving." 

       "As I said before, you are deserving of it." He stepped into you. The lanterns cast a familiar kind of glow on him. The kind during sunsets, where reds and blues and purples all take a shine to him and make him appear ethereal. His hands reach up and tilt your mask up, not all the way, just enough for your mouth to be exposed. It's a kiss, gentle but prolonged. All the sensations melt into one pleasant buzz and you are left with a permanently good impression of the humans. They are all fascinating and lovable, just one in particular captured your heart though.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 14

Several days after my return to the city, and routine normalcy, I was required to attend a conference for Colton’s next match. I had no excuses for absence this time, nor did I want them. I thought sure I may upchuck the chicken salad I chose for lunch earlier, but I didn’t want to run away this time. Proudly showing him that life indeed did keep rolling despite him cowardly bowing out. This recent feeing of courage lifted me mentally, & I very much intended to set him ablaze with regret, and torture, and longing all the same. The cliché “look what you lost, imbecile.” Moreover, I wanted to prove that despite the hot mess I had been not so long ago, I was going to find myself again. I was going to manage drinking a cup at The Grind without wanting to burst into a screaming tantrum, and I wouldn’t have to take an alternate route commuting to work every morning just to avoid the drive by Mac’s. I knew I couldn’t erase him, for obvious reasons, but I found hopeful comfort in knowing he would fade in time. 

I reached the location making decent drive time despite the expected sea of traffic in attendance. Shoulders haughtily held high, dressed to the nine in a relaxed, yet very flattering olive-green jumpsuit I had ordered online weeks ago. Thin straps, a waistline cinched with a loosely tied built in belt, the hem grazing the lower region of my calves just as intended to display strappy nude 3 inch summer wedge. This special location much more glamourous and upbeat than the typical local boy fights in Pittsburgh, which meant more media, more cameras. Colton’s title match against Mendez may have been etched as a loss on his record, but not to be considered the same for his career. His execution, ferocity, as well as sheer God given talent landed all industry eyes on him, resulting in quite the busy schedule for Ritter and his team.

I slipped carefully in a row towards the back of the room, before turning myself directly round into the aisle to march toward the rows nearer the stage. I wasn’t there to lurk in the shadows, I wanted my presence to be fully known to him once he arrived. Colton holding the winning favor for the match, his opponent made an entrance first. Jon Ryker, a middleweight contender from the coast of North Carolina held the size of an undeniably future champ, but the record of just another mediocre kid with a tendency for rage. He took a seat quietly, the public highly aware he was the type to fly under the radar despite the frequent snippets from his sessions he posted to an Instagram account. As a matter of fact, he was much like Colton in the aspect of a hatred for the spotlight.

Next, it seemed a wind of his attendance brushed over me in the seat, causing goosebumps to raise over my exposed sun-kissed skin. At first, I subconsciously dropped my head to glance down at my feet, avoiding the initial moment of eye contact with him in over a year. But, it was bound to happen, might as well be sooner than later. I raised my face, not letting my eyes go straight towards him, but the general direction of the side entryway first. Then, inevitably, my stare found him, seeing him not looking at all as homely and unappealing  as I had hoped on the drive over. A fight of this magnitude leaning more over the proper side of the fence, which meant the attire was more professional & buttoned up than I knew Colton cared for. Which meant he was going to be himself as usual, and go boldly against the grain in typical Colton Ritter fashion. He wore a motorcycle manufacturer screen tee, indigo washed jeans that sat low on his hips, and that leather riding jacket he placed over the back of his seat, making it clear he’d likely rode the bike. The image of him speeding carefree through the streets under city lights, and starry summer skies made me shamefully weak even then.

Miraculously, I was able to remain apparently unnoticed for several minutes after the questions commenced. Everyone had went about their business with the asking and answering while I waited in the wings. I prayed maybe I’d be incognito altogether until I stood for my question, but the events didn’t play out by that hand exactly. The fifth row, directly in front of me, a gentleman two seats down was called upon by Colton to proceed with his inquiry. When he finished his thought and sat to his seat, the  Pretty Boy Punisher, which now seemed to be a household name, kudos Liv, you savvy girl, you, huffed out in thought on how to proceed with his response, all the while sliding his eyes around the room erratically. 

That is until he saw something familiar. Someone familiar. The fuzzy hairs on the nape of my neck stood at attention, recognizing the feverish look  tossed upon me. I watched the color drain entirely from his usual rosy cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with his thick swallow of utter disbelief. His teeth scathed over the bottom of his lip, and his smoky eyes widened a bit. He appeared to have seen a ghost, much like the ones that frequented the halls of my apartment. Only now, there were no ghosts. This was reality. The first time we’d beheld the other in the flesh since the collapse. Through my darkly dilatated pupils, I could see the very real agony in his expression now that the shock had dwindled away. The arm he had randomly settled on the tabletop now raised upward, his large hand stroked over the lines of his mouth in a worrisome manner. 

The regret and yearn that I so longed to see in him, assuming it would bring a swell of much needed, childish satisfaction, didn’t do so in the least. Rather it drew up from the well of my own personal sadness buried deep in my gut. My face felt dazed, and afar off in a land of psychedelic sorts. I saw reds, and static black in my peripherals, like my recent grief was coming to life and engulfing me.  Fearing the entire room was observing the exchange, I looked away swiftly, seeing as he didn’t have the heart to do so first. Embarrassment in the public eye wasn’t something he needed right now, and I wasn’t about to let myself be the butt of the gossip column speculation either. Although a tabloid photo in this outfit wouldn’t have been the absolute worst thing…. After he was able to scramble some form of sentence together for the previously speaking reporter, I figured since the cat, the painfully awkward, very large cat, was out of the bag, I might as well take my turn and get it done. I slipped up a requesting hand, and he pointed nonverbally to me.

“Um, Mr. Ritter, I just wanted to know, with a win under your belt from only a few months back, do you feel like you’re coming into this matchup with some extra momentum?” He cleared his throat, nervously locking, and unlocking his fingers together. I waited, and waited, then waited some more patiently through his worrying ponder for an answer. I imagined his blood heating, and every vein under his skin erupting with hot pressure.

“Uhm… Thanks for the question, Liv. Thank…. Thanks for coming. It’s good to see you.”

Shit, Colt. Way to spotlight the elephant in the room

“I uh, I feel good about that last win, yeah. I definitely needed the morale boost after all the shit I had going on……. After the um, after the loss against Mendez, I mean. With the continued support of my team, and a loaded effort, I feel like maybe we can come away with this one too. But, I’ve come to realize that getting every win isn’t what’s important.”

Are you trying to tell me something Ritter? You needed a morale boost after Mendez, sure. But that hesitation, and the shifty eyes you gave said otherwise, right?

Off I went down the rabbit hole of my thoughts again, analyzing subliminal messages that were nonexistent, I’m sure. It’s true what they say about the first time you see an ex post breakup, especially if one still is still pining with every cell over the other. Pining against my better judgement, but pining in every way.

When everything had come to a close for the evening, following the fists raised, nose-to-nose photo op of the fighters, I was ready for nothing else but the quiet solace of my apartment to recover from the forced overdose of emotion I endured. Colton nearly plowed through anything in his path, including Mac who had given me a knowing, and sympathetic nodded hello, to retreat back into his cave. My original thinking always leading me to believe he may well have meant those crude words he’d jeered at me the night at Mac’s. But after witnessing his demeanor with me, it seemed maybe he hadn’t originally aimed to say them out loud in such a callous manner.

…….

Colton snagged the victory the following night, and the post-conference was heavy with the same stomach churning, weighty, discomfort for both my ex and I. Only this time, a bystander had detected our lingering looks, and the quivering of words when we spoke only about his win.

Enter Tia.

I was snaking my way through the scattered crowd toward the nearest exit, when a petite, yet very firm hand clasped around my wrist rattling the tightness of my watch.

“Running from something? You jumped up out of your seat like the room was on fire,” the female stranger spoke. “I’m Tia, by the way. Liv Elliott, right?”

She was absolutely stunning in the most unlikely way. A frame standing of about 5 foot, which is probably a generous estimate, creamy caramel skin. Her raven black, silky hair braided into tight rows atop her head, and the lightest, most electric shade of baby blue eyes I had ever seen.

“Uh, yeah? I’m Liv Elliott. Have we met?” She’d turned loose of my arm to reach forth in a hand shake.

“Oh no, no. I’m just familiar with your work. I’m actually a fighter here in town! Clearly I haven’t quite made a name for myself yet.” She giggled, and curled her shoulders up around her neck as if to sink her head into a turtle shell.

“Don’t be silly! It’s just, if your matches aren’t really advertised or spoke about, I don’t usually know about them, ya’ know? It’s very nice to meet you, Tia.”

The woman seemed to relax a bit at my reassurance. When I stepped away from the conversation, she was abruptly on my heels.

“Would you want to have a drink, Liv? In all honesty, woman to woman, it kind of seems like you could use one.”

I’d had worse offers in the last year, and she seemed nice enough. Especially to a hermit like myself who had yet to form anything closely resembling an actual friendship in this city.

“You know what, Tia? I think I would like a drink. You know a place close by?” “Next door, there’s a decent lounge in the hotel lobby.”

She led the way to the ground floor of the contemporary, blue lighted bar at the neighboring hotel of the fight venue. On the way I complimented her shoes, and she suggested I try the Long Island Ice Tea. We opted for a two seater booth rather than the bar top since the fit and length of my skirt would indeed show more than desired if I hiked up onto a stool.

“So, Tia. How long have you been competing in the ring?” I sipped the excellently recommended Long Island.

“That’s a really long story, “ she chuckled. “But, to sum it up, pretty much my entire life. I started Brazilian Jui Jitsu when I was about 6 years old, and it all sorta stemmed from there. My dad was an instructor growing up, so it was something I came to instinctively love the way he did, I guess. What about you, hm? How did you get into the  media side of the cage?”

This girl was oozing a contained edginess, and I had already decided she was cool as hell 3 sips in.

“Not to sound redundant, but that’s kind of long story as well. Only mine probably isn’t as enjoyable as yours if we’re being truthful.”

“Ah, I see. That story wouldn’t happen to contain a character by the name of Colton Ritter by any chance, would it?”

Busted. But in reality, how could Colton and I not honestly expect people to pick up on the oh so clear connection between us? Especially considering the circus of exchanges the last two days. “That obvious, huh?” I scrunched my nose in humiliation, letting my back relax onto the white, padded booth.

“ ‘Fraid so, Liv. You two were absolutely locked in on each other in there. Not to mention the way the poor sap looks at you. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Tia and I chatted in the hotel bar that night till the hour closely approaching 2 a.m.. I’d given her the high points of what played out between Colt & I, leaving out many of the juicy particulars for another time. No one would every hinder the thick as thieves, near 16-year bond that I had with Sara, by any means. However, Tia seemed to be proving herself someone I could have to fill her shoes when I needed a friend closer to home. I duly noted all the positives having a friend like her would entail. She was fiercely self-assured, bold, an exceptional listening ear, and most importantly, she had brilliant taste in shoes. She would become all the things this lonely, imitating city girl was missing here in Pittsburgh.

The upcoming months drew us tightly knitted together; you could say inseparable. Her loft apartment was only a measly 8 miles from mine, and the café where she waited tables in the evening was a short walk from my office. Tia Larkin would make my apparently sad life much more amusing from that night on.    

 Dating was teetering nonexistent, if you even consider one set up, courtesy of my oh so pushy, new friend, actually dating to begin with. She painted a very accurate description of him as part of her strenuous efforts to convince me to “get my fine, successful ass back out there.” His name was Luke, he was 23, and a personal trainer at the gym she frequented in.

“He’ll fit right in with your weird fetish for chiseled, rugged Abercrombie models with trust issues, Liv.” She’d teased.

Apparently, I had a type now? The reluctancy nearly caused severe outbreaks of wheezing panic the night I was dressing to meet him. In all honestly, it wasn’t fair that the poor guy had to follow in the very existent, very large shadow of Colton. I mean, I wouldn’t want to be the one attempting to fill those shoes. Appearance, wit, talent in the ring, or the bedroom for that matter… I felt as I was just setting him up to fail miserably. But, in hopes to raise my still somewhat broken spirit, and get Tia the hell off my back, I was going to give it an A+ effort.

He’d sent a text, (strike one) sending directions to the bar downtown, (strike two) whereby he wanted to me. There wasn’t at all any problems with the bar itself, but I had just enough small town in me to consider a bar very tasteless in the matter of first dates. Reason one, being the environment is entirely and distastefully too loud for any form of decent conversation, let alone two people who don’t know the first thing about each other. Secondly, I just felt it was a lazy copout. No sincere thought went into planning a date in a local bar. There was no romance. No allure. I fancy a dirty planked wooden floor, and a sloppy game of pool as much as the next gal, don’t get me wrong. But as far as first impressions go, it was just a no for me. Or, was this just my subconscious picking this Luke guy apart like a starving vulture only because he wasn’t the specific fellow I wanted to be spending a rowdy evening at the pub with….

It was a sticky summer evening, and clearly a casual date, so I cast little consideration on an outfit. Ripped denim shorts, and a quarter sleeved, v-neck top, beach waved hair.  I closed the locked door of my car turning towards the bar entrance when I spotted someone jogging across the busy street in my direction. There was no denying he was blessed in the looks department, but in a more boyish way than Colton. He had very subtle features, and large almond-shaped eyes. There was no whiskered shadow to his face, or visible scars, and his build was missing that broad, muscular shoulder set I had grown a liking to in regard to the male body. He fit the bill of personal trainer though, with toned, yet modestly sized arms. When he reached my car, he immediately swallowed me into a hug after leaving a formal kiss to my cheek.

“Liv, I’m guessing?” he raised in question.

“How incredibly embarrassed would you be if I said no?” I half grinned to appear joking, and was afraid he almost didn’t catch the humor when his own smile wilted a bit.

“Oh, not at all. See, I make a habit of kissing random, beautiful women in the middle of the street.”

Okay, kid. Touché on the playful banter. “Noted. But yes, I’m Liv. Liv Elliott. It’s very nice to meet you Luke,” I introduced.

“And you as well, Liv. You wanna head inside, or we can wait for the next girl in the street I’m going to kiss to show up?”  

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935