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havethetimeofyourstyles · 4 years ago

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Hey, Stranger

alright guys, gals, and non binary pals! I present to you ‘Sex with a Stranger (but not really a stranger)’! so excited to be a part of @berrynarrybanana ‘sex bucket list fic challenge! theres a ton of talented ass writers participating in this, so be sure to check it out!

here is 6.5k words of absolute filth and smut! literally this stuff is filthy i was shook myself

masterlist

A well deserved break was in your favor.

A long break that had to do with a lot of drinking and perhaps fucking, if you’re lucky enough tonight.

Work has been stressful lately. Being the CEO of an up and coming makeup brand has its perks. The new season called for a new line of makeup and the whole process would start again. The countless meetings with the design team, marketing team, and the factory; all while hoping everything runs smoothly.

It was the busiest season of the year trying to come up with new and better ideas for your brand, and hoping everyone likes it.

Needless to say, you needed a break. A well deserved break at that.

It’s been a while since you properly went out by yourself. You’re not even sure if you’ve ever been out by yourself, especially to a bar. It was a last minute decision that you told yourself that you were going to step out and have a drink after work, and it would’ve been too late to call anyone up considering it was 8 at night.

Work had been keeping you at the office later than usual, and you hated it. You were a firm believer of having downtime and taking care of your body and skin after work, but you get home so late that all you want to do is crash; not given enough time to relax.

But it was Friday night and you thought that a drink to celebrate the end of the working week was enough to go out.

You walked through the door of the bar, seeing that there were a good amount of people there, but it wasn’t too overcrowded. You took a seat at the counter, and the bartender had already seen you, making his way to you.

“Hi. Can I get a shot of tequila please?”

“Sure thing,” he replied and quickly took out a shot glass and reached for the tequila bottle that was at the top of the shelf, and poured it. “Want a lime? Or a chaser to go with that?” He asks as he sets the glass right in front of you.

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you.” Without a thought, you downed it, letting the burning liquid run down your throat. The bartender was still in front of you, an impressive look on his face. “Can I get another please?” He nods, and pours you another, which you gulp it quickly. He waits for you to ask for another, “I’m okay right now. I’ll call you if I want another, thanks,” he nods and serves his other customers.

You start eating the peanuts that were set right in front of you as you remembered that you didn’t have much to eat before; just a small salad with coffee for lunch. No wonder why you were so hungry, practically devouring the whole bowl of peanuts.

“Pretty impressive to down two shots in a row,” a man takes a seat right next to you. You couldn’t help but think how attractive he is. His hair was short and slightly curly at the top along. Overall, his face was just too pretty.

“Why, were you watching me?” You tease.

“How could I not when a pretty girl walks into a bar and orders two shots and downs them back to back?” He smirks and your face is hot. The two shots and very little food you’ve eaten had made your face fluster.

“Wow, that whole thing you said sounded like a song. Are you a musician?” He laughs, genuinely laughs. The whole head thrown back and his fist banging on the counter.

“Of some sorts. I’m Harry,” he takes his hand out to shake, and you take it.

“Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“And you are?”

“Whatever you want to call me tonight,” you smirk.

“Oh, so we’re playing like that, huh?” His brows raise and you nod, giving him a ‘mhm.’ “Well, if that’s the case, I reckon we’re gonna have a lot of fun tonight,” his eyes turn dark and you have no idea what you’re in for, but oh, you’re so ready for it.

“Tell me,” he starts and you raise your eyebrows, “tell me what you like being called.”

“Hmm. There’s a few that I can think of,” you think up, pretending to think.

“Yeah? Care to share?”

“I think I’ll save that for when it happens,” you tease.

“And when do you think it’ll happen?” He smirks.

The sexual tension between you two is insanely thick. With back and forth teasing and smirking, you two are building up the tension and connection, and there is absolutely no doubt that you have a connection with this stranger.

“I think it’ll happen a lot sooner than you think,” you give him a look as if you’re saying ‘how does that sound?’

“Do you mind if I touch you?” He suddenly asks.

“Quite the gentleman you are when you’re going to tear me up tonight,” you joke, but quite literally meaning it.

“Always a gentleman out of the bed, but don’t expect me to be nice to you in bed,” he tests.

“Oh, I don’t expect you to be. Want you to go for it. And by the way, yes you can touch me.”

Harry grabs your hand, caressing it. It had surprised you because you had expected him to go somewhere less innocent than holding hands. You feel the soft rubs of his thumb, gently rubbing over your skin, and the small touch of his sends electrical sparks throughout your body. You’ve never felt like this. The slightest touch of someone you don’t know and had just met had this effect on you, and it blew your mind.

“What are you trying to do, Harry?” You take a deep breath as he begins rubbing your leg. He starts off slow, starting at the knee, testing to see if it was okay, and when he looked up at you, he saw you nod and began circling his single finger across your thigh.

He made all sorts of patterns across your thigh, and you had wished that you were wearing a skirt or shorts just so you could feel it on your actual skin, but the thick barrier of denim was in the way.

Harry’s face was close to yours and you think he’s about to kiss you, but his face steers him next to your ear. You feel his run closer to your heated core, but not just there yet. He was running his finger in your inner thigh, making you squirm in your seat and hit breaths coming out of your mouth, hitting Harry’s ear.

“I’m trying to get you ready. Is that okay?” He finally answers your question, and you had totally forgotten that you had asked that due to the distraction of an insanely hot man teasing you to your death.

“Get me ready for what exactly?”

“I’m sure you know what.”

“Hmm, rather have you tell me,” you hear him take a breath in and out. What you don’t expect next was that his finger had made its way in between your thighs, pushing down on your clit. The feeling had totally shocked you, not expecting him to touch you in such an open and public place, but you honestly are far from caring.

“Wanna lick and eat your pussy when I take you back to my place. I want you to cum all over my mouth that your legs give out. Then I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’re sore. Gonna fuck you till you remember me for the next guy you wanna fuck because let’s face it, darling, all you’ll be thinking about is me. You’re gonna come back to my cock and begging me to fuck you over and over again,” he tells you sensually in your ear, all while pressing down on your clit and moving his thumb around. The friction between your thick jeans and his finger felt amazing, and it took so much in you to not buck your hips into his finger. “How does that sound?” He says, coming face to face with you.

The dominant side of him is showing heavily. But you were one to not put down a fight.

“That sounds great, in all honesty, and I would absolutely love that. But I’ll believe it when you show me. You could be all talk for all I know,” you’re practically challenging him to your death. You know this guy would fuck you good. Hell, the way he’s just talking to you is leaving you a stain on your panties from your arousal.

“You’re testing me, darling,” he shakes his head. “But if you really wanna know, how about I take you to my place right now and I’ll show you?” He stands from his stool.

You shrug your shoulders, “okay,” you stand as well, grabbing your purse. “But aren’t you gonna kiss me first?” Harry raises his eyebrows, shocked this woman is even asking that when he’s literally about to fuck her brains out. “What? All I’m thinking is that what if our first kiss is horrible when we get back to yours? So if the kiss is horrible then the sex will definitely be worse,” you know you’re on his last nerve, and you’re surprised he hasn’t moved on to the next girl to pull his moves on, but he seems to be enjoying the bantering.

“Okay, that’s fair. Can I kiss you darling?” Harry asks just like the gentleman he is.

“Yes. Please kiss me,” you plead.

Harry wastes no time in connecting your lips together. Soft lips that mold together when they become one. The taste of alcohol on each other’s tongue can drive you both drunk; drunk in one another’s taste, lips, hold. You had wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he wraps his around your waist. The two of you both kiss each other in the middle of the bar, not giving a single fuck that people are still around and they can obviously see. You’re so caught up in him, he’s so caught up in you that neither of you don’t care to stop.

The only thing that does make you two stop was the drop of glass shattering, startling the both of you to pull away from one another. Some random guy had dropped his drink, making a complete mess on the ground, and all the attention was turned on him. Luckily, away from you and Harry.

“How was that?” He asks, in hopes that you would still let him take you home,

“It was good. Really good.” There was no point in playing with him if he’s actually good in bed. You knew that the first time he sat next to you. But god, that tongue is driving you crazy, and it’s sending so many thoughts of what else that tongue can do to your body.

“Then let’s save the rest for later, darling. Reckon we put on a show,” he chuckles, placing his hand on your lower back to guide you through the door. “Really not gonna tell me your name yet?”

“Hmm, nah. Maybe after you fuck me. I believe you’re already too attached,” you tease.

Harry laughs and shakes his head, and thinks this girl is gonna be the death of me.

The ride to his house was anything but awkward. Harry had called his driver, not wanting to risk driving even though he’s only had one drink, but really he just wanted to be close to you. You’ve never met someone who has their own personal driver, and it amazed you how much money this guy has. Not like you were interested in the money because frankly, you were only in it for the hot sex you’re about to have with, but damn! Hot stranger with hot sex and hot money? Why the fuck not.

As soon as the door shut and the car started moving, he grabbed your face and pressed his lips against yours. He told you that he was saving the kisses for later, but he couldn’t help it. Your lips were irresistible that he needed to feel it against his again, along with other places, but he’s only a handful of minutes away and then he’ll be graced with the beauty of her lips around his cock.

His aching and hard cock, to be exact.

Once the car comes to a stop, he thanks his driver and leads you out the car and to his front door. You stand behind him as he tries getting the right key into the slot, but he’s shaking and anxious because of his excitement.

You made the bold move to reach over and palm his bulge. Harry’s breath hitches in his throat as he continues fumbling with his keys. Your front is pressed to Harry’s back, squeezing him through his pants. You can tell he’s big and ready to be taken care of.

“Never gonna get in the house if you keep doing that,” he moans out, finally relieving some of the pressure that went straight to his cock.

“Sorry, couldn’t help but notice how hard you were when we were in the car, so I had to feel for myself,” you say against his back, kissing him through his shirt. He turns his head to the side, so you could hear what he’s about to say loud and clear.

“Keep it up or I’m fucking you against the door that you’ll be screaming my name so loud that you would wake up my neighbors.”

“You act like I’m opposed to that,” you giggle, but he takes your hands away from his dick, practically throwing it off.

He turns around slightly towards you, and his eyes darken, “be good.” You practically go silent after that as he turns back around.

He finally unlocks the door, pulling you instead to his house before smashing your lips against his. The quick movements had shocked you as you tried observing his wealthy home, but didn’t get a chance to due to his lips.

Heated kisses dominate your mouth as your back hits the closed door. His tongue repeatedly touches yours, making your knees weak, and if it wasn’t for Harry holding you so tight, you would have definitely fallen.

It was like you were finally waiting for this moment to come. The tension at the bar was so sharp that just upon meeting each other, there was a pool in your panties and a hard on in his pants.

And to which, the arousal you both had are both hot and ready to devour one another to pleasure.

“Can I touch you?” He one last time, knowing that this time you were turning in your full permission and submission. He already knew you were weak for him when you had said yes the first time, but again, he is a gentleman.

You nod and lift the hem of his shirt up a bit, raking your nails on his love handles as you earned a moan from his that directed to your mouth. Harry unbuttons your jeans and pulls down the zipper, not finding enough time to fully take your pants off before his hands are down your pants already. His fingers find your clit, rubbing it gently in slow circles and he feels your wetness lubricating his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers out. You only nod, not wanting to speak but only wanting your lips to be occupied by him. His finger finally touching your raw and bare pussy sent shivers down your spine. You were waiting for it ever since he had gotten close to you.

He pulls his lips back from yours and starts kissing your neck as he undos the buttons of your shirt, and lifts it up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and jeans. He trails down to your collarbones and works the latches of your bra, unhooking it to reveal your breasts.

“Your tits, holy shit,” he immediately takes on your nipples, sucking and biting it while grabbing the other and fondling it, and switches and does the same. Once he’s done, he kisses his way down to your stomach, pulling your jeans down fully along with your panties.

You had worn a red lace cheeky panty, feeling the most confident in sexy underwear. “Gonna have to see you in that another time, love,” the thought of him saying another time had made your heart drop. You couldn’t deny the connection between you two. Although not knowing him well enough emotionally, the physical connection was so strong.

“Fucking lick me already,” you pant out breathlessly, already feeling heated from his teasing kisses.

“Alright, alright,” you had expected him to lick you up already, but he still continues with kissing your skin and sometimes sucking on it, leaving a hickey. He kisses your pubic bone and thighs before hiking one leg up to rest on his shoulder, and starts licking a strike up your heated core.

Harry flicks his tongue on your clit many times before sucking on it as you're a moaning mess standing above him. You grab a fistful of his curls before slightly bucking your hips, grinding against his tongue. The sensation running through your body is powerful, and you're lucky your leg is on Harry’s shoulder or else you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, yessss,” you moan out as you continue grinding on his tongue. Harry stops you from moving by pulling back a little before inserting two fingers inside your pussy and continues flicking his tongue on your clit. His fingers curl up to meet the spongy spot inside of you, taking you to the brink of your orgasm. “Keep doing that,” he doesn’t stop fingering you and you continue with your motion from before, needing to feel pressure on your clit with his tongue.

“Taste so good, baby,” he says quickly before proceeding to lick and suck your clit.

“Mhm,” you whine out, “I’m gonna cum, baby,” you say as your hips buck.

“Cum on my face, please. Need it,” he urges out, continuing to curl his fingers into your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you had felt like a water balloon inside you had exploded, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of your orgasm. Harry lets go of your leg that was resting on his shoulder and kisses your clit once more and the inside of your thighs, before kissing up to your lips. When you put your foot down on the ground, you were welcomed by a wet floor. You tried looking down at the mess you’ve made, but Harry’s lips caught yours, and you feel his wet chin that’s dripping your inside fluids off of his chin and down to your chest and the taste of your orgasm on his lips, making the scene so erotic and filthy.

“Be careful, you might slip. Let’s go to the bedroom, yeah? Maybe you can make a mess on my sheet like you did my floor. Didn’t know I got squirted in my hands,” he grabs the back of your thighs, hoisting you up and your legs go around his waist. You were about to kiss him, feeling lost without it, but he needed to watch his step as he turned out, not wanting to slip and hurt both of you.

He carries you to the bedroom as you kiss his face and his neck, and it takes so much in him not to just fuck you where he’s standing. Once he finally sees the bed, he makes sure he’s close enough before he practically throws you on it. A squealing yelp comes out of your mouth as you giggle slightly.

Harry was still fully clothed as you’re fully naked, but you wanted to change that as soon as possible. You motion him to come towards you with your finger, and he walks towards the edge of the bed, standing above you. You sit on your knees on the bed, and lift his shirt up halfway so he could take it off. And once he does, you admire his body. His beautiful body that you’ve been aching to see. The one that doesn’t compare to anyone else, and all you want to do is love on him and fuck him.

“Fuck, look at you,” you breathe out before you kiss his neck and trail down to his chest. His tattooed chest was something you wanted to look out forever. You wanted to kiss each and every single one of his inked designs, but you do that to what is right in front of you. You kiss the swallow tattoos, kissing down the middle and stopping at his pecs. You lick one of his nipples and do the same to the other, and Harry had not expected you to do that at all, but he isn’t complaining. You then trail down to the butterfly on his stomach, kissing it loads before going down to the ferns that lay at the bottom. His body is so sexy, so magnifying, and you wanted to engulf every single inch of him.

You managed to get his belt off, and start working on the button and his zipper, pulling it down just enough to see the entirety of his underwear. Harry quickly takes off his jeans and kicks them to the side as he stands in just his underwear. You continue kissing his stomach, deciding that you weren’t done leaving a trail of your lips all over his body so he wouldn’t forget about this night. You fondle him over his briefs, relieving some of the pressure that is his hard cock, and Harry moans.

A smile is present on your mouth, happy to hear his sensual moan. “So hard for me already,” you look up through your lashes.

“Been hard since the moment I laid my eyes on you,” he looks down at you, and you smile, blushing at his statement.

You finally release the restraint that is his underwear, and his dick springs up. You lick your lips hungrily, looking up at him. “You’re so fucking big, holy shit.”

“Stroking my ego, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and stroking your cock,” you lick your hand and grab a hold of him, stroking your hand up and down, working him up. As your hand works against him, you suck the skin of his hip, leaving multiple hickeys on his skin.

You finally lick up his cock from base to tip, and take his tip inside your mouth, sucking lightly. You then take more of him, hollowing your cheeks.

“Yeah, baby. Do it like that,” Harry groans out. He pushes all of your hair to one side, so he could see your face. You were in an all fours position, and it was hurting your back and neck, but you didn’t care; only wanting Harry to feel the pleasure right now.

You start taking more of him, feeling the tip hit the back of your throat and your nose pressed up against his pubic bone. Harry moans get stuck in his throat and you release him.

“Like that? Like when you can feel the back of my throat? Like when you’re in my mouth? Huh…daddy?” The name had slipped and you didn’t expect it. But it had turned you on even more, and you were hoping it did the same to him.

And oh, it did.

His eyes turn dark as he looks down at you with his cock in your hand, pumping it. He smirks, grabbing a fistful of your hair, bringing you up to his lips. Your forehead is pressed against his and his lips graze yours, and you want to desperately kiss them. And you try to, but he tugs your hair back.

“You wanna call me daddy? Yeah? Be a good little girl and suck daddy’s cock, and let’s see if you have the honor of calling me that. Got it?” You nod, not trusting your voice and also surprised how fast his tone changed. He pushes your head back down to his cock and you take him back in your mouth. Your mouth works on him, having to move from side to side because of the position you're in, which causes your whole body to move as well.

From Harry's view, he’s got the view of your naked back and your ass. He lets one hand go from your hair and reaches forward to slap one cheek causing you to moan around him. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” he whispers out, feeling the vibrations from your moans straight to his dick.

The second time he said the pet name, it made you clench. It caused your thighs to slightly close and make you moan around his cock. And Harry notices and he thinks he hit the jackpot.

He pulls out of your mouth again and brings your face to his with both hands on the sides of your face.

“You like that, huh? Like being called a good girl? Didn’t wanna fucking tell me your name because you wanted me to call you good girl. Think you were being a good girl? I certainly don’t think so. Do you think so?” Your hair was a wild mess, mouth still wide open like his big cock had jammed it open. He slips his thumb in your mouth, “answer me.”

“No, don’t think I was.”

“Exactly, I didn’t think you were either. But since you wanna be called that so bad, prove to me that you are by sucking me good,” he lets go of you and you bend down to continue sucking him.

He starts bucking his hips, fucking your mouth, and hitting the back of your throat causing you to gag around him. It had felt amazing to him, having you gag around him, but decided to stop, not wanting to hurt you.

“Do it again? Want you to fuck my mouth,” you beg. He doesn’t hesitate to thrust into your mouth, starting off slowly though, not wanting to push you.

After a thrusting a few or more times, he starts holding your head when he reaches the back of your throat and your face is pushed up against his body. You tried your very best not to push away; opening your mouth wider than ever and relaxing your throat. Harry pulls you off of him and a string of saliva hangs from your lips to his tip.

“Fuck, you’re fucking mouth, baby,” he pulls your face up to meet his, giving you a heated kiss. “You may call me daddy. Your mouth is so filthy already. Sucking me so good. You definitely are a good girl.” He kisses your lips and moves down to your neck.

“Thank you, daddy.”

Now that foreplay is out of the way, he can’t wait to stuff himself inside of you. He had gone to get a condom, but you told him that you were clean and was on the pill, and said that he could go bare as long as he was clean. He immediately agreed and told you that he was clean and he just recently got tested, and if you wanted to see the result. You laughed, telling him no and that you trusted him.

You lay on your back against the pillows and he hovers over you, giving you a few kisses before he reaches between you and lined himself up with your pussy.

He finally pushes in and you both let out a moan in a sigh of relief. The feeling of the two of you connected, increased your arousal as Harry started thrusting in and out of you. Your hands were placed on his hips, pulling him close if possible; wanting him close as he pounds into you.

“Feels so good,” your head throws back onto the pillows. Harry grabs both of your arms from around his waist before lifting them up above your head, holding your wrists in one hand. The other hand places a hand on one of your breasts, squeezing it harshly.

“Yeah? Who feels good, baby?” He drives even deeper into you.

“You, daddy. You feel so good,” you practically scream out.

“God, baby girl, you feel amazing,” his head is thrown back in ecstasy, feeling you coat his cock with your arousal.

“Thank you, daddy,” you bite your lip and innocently look him in the eye, but you’re far from innocent,

“No, thank you. Just met and you’re already calling me daddy. Fuck, where have you been all my life?” He continued to thrust like there’s no tomorrow—harder, deeper, and all you could do is take it and moan.

“Been so…lost…without you. Harder, please.” You feel yourself start slipping. Your head begins to feel dizzy as he relentlessly attacks your pussy with his cock. The pain and pleasure had taken over your mind, swirling and jumbling your words and thoughts.

“My good baby girl wants it harder, huh?” You nod as you shut your eyes, feeling so much pleasure as Harry starts thrusting harder and faster, making a moaning mess out of you, his chest slightly sweaty from the movement and your back damped from the writhing above the sheet.

“You’re here now, aren’t you? You’re here and you’re mine. Right, baby? You’re mine now?” Harry’s dominant side is seeking through, needing the praise and the reassurance.

“Mhm…here and yours.”

“That’s right. Wanna be a good girl and ride my cock?” You nod and he pulls out of you, a whimper leaving your lips from the absence of him, and lays right next to you before pulling you on his body. You barely had any time to register what was happening, because it was all happening too fast for your liking, you found herself straddling him and he immediately lined himself up again, and pushed you down to sink onto him.

You slowly start grinding on him as you were still in her hazing state. Everything was so fuzzy, but you continued to bounce on him, wanting to make him happy.

“Good, baby girl. That’s so good,” he moans out, gripping your hips hard as he guides you up and down his cock. His hands trail up your stomach, stopping at your breasts to give them a harsh squeeze. He then reaches up to suck on them before covering them again with his hands. “Love your fucking tits.”

Your hands cover his big ones grabbing your tits, and it’s a sight for Harry. His baby girl was riding him, eyes closed, mouth open, him touching her tits, and her touching his hands touching her tits. He was practically in heaven.

“Gonna cum, daddy,” you whimper. You open your eyes and fall on his chest, all while still moving your hips. “Please, let me cum? Please, daddy?” You’re nose to nose with him, pleading to let you feel pleasure to the full extent.

“Hold it, baby. I’m nearly there,” he says, kissing your cheek. A pout formed on your lips and you whined a little, feeling like you’re going to explode anytime soon. But you wanted Harry to reach his high too, so you don’t say anything and you hold it.

“Fuck me then? Please, fuck me?”

“Hold on tight, okay?” Your arms wrap around his neck and your face is buried right next to his head. The gaps were closed between you two, and you’re so close to him that it was starting to get hot, but in the best way.

Harry wraps his arms around your torso, hugging you to him as he plants his feet onto the bed, and starting fucking up into you. His thrusting is fast and hard with skin slapping against each other and moans were only heard, and he’s there. He’s on the edge.

“Daddy…” you say softly in his ear, practically begging him to give you his permission. “Please.”

“Go ahead, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” And with that, you cum…hard. So does Harry; shooting his hot cum deep inside of you with a loud groan of relief escaping his lips. “God, yes.”

You softly grind down on him, riding your orgasm out until you feel a familiar squirting between your legs and on Harry's stomach.

“Mmm,” you whine out.

“Doing so well for me, baby girl. Cumming so hard for me, right?” You only nod, continuing to cry out.

He pushes you off of him and you whimper, feeling lost without his body pressed up against yours, even though he’s inside of you still. You’re sitting up, straddling him, and you start feeling pressure on your clit. Harry’s thumb presses against it and starts rubbing it fast.

“Ohh…” the feeling gets you to your next orgasm, grinding down on his cock as he rubs your clit.

“One more, yeah? Got one more in there for me?” He challenges.

“Mhm…for you, daddy.”

“That’s right. For daddy, yeah? Come one, baby. Squirt for me again.”

And you do, you squirt until your legs are shaking, and Harry’s body and sheet are covered in your juices. Your cries are loud, but it’s full of pleasure and the feeling of overwhelm. This just takes you more into a headspace, and with the shaking of your legs, it makes you even more dizzy.

You collapse on Harry’s chest, wrapping your arms around him, wanting to feel him close as possible. You bury your face in his neck, practically crying against his neck, and you feel his hands rub your back and his lips against your temple.

“Hey, hey. Why’re you crying?” He tries pulling your face out of his neck, but you whimper, not wanting to let go. “Come on, look at me, please?” His eyes had gone soft for the crying figure on top of him. He knew you were probably too overwhelmed and sensitive from all the pleasure, especially the full and hard orgasms.

After a few minutes, you pull your head out of his neck and he’s met with glossy eyes and damped cheeks. He kisses your lips quickly, before asking, “what’s wrong, baby?”

“Don’t wanna leave, daddy. You’re gonna kick me out now,” you sniffle.

“What? No, I’m not. Baby, you live here too. Not gonna kick you out,” Harry frowns.

“Yeah, you are because I’m supposed to be just a one night stand, and Daddy doesn’t do sleepovers and we just met.”

“Hey, I’m Harry, alright? Come back to me. It’s Harry. You know Harry, right?” You only nod your head. “Your brain is all fuzzy, thinking I’m just daddy and I’m supposed to kick you out. No, it’s not like that, okay? We were just playing, remember?” He scratches your head.

“Daddy’s not gonna leave or kick me out?” You look at him with your glossy eyes, begging him for you to stay.

“Daddy or Harry’s not gonna kick you out. Nor are they going to leave you. Ever.” He could feel you starting to relax on him, taking deep breaths rather than hearing your cries. “Come on, miss my girl. Want you back. It was nice ‘meeting’ you at the bar, but I miss you so much,” Harry says in soft and a hushed voice. He cradles her and hums, trying to get you to come back to the world.

After a few minutes, he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep in his hold, but you lift your head up, and he smiles.

“Hey there, pretty lady.”

“Harry?”

“Welcome back, stranger,” he kisses her nose and you smile at his affection.

“I went under again, huh?” Your face looked so defeated, like you were embarrassed. Sometimes you hated being in subspace because you have no clue and no control of how you’re acting.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. You’re completely safe when you are and stop worrying too much. There’s nothing you could do or say that would make me leave you. Married you, so you’re stuck with me.” You nod, feeling slightly better. Harry was always so good with reassurance and aftercare when you’re in subspace or not. He’s also so caring and that’s one of the many reasons why you love him.

“Thank you,” you say softly in his neck.

“Of course. Always gonna take care of you,” he hugs you closer for a moment, relishing every moment he gets when you’re in his arms. “Now, let’s go take a bath? Let me wash you up before we sleep.”

“Mmm. Don’t wanna move,” you say as you get comfortable on his body. “Feel so empty without you.”

“Not going anywhere, love. You could cling onto me while I get the bath ready, how does that sound?” He moves your hair, so he could see your beautiful and tired face. You lift your head up to look at him.

“No, what I meant was: I’m empty without you in me,” Harry’s mouth opens as if the realization just hit him; a soft ‘oh’ comes out.

“Want me in you? Without the fucking, huh? Just wanna feel warm and nice?” He smiles, often loving when you go into subspace because a little cockwarming is in his favor.

“Mhm. Please? Just for a little bit then we could take a bath.”

“Okay, whatever you want. We could also do it in the bath too, but let’s stay here for a moment,” you nod in agreement.

He reaches between you, stroking his dick to get it a little hard before lining himself up once again. His hips bucked and you pushed your hips down on him, both moaning in the relief of feeling full again.

“Feel so good, even like this, baby,” you say against his skin.

“Yeah? Keeping me warm, huh?” You nod and he kisses your face. “We should do this more often.”

“I always keep your cock warm though,” Harry laughs at your vulgar language, but he’s not surprised.

“I know that, but I didn’t mean that. I meant we should plan some nights where we don’t know each other and we meet up at the same place. Remember we always did that when we were dating? Got some of the best surprises out of each other.”

“Yeah, I remember. Back when I was able to fit into my maid costume,” you sigh.“But sure. I really liked today. I was going for something else, but daddy just slipped out and I know how much you love being called that, so I just went with it,” you start scratching the back of his neck, and he feels like he could fall asleep anytime, but he’d rather stay up and talk to you.

“Don’t deny that you don’t like calling me daddy either,” he sarcastically scoffs.

“You’re right. I do,” you giggle, knowing that it’s your favorite thing to call him besides your innocent pet names for him. “I’m gonna surprise you for what kind of role playing we’re gonna do when we pretend not to know each other.” You kiss his chest and he hums. You both feel so relaxed that you feel Harry getting soft inside of you, but he still feels warm.

“Okay, sounds good to me. As long as it’s with you then I have no reason to complain.”

You smile at him, feeling so loved and grateful you’re married to him. As you two lay close to one another, chest to chest, and sexually and emotionally connected, you’re appreciative for the stranger that’s not really a stranger, holding you in his arms.

feedback is very much appreciated! pls let me know what you think!

#the bucketlist fic challenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #husband!harry #daddy!harry #softdom!harry #harry styles filth #harry styles dirty imagine

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19red · 4 years ago

Text

hello, this is me trying to strong-arm my brain into stopping the constant tweaking and re-tweaking of the same stinking 3k so I can write on and get to the good parts of this project namely p and j having all the sex thank you very much

The day after Patrick and Jonny bang a chick together, Patrick wakes to the weight of an alien limb squashing his bladder. The alien limb belongs to a furnace-hot, tentacular mass plastered all along his back. The mass smells oddly familiar, kind of citrusy—as if it stole Jonny’s body wash.

Patrick squints his eyes open. A blade of sunlight filters through the half-drawn curtains and stabs him in the face. Right under the window, Jonny’s suitcase dribbles clothes onto the floor.

It shouldn’t be hard to put two and two together, but Patrick’s really dumb first thing in the morning. Plus, he needs to pee. Bad. Which is pretty distracting.

He paws at the tentacle swung over his waist, fingers catching on—a beaded string. Did the alien mass steal Jonny’s bracelet too? Patrick struggles to lift his head. He wants to see.

The alien mass stole Jonny’s whole arm. What--?

A growl spills in a damp, ticklish huff into the crook of Patrick’s neck as the mass coils itself closer. Something hard pokes Patrick’s ass. His nostrils fill with a waft of scent his hindbrain understands as so viscerally Jonny that recognition smacks him dizzy.

The mass is Jonny. Last night, he and Patrick banged a chick together. That thing wedged between them, growing firmer by the second? That thing is Jonny’s—

Patrick’s heart plummets straight to his dick.

It’s okay. It’s whatever. Patrick isn’t gonna freak over a physiological response. Bodies are also really dumb first thing in the morning.

“Jonny,” he says, wriggling to catch Jonny’s attention. Jonny has always been his go-to guy in a crisis. Except, in this instance, he is also the crisis itself. Jonny’s hips buck forward once, twice—Patrick stops breathing for the handful of seconds it takes Jonny’s sleep-drenched, horny-ass body to lose interest and stutter back into relative stillness.

Fuck, Patrick thinks. Visions of impending awkwardness swarm his brain. If Jonny were to wake up right now, full-mast boner pressed to Patrick’s ass, and discover the tent pitched in the front of Patrick’s sweats, he might rush to conclusions. Their ability to make direct eye contact would definitely endure permanent damage. They’d have to restructure their life with the aim of reciprocal avoidance. Patrick would have to request a trade. Jonny would probably drop out of the NHL. He’d forsake hockey and society at large and end up trampled to death by a giant moose while he hides from Patrick in the Canadian wilderness.

Fuck, Patrick thinks again. When a whole minute drips away and Jonny doesn’t stir, he thanks the hockey gods. With very little, very slow movements, he dislodges the arm pinning him to the mattress. By the times he’s free, the light slanting in from the window changed the angle of its assault to his pupils. Still careful, he slides the covers off himself, sits up, swings his legs off the bed. His feet land on the floor just as a variation in the pattern of Jonny’s breathing alerts him it’s all been for nothing. Jonny is awake. Or, like, as close to awake as Jonny manages to be coffee-free and before noon. Which is not much, thank fuck.

“It’s early,” Patrick reassures him. Jonny gets real pissy when he doesn’t get his full eight hours. Patrick doesn’t want to get stuck with Captain seriously cranky and his legitimately lethal death glare on the flight back to Chicago.

Jonny hums, lids fluttering open and back closed immediately, dark lashes kissing the top of his cheekbones. Patrick expects him to just roll over and sink back deep into snoring, the man is easy like that, instead he plumps an arm over the empty space next to him and mumbles, “Come back,” so low Patrick feels the vibration of it in his belly more than with his ears. Jonny must think Patrick’s some chick, maybe his ex or the one from last night.

“Dude,” Patrick chuckles to clear his throat. This is prime chirp material. Jonny’s such a clingy loser. “It’s just me.”

The side of Jonny’s mouth that isn’t squashed into the pillow tugs up in a smile, then his eyes tremble open, searching the space in front of them for Patrick’s, as if he knew where to find him, as if he weren’t surprised. It’s a bit like being punched but with weird, devastating gentleness. Patrick’s left breathless and dazed, a slow ache spreading below his ribs. “Sorry,” he says, legs moving on their own accord. “Sorry, gotta piss.”

Jonny flops onto his belly and sprawls across Patrick’s side of the bed. With a sigh, he hugs Patrick’s pillow to his face. “Be quick,” he whines—or maybe not. It’s muffled and Patrick is already halfway out the door so he can’t be sure. It doesn’t really matter.

***

“Where’s Tazer?” Duncs asks in lieu of good morning when Patrick shows up at breakfast almost two hours later, no captain in tow.

Patrick chomps on a hunk of strawberry toast and shrugs. Contrary to popular belief, no clause in his contract bids him constant awareness of Jonny’s whereabouts.

Duncs squints, clearly feeling entitled to a degree of eloquence involving efforts of the verbal variety and resenting their lack.

“Don’t tell me he’s sick,” Shawzy says.

The legs of Stromer’s chair screech against the floor as he scoots away from Patrick. He ends up almost in Brinsky’s lap. “It better not be catching.”

“Oh my god,” Patrick puffs the words fat with annoyance. “He’s sleeping. I mean, I guess he...” He is for sure. No chance Jonny is still waiting. If Patrick barged back into his room right now, Jonny would laugh, would tell him to stop trying to make things weird. Patrick knows this rationally. Yet some spiked grip squeezes his insides with the same vicious strength of an anaconda trying to crush itself a snack.

People can’t die from upset conscience, can they? Especially not if the upset is unquestionably misplaced, right?

“I mean,” Patrick snaps after a second, “the fuck do I know.”

Duncs eyebrows shoot halfway across his forehead.

“Whoa,” Stromer gasps.

“Wait,” Shawzy says. “Are mum and dad fighting?”

Patrick grinds his molars. Everyone’s so fucking pressed. It’s not like Jonny is a regular at team breakfasts. In fact, unless attendance is mandatory, Jonny prefers to limit the number of people upon which he inflicts the ghastly spectacle of his slow de-zombification to a minimum.

Patrick casts his mind back to the last time the two of them didn’t resort to room-service during game trips. He dredges up both no recollection of that happening in years and the stomach-sinking hunch that maybe this is weird. Maybe he should have gone back. Maybe that would have been the normal thing to do.

“Shut up,” he says, to the voice in his head and everyone else. He grabs a pitcher of coffee and fills his cup until it brims. “Don’t talk to me. I’m waking up.”

“He’s rubbed off on you,” Shawzy appraises.

He’s more right than he’d probably care to know—nope. Patrick yanks his thoughts away before they can trip over that precipice and splat into the phantom embrace of Jonny’s body and its heft, its warmth, its neediness.

“Shut up,” he repeats, and with big emphatic motions designed to put a period on the conversation, he whips out his phone. He trusts the mindless scrolling will work its time-warping, mind-numbing magic and when he’ll look up next, all the weird will have been purged from this day.

Between sips of coffee, he pores through the stats for the last game, skims the emails in his inbox and rage-reads a review trashing the new Twilight book. He considers sending the link to Erica so he can vent about the snobby assholes who think they’re smarter than everyone else just because all the books they read are boring as fuck, but she’s probably at work already. He scrolls through his contacts. The one of the chick from last night jumps out. Her name’s Chelsea, which is pretty lucky. She was hot, Patrick recons, and thinking that feels normal. Feels safe. Feels like something Patrick would love to feel more of, thank you very much.

Hi, he types, riding the spur of the moment. This is Patrick from last night.

Stupid and risky, his inner Jonny warns. Never give your number to one night stands. Patrick ignores him and for the sake of clarity and glory, adds, The one who made you see god with his tongue.

“Look who’s joining us,” Shawzy’s voice announces just then.

Patrick’s gaze springs up, landing squarely across Jonny’s chest. Patrick knows it’s Jonny’s chest even though he doesn’t let his gaze climb up to the face attached to it for confirmation. The chest is sailing across the breakfast hall toward Patrick. Well, not toward Patrick specifically. Toward Patrick and the rest of the guys.

“Morning,” Jonny mumbles, dropping his scrambled eggs on the table and his ass between Seabs and Crow.

Patrick’s phone chimes.

well hello patrick 😜

“Slept well?” Shawzy probes, feigning innocence. Patrick’s hackles rise.

“I guess,” Jonny says.

Patrick allows himself another quick glance. Jonny looks good, which means like his usual self, which means nothing like a dude who went through the transformative experience of witnessing his best friend o-face. It’s kind of annoying, actually. Patrick’s nerves are all fried. He’s half-convinced in the right light anybody could look at him and simply—tell. Patrick Kane got off with another dude in the room and enjoyed it. For a blink he’s fourteen and trying to fight a guy almost double his size who called him a cocksucker, that slammed him against the boards and told him not to bother standing up since everyone knows he does his best work from his knees.

His phone chimes again.

“Tell me the truth.”

totally hit me up again next time ur back here

“What?”

Patrick’s heart rate spikes. Would Jonny even be up for it?

Won’t be for the rest of the season :(, he types.

Maybe things feel weird because threeways are a novelty, maybe they just have to work up an immunity. People have threeways all the time and afterward their lives go on undisrupted. But if you’re ever in Chicago… his fingers are so clammy they smudge the screen when he hits send. He reaches for his cup.

“Did you keep our Kaner up all night?”

Patrick’s head jerks up.

“What?” Jonny says, flat.

For the first time since Patrick sneaked out on him, they make direct eye contact.

Shawzy drones on in the background, “Saw you trying to score that hot--”

It last precisely long enough for a sip of coffee to get its lanes mixed as it plunges down Patrick’s throat and somehow u-turn its way out of his body through the nostrils.

Patrick’s lungs try their best to turn inside out.

“Dude,” Shawzy says.

Stromer slaps Patrick’s back a couple of times, hard.

Duncs throws a handful of paper napkins in his general direction and winces in open disgust as Patrick snatches one mid-air and uses it to dab at the liquid leaking out of him. “Gross.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Patrick informs them tartly between fits of coughing. Some treacherous asshole on his right is fucking cackling. He sweeps the table with an encompassing glare and catches Jonny’s eyes again, all dark with concern. The back of Patrick’s neck prickles with embarrassment. “I’m fine,” he repeats, steadier, and Jonny looks away so Patrick does too, hurriedly withdrawing like from the touch of something scalding.

He zeros in on Chelsea’s new message.

might fly in for a couple of weeks around christmas actually

Patrick latches on to the conversation, blocking out his surroundings, trying his hardest to look busy. Fuck everyone and Jonny too.

We could catch up then if you have time ;)

totally 👅🔥🍆🔥, she texts. And after a moment, say hi to porn dick from me btw

Who?

🙄

Patrick bristles. For some reason, the thought of this random stranger sitting around with her head full of pictures of Jonny’s dick makes him hitch. His chest riots with some misguided protective instinct. Jonny would be insufferably smug if he knew, no doubt about it. It’s not that big.

it is! 100% porn worthy

You don’t know what you’re talking about

???

I’m just saying, are chicks even into that? he writes, just to be an asshole but also because he’s pretty sure chicks hate porn. It’s supposed to be a feminism thing. Erica once made him a whole speech about it or whatever.

big dicks? They are

Haha

their also into porn btw this aint the middle ages AND they have way better taste in it then men

Can you prove it? he asks, hoping it sounds flirty and not confrontational. He wants this chick to bang him again but not over the head with a blunt instrument.

maybe if u stop trying to outdick ur bf with ur personality ill send you some recs

“Who are you texting?”

Patrick elbows his cup off the table and scrambles to catch it before it crashes against the floor. “Fuck,” he mutters, shaking his coffee-soaked hand.

Jonny laughs and at the sound, Patrick’s heart stumbles, then sprints up his throat. “You’re a mess,” Jonny says. He stole Stromer chair.

“Yeah, no, fuck off.”

Stromer is nowhere to be found. He and the rest of the guys must have migrated to the lobby. Patrick picks up the phone from where he abandoned it to make the save and shoves it deep into his pocket just as it pings.

Jonny quirks an eyebrow. He’s smiling.

It feels like Patrick trudged around all morning with a lead rib-cage before the universe caught the glitch. The sudden slack from gravity makes him giddy. “Don’t be nosy.”

“I’m not!” Jonny protests, all put upon outrage. He flicks Patrick on the hand. “Just saying, team’s gonna suffer if you sprain a thumb.”

A laugh bubbles up Patrick’s chest, loud and easy, and just a little embarrassing.

For a moment, Jonny looks impossibly pleased but then he catches himself. “Everything alright, yeah?” he asks, turning bashful. His eyes drift to the small heap of crumbs he’s sweeping together with his pinkie.

Patrick nudges his thumb against the back of Jonny’s hand. “Yeah. You?”

Jonny’s lips curl up at the corners. “Of course,” he says, looking up, gaze dark and soft.

Of course, of course, of course. Jonny would never let anything happen to them. Patrick stomach flutters. “Okay,” he smiles, dimples out, and Jonny beams back. Time goes fuzzy as they stare at each other in silence—until the ping of an incoming text makes them both startle.

“Again?” Jonny bitches. A moment later, his forehead creases and he puts his serious face on, “Everything okay with your sisters?”

“Yeah, no. It’s not--” Jonny’s eyes flicks to Patrick’s mouth. Patrick hadn’t realized he’d been chewing on his bottom lip. He stops and it tingles, his own breath turning chilly enough to sting as it laps over the bite. “Just-- the chick from last night,” Patrick’s tongue says forgoing any input from his brain. It’s fine. It’s whatever.

“Oh,” Jonny says.

The world keeps rolling. Unfortunately, so does Patrick’s tongue, “Yeah. She’s cool. She was fun.”

“She was okay.”

Patrick can’t believe the understatement. “Okay? Just that? You’ve got some tough standards, man. She was--” as he searches for the right adjective, it suddenly hits him that Jonny has more experience, at least when it comes to threeways. It’s fucking unfair, but entirely possible, the mind-blowingest sex of Patrick’s life would barely chart as okay for Jonny. While he was dating Lindsay, the two of them got up to some kinky shit, Patrick’s pretty sure. Not that he spent any time thinking about it. He licks his lips. “It was hot, right?”

Jonny scoffs. What an asshole.

“Fuck you.”

“It was hot,” he grants. His cheeks are turning pink. He means it.

It feels like scoring the game-winner in the Stanley Cup final. The rush of triumph makes him cocky. “Hotter than the one you had with Lindsay?”

Jonny scoffs again, to Patrick infinite delight. “It was!” Patrick surmises.

“Lindsay’s hotter than her.”

“No way,” he is so offended on Chelsea’s behalf, he barely registers the deflection. Lindsay dumped Jonny. No matter how she looks, her insides must be rotten. Patrick hates that Jonnys is still hung up on her. He kicks Jonny’s foot to make sure he has his attention. “Maybe we should try again. Chelsea’s coming to Chicago around Christmas.”

“Is she?” Jonny kicks him back. “You two move fast.”

“She’s got family there, I think.”

“Sure,” he sounds skeptical. He admitted it was hot, why wouldn't he want a rematch? He and Patrick and some hot chick, she doesn’t even have to be Chelsea, she can be whoever. Small and blonde, like Jonny likes.

“Or we could find someone else,” Patrick says, growing more committed to the idea each second it lives in his brain. “Just go out and see what happens.”

“You think that’s smart?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I think you’re boring.” He goes in for the kill, “Captain serious.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’d even let you pick, I don’t care.”

“Starting to sound a bit desperate there, Kaner,” Jonny flashes his most punchable smirk, the one that’s a little lopsided and always makes Patrick squirm.

Patrick starts a mental list of ways to wipe it off his face. Maybe if he shoved two fingers up Jonny’s nose… “What?” he asks, kind of distracted.

“I’m just saying, If you want to see me naked that bad, you only have to--”

“Fuck you,” Patrick sputters. “I was being generous. Bros before hoes or whatever.”

“I’m telling Erica you said that.”

The thought is terrifying. “Don’t,” Patrick shrieks, so loud people in their proximity stop mid-munching to give them the stink eye.

It’s their cue to clear off, a pretty timely one, considering they barely make it on the bus. They’d probably be yelled at, if they weren’t Kane and Toews.

Jonny saunters past Colliton’s glare and flops down next to Seabs. Patrick takes the two seats right behind, stretching out until he’s almost horizontal.

He checks his phone. Chelsea sent him a text and a link. The texts says, one of them looks a bit like your boy. you’re welcome. The link-- Patrick slaps the phone face down on his thigh.

“You okay there, Kaner?” Jonny asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Patrick feels his ears burn redder than the Hawks home jersey. “Yeah, no. Real peachy.”

#belle #i KNOW i have a tag for my writing #but rn i'm blanking #??????#stuff i wrote

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deadlygoddess85 · 4 years ago

Text

Rooftop intimacy

Pairing: Wooyoung x chubby reader (yes ‘cause F* your beauty standards)

Words: 1754

Genre: Smut , enemy to lover (kinda)

Song suggestion: Wicked Games - The Weeknd

No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be real.

You tried to turn the doorknob again. But it wouldn’t budge. You tried again and again. You started to bang on the door and scream for help, waving your hands at the windows on the other side of the street, in the hope someone would maybe see you.

“Stop, it’s useless!” the voice said visibly annoyed by your panic. You leaned your head on the metal door and sighed, of all the person in the world, you had to be stuck on this roof with him. Wooyoung!

“At least, I’m trying something.” You replied, giving him a quick glance. The young man, who was sitting on the floor, back against the parapet, his legs bent toward his chest, threw his hands in the hair, defeated by your stubbornness,

You tried again the same pattern, the doorknob, the banging, the screams, the waving. Then, you gave up. You leaned your back against the door and slid down on the floor.

“Fucking finally!” The young man exclaimed exasperated. You gave him a look.

“Oh, shut up, it’s your fault if we’re trap here” you shout at him.

“Hey, I didn’t know the door would close and lock itself.” He replied. You scoffed at his answer, it was basic knowledge to make sure a roof door wouldn’t close behind after you walked out, but you didn’t expect him to know, there was only his little person that was important to him.

“Why do you hate me so much anyway?” he asked. His question made you giggled.

“Wow! Where to start.” You replied.

“What? You don’t like that I’m popular now? We’re not in kindergarten anymore Y/N, grow up!”

You sneered at his remark “Don’t be so full of yourself,”

“What is it then? Oh right, you hate people. You’re all black and death now” he was referring to your gothic look, that you started to wear once you started College.

“I don’t hate people; I hate guys like you.”

“Well, that’s a shame. If you’d like us more, maybe you’d get laid and you wouldn’t be such a bitch. Oh, I forgot! No one would want to fuck a fat bitch like you.” He shouted but instantly regret it. He didn’t mean to say these words, but it was already too late.

His words pierced your heart, hurting you deep. You took a long breath, trying to retain the tears that were pooling in your eyes from falling.

“You’re an asshole Wooyoung.” You said before getting up to sit further from him. As soon as you sit back down on the ground, silent tears started to fall.

In all truth, you didn’t hate him that much, you were best friends before College after all. But you did hate the type of guy he was becoming. The perfect popular jock all the girls wanted to be with, and all the boys wanted to be like. And you hated that he preferred his popularity over your friendship.

The sun was setting, and the air got colder as the wind started to blow its brisk autumn breeze. You curled on yourself trying to warm up, but it was in vain. You started to shiver, mentally cursing at yourself for leaving your hoodie downstairs and deciding to wear a skirt in October.

Suddenly, you felt an unusual warmth on your shoulder.

“Here, take this.” Wooyoung said as he put his hoodie on you. A part of you wanted to take the piece of clothes off your body and throw it in his face, but you were too cold. You quickly thanked him before you warped yourself into the thick shirt. Woo’s warmth engulfed you with a strange comfort, the sent of his cologne tickled your nose and made you feel weirdly safe.

The young man sat next to you and he tried to put an arm around your shoulders to pull you to him. He scoffed and sighed heavily when he felt you resist,

“Oh, come on! I know you are cold. Come here!” he pulled you harder, wrapping an arm around your waist, nonchalantly resting it on your hip. The proximity and the familiarity of his touch made your inside twitch. You stayed like this, all snuggled up until his low voice broke the silence

“I-I’m sorry about what I said.” He started, his voice soft, almost like a whisper. “You’re not a fat bitch”

You chuckled, “Well, I am fat” you said grabbing the thick flesh of your thigh in your hand, pulling your skirt maybe a little too high, showing the curve of your butt. The young man looked at your curves and he swallowed deep.

“I-I think you’re sexy” he shrugged. “I always thought you were much sexier than any other girls at school” You looked at him surprised, not certain if you heard him well. He gave you one of his sexy smirks, making your arousal stained your underwear. You blushed, looking down, but he wrapped your chin in his fingers and lifted your head to look at you in the eyes. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, before he leaned in connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

“Woo…” you involuntarily moaned when his mouth moved to your neck, sucking sweet purple bruises on your sensitive skin. The young man swiftly pulled you over so you could straddle his hips. Wooyoung moved his hands pass the hem of your skirt, sliding up your thighs, to your supple ass, kneading it gently. You started to gently rock your hips. The feeling of the growing bulge against your dripping clothed core made you whimper. The flimsy material of your panties already soaked by your sweet arousal was slowly rubbing along your sensitive slit.

“You sound so pretty baby” he mumbled against your neck, he sank his teeth in the tender flesh of your shoulder, not too hard but with enough pressure to make you weep.

“I thought you hated me” you said panting, moving your hips a bit faster, adding more pressure with every move. Wooyoung was already so hard under you, you thought his dick would rip his pants.

“Oh Princess, I never hated you.” His lips found their way on your collarbone, earning another whimper from you.

Woo’s hands snaked up under the hem of your shirt his fingertips brushed the silky skin of your tummy and it quickly made you uncomfortable. You pushed his hands off and stopped moving. Surprise by the sudden change of mood, Wooyoung frowned,

“Is everything ok? Did I hurt you?”

You blushed covering your belly with your hands, “I’m fine, it’s just…”

Seeing you trying to cover yourself, Woo simply smirk. He moved your hands, putting them around his shoulder, his eyes looked deep in yours,

“Don’t cover yourself Princess.” he tugged your shirt over your head, tossing it beside him, revealing your gorgeous plump breast covered by a black lace bra. He bit his lips and hummed in appreciation, “You’re so sexy baby,” he said before he attacked the delicate skin of your breast with delicious nibbles and bites.

You didn’t mind the cold as Wooyoung had you wrapped in his arms, the warmth radiating from his body and the heat you were feeling from your make-out were enough to keep you warm.

Taken by a new confidence, one of your hand slid down to his crotch and gently massage his painfully hard length still covered by his pants. Woo moaned between your breast; his hips bucked up onto your hand to get more friction. Unsatisfied with the thick material of his jeans, you unzipped them, and pulled them down along with his boxer. Woo’s hard cock sprang on his stomach.

You stared at his hardness as you reached out and delicately wrapped your fingers around it. Woo felt the shiver of excitement run up his body the moment you touched him. You started moving your hand slowly up and down

The young man hissed at the feeling of your hand on him. He felt his face grow hot and his stomach begin to tingle, “I want you so bad Princess…”

His palms found your hips. You moved them at his touch, while you brought your face to his and kissed him again, deeply, passionately. You didn’t wait any longer as you placed your arm between your two bodies, pulling your soaked panties to the side and holding him in place. You maneuvered your hips to engulf him slowly. Your fingertips sank into his shoulder as you threw your head back,

“Oh, my god”

You’ve been with other guys before, but they were never as big as Woo. This felt amazingly good and you felt like you needed more. You kept your eyes on Woo’s as you began to move, rocking your hips slowly. He looked so pretty with his hooded eyes, mouth slightly agape and his small moans flowing off his lips. It was pure honey to your ears.

“You feel so good Princess, you’re taking me so well” his words came out as a whimper. They had the desired effect, nevertheless, making you clench your velvet walls around him. Encouraged by your sounds, Wooyoung began to thrust into you. His pace was steady and deep, hitting the right spot every time,

“Shit, Woo please, don’t stop please” That last ‘please’ was almost a whisper.

“You’re such a goddess!”

He kept his pace as he felt your body go tight, your core clenched hard around him. You continue to rock your hips on him, matching his rhythm, bringing you even closer to the edge of your high. He groaned as you moaned loudly and climaxed around him, latching yourself onto him.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna c-cum” he moaned

He felt himself build up very quickly and he groaned loudly as his arms wrapped around you tightly. He pushed in deep to release himself inside you, painting your silky walls with long string of white seeds.

When the moment of ecstasy passed, you both remained where you were, breathing heavily and your lips met once more with a greater passion for one another. Wooyoung leaned his forehead against yours, his fingertips slowly running on your back,

“That was a nice way to bury the hatchet.”

You giggled at his words and nodded.

“It sure was”

Wooyoung kept his arms wrapped around you, he smiled and wiggled his eyebrows while whispering in your ears,

“Seems like we are going to be stuck here for a while, what about second round, Princess?”

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“I don’t know for you but I just love a good Wooyoung smut ;) “

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#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung angst #wooyoung x reader #smut #fluff #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fluff #kpop angst

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wintersxsoul · 6 years ago

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Gentle Touch

Summary: Bucky would do anything to protect you, even from himself. But what he never realized is that you didn’t want to be away from him.

Pairing/s: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, self-loathing, self harm, etc.

A/N: This is my entry for @wxntersoldiers 4k writing challenge, my prompt was a line from one of my favorite songs: I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck. Congratulations Layla, you deserve all the love in the world and I love you sooo much. This was a bit hard to write because it kinda hits close to home cause I’m a dumbass like Bucky as well. I hope you enjoy and a reblog would be sooo nice. Love you all.

Taglist and Masterlist are on my bio.

He remembers your soft laugh, how your giggles filled his hollow chest, melting away all the coldness and bitterness inside. Bucky found himself thinking about you more than he should, after all, he was the Winter Soldier, he couldn’t give you what you needed. He was the broken hollow shell of the man he used to be, the man you could have loved.

But he couldn’t be more wrong, because deep down, you loved him as well. Bucky carried his sleep deprived body through empty silent halls every night, the memories of a forgotten past resurfacing when he least expected them too. Sometimes he dreamt about his family, his home in Brooklyn. Memories of a blond scrawny kid laughing, the cushings of the couch on the floor, both of them laughing innocently at something he could not longer remember. Some nights the memories were of war, of his fellow comrades, the Howling Commandos. But most nights he woke up screaming in terror after remembering what HYDRA had done to him, what he had done to humanity for over 50 years. Bucky had awful nights, but he held onto the memories he had of you, all the moments you two shared. He sometimes woke up because he felt your hand holding his, caressing his palm with your fingers, drawing patterns that you knew relaxed him.

Some nights, you found yourself crawling to Bucky’s bed silently, the solitude of your room being too hard to bare. He pretended not to notice that you always drew patterns on his back with your fingertips to soothe you, the warmness of his skin putting you back to sleep. He hated the fact that he needed you to sleep soundly, he needed you close to keep his sanity, to recover his own self again.

The days were better, he was usually sarcastic and funny, always having new witty answers for Sam and Nat, he was himself around Steve and you, he felt like he belonged.

But then the memories flooded his mind, the blood, screams, fire and gunshots he could never shake off him. They were part of who he was and the reason he could never tell you how much he loved you.

Bucky was so in love with you it even hurt to look at you, but he thought that you could never love the Soviet assassin he still was. After spending plenty of sleepless nights, Bucky realized that he had to push you away, he had to for his own sanity. He couldn’t deal with the fact that he had fallen in love with you, the only feeling he couldn’t control, he could not keep at bay. He started slowly, almost unnoticeable to you. He stopped glancing at you from across the room, he stopped himself from daydreaming about your soothing hands on his scarred skin keeping his mind occupied with mission reports, he even started flinching when you brushed your fingers against his. The first time he did that, he saw the deep pain in your eyes, the fear and rejection clouding your watery eyes.

This emotional denial went on for weeks and once Bucky knew he could control himself, he started avoiding you physically. He, of course, knew you too well to know you wouldn’t notice something was up, so he just avoided the places he knew you’d be but still hung out with the rest of the team. Everything was just a sad casualty to you, but for him, it was a very detailed plan he couldn’t fail to follow. He couldn’t fail his mission. Months went by and without noticing, there was an abyss between Bucky and you. When you were at home, he was out on a mission and when he came back, you had to go. Fate was being cruel with you, there was no other logical explanation as why you missed your best friend so much even though you lived three doors apart.

You sighed heavily, pushing your tired and injured body towards your room. It was around 3 AM so the hallway was deadly silent, the only thing that could be heard were your heavy footsteps and your ragged breathing. That’s when you heard it, an anguished cry coming from his room, the deep pain he was feeling froze your heart, the coldness spreading all over your chest. Your legs moved instantly towards his room, all rational thinking thrown aside. You held the doorknob and tried to open it, but it was locked from inside. Something was wrong, why would Bucky lock his door? He was still screaming inside, and since you couldn’t open the door, you called out his name, not caring about the rest of residents at that moment. You cried banging at the door, begging for him to open it so you could help him, but the door stayed closed, the screaming fading into what you understood as sobs. You pressed your forehead against the cool surface, hot tears streaming down your face, the ache in your heart growing stronger every time he let out a loud sob. You pressed your cold hand against his door and whispered “please”, knowing it was just heard by yourself. Bucky stood up and approached the door silently, his heart heavy due to the deep sorrow the nightmare gave him. He pressed his forehead to the door, his flesh hand moving towards a spot in the door, not knowing yours was just there, separated by the wooden door. His nightmares had worsened since he started avoiding you, vivid dreams on how the Winter Soldier killed you, how he killed you. Bucky knew you were still in front of his door, waiting for him to open the door and let you in again, but he couldn’t. You sighed heavily, the pain still fresh on your aching heart, you dropped your hand to your side and took a step back, you had to stop doing this to yourself.

You couldn’t go to the next mission assigned because your body was pushed against its limits on the last one, so Fury told you to stand back and rest. Bucky didn’t know this, so he thought you were out on a mission and one morning, he entered the kitchen and found you there, sipping on your coffee looking like a mess. His heart wrenched at the sight of you, your arms and legs covered in bruises, a deep cut on your lip and your left cheek. You turned around when you felt someone looking at you, your eyes widening when you saw him. He could notice you were fighting back tears and he was sure that if he stayed a minute longer, he would break down right there in front of you.

“Hey, Buck I…” Your voice cracked, your emotions betraying you. You cursed yourself and gulped, trying to contain the pain. Bucky stared at you and shook his head, dismissing your words completely. He turned around and left the room, but before he crossed the door he could hear a soft “wait” coming from your trembling lips. He wiped his tears violently and went to the gym, he needed to let go of his anger towards himself. He couldn’t even ask you why you were so beaten up, who had done that to you, who he had to murder.

He picked up one punching bag after another, sand scattered all over the floor.

“Get your shit together, Barnes” He snarled under his breath, punching relentlessly. “You don’t deserve her.” Punch. Punch. Another punch bag broken, his flesh hand bleeding. He picked another one, placed it in its place, and started all over again.

“You fucking murderer, you really thought you could have a future.” The tears were blurring his vision, anger and pain filling up his mind. That was the 7th punch bag he broke in the hour he’d been on the training room, knuckles raw and bleeding. You were everything he could think of, how he could’ve avoided you that pain in your last mission. He could’ve ended their misery lives without batting an eye just because they dared to touch you, to harm you with their filthy hands. But, what was the difference between them and him? He growled in anger and turned to leave, but his body stiffened when he saw you staring at him, fear in your eyes. You approached him and stood in front of him, but he stepped aside and marched towards the exit.

“James, I swear if you reach that door, it will be forever.” Your voice was full of anger towards him, surprising the both of you. He turned to look at you, and the look he saw in your face sent a chill down his spine. You looked terrifying. You were wearing your tactical gear but no weapons in sight, the boots giving you more height and presence. Bucky felt small under your gaze, uncertain of what was going on through your mind.

He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, tired and angry.

“Shut the fuck, I will do the talking now. You missed the opportunity to explain yourself.” He had never seen you like this, you looked at him in a different way and now he could see why everyone said you had an unbearable cruel gaze in missions. You approached him until you were just a step away from him.

“How dare you push me out like this? How dare you.” You growled, pressing your finger to his chest angrily.

“How dare you abandon me when you needed me the most?” He stared at you in shock, his expression falling with every word you let out.

“You think I didn’t hear you every fucking night? You think I didn’t suffer with you?” You pressed both of your hands to his chest, curling them into fists, the soft material of his shirt and the heaving of his chest soothing you, the anger slowly dissipating and turning into sorrow. Your grip loosened but you kept your palms pressed against him.

“Why, Bucky?” You looked at his ocean eyes filled with tears, threatening to fall, probably mirroring your own. He moved his hands slowly and grabbed your wrists softly.

“You don’t deserve this.” His voice trembled, it was full of regret, sorrow, fear. You frowned and nodded, not truly understanding what he meant, You went to move your hands to back away but he tightened his grip a bit to make you see he didn’t want you to move. “You don’t deserve to suffer with me, you don’t deserve the heavy burden I carry.”

“What?” Your eyes widened and you felt his grip loosen so you moved a hand to your own chest, clutching it tight, trying to make his words sink in even deeper. Before you could say or do anything else, he let go of your hands and stepped back.

“Can’t you see that I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck?” Realization hit you like a truck, because his words meant something more strong than love. After all he had suffered, all the physical and emotional pain he’d been through, he still trusted you not to hurt him, he still loved you that deeply. Because that statement, that single statement, meant he loved you as well.

“Buck…” He looked at you, his gaze full of love and adoration, and you knew that whatever you said now, would never make justice to what you felt. “If I could rip my heart out and give it to you as a proof of my love, I would.”

He approached you and cupped your face with his metal arm, the coldness contrasting with the warm gesture. You leaned into his touch and looked at him lovingly. He whispered “say it” softly and before you could finish saying the three words, his lips were on yours. With that kiss, you both tried to pour all your love and affection, all the agony and misery forgotten and forgiven. Bucky was worth of your heart and soul and you were worth of his.

#Laylas4kRiot #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier x reader #self loathing #self harm #heavy angst #angst and fluff

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themockingcrows · 6 years ago

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Candy Sweet

Happy Valentines Day! Wrote a quick lil bit of not sfw ficlet on my JohnDave server and wanted to share. ;3c I’ll be posting it on ao3 as well.

cw: foodplay, oral sex

Dave makes John some special chocolates and introduces him to a fun new way of eating candy.

Chocolate. It had to be chocolate. At first glance, chocolate seems like it'd be simple to work with. Follow the directions, apply here and there into molds and blammo: chocolate in new shapes. Except no, chocolate's a bitch to work with and if you heat it too much it turns into a pile of shit visually. It took Dave two tries, fails, and frantic calls to friends to finally get the double boiler technique into practice (thank you Dirk for helping him with knowledge gleaned through watching too many valentines day weeb scenes to count).

The fruit of his efforts before John could get home was one dozen fancy chocolates, filled with just the right consistency of caramel or berry filling, and all bearing a fairly decent pattern thanks to the mold. Shit, he even fucked around and made a box to put the stuff in. John already failed to be sneaky and admitted he had something planned for valentines day. ..That obviously meant that Dave had to up his game and surprise the dork a day early.

Candies chilled, set to perfection and carefully placed in the box, Dave set about his other plan: cheesy overdone path to bedroom: done. The candles were ignored in favor of something a bit less "set the apartment on fire if we kick it by accident", lights skewing soft reds and pinks. Almost perfect. Damn near perfect.

Till John got home early, at least. Motherfucker had some issues with punctuality, he was either way early or ridiculously late, there was never an in between and there was little to be done about it but be thankful that at least the chocolates were still a surprise.

"Hey Da- uh. ...You know it's not today right?" John said, stopped by the door to toe his shoes off and chuck his bag across the room at the sofa instead of setting it down like a sensible person. "Valentine's tomorrow, your present isn't entirely ready ye-"

"I know the date, John, it's called being fashionably early."

"....That's not a thing."

"Well it fuckin' is now," Dave said, leaning down to shuck his pants and step out of them before kicking the denim to the side. "You want the fashionably early present, or do you want me to wait and be actually punctual for this? I can just as easy put my pants back on and wait, man, you're the one who doesn't want early presents, not me. Not like I went outta my way to do this early so I could surprise you or anything and make a special moment for you so your thing'd have its own stage time." And so his could be first, whoops.

"No!" John said suddenly, rushing across the room. "No, no, pants can stay off, I'm interested! Who doesn't like early presents!" He reached out to grab Dave around the hips but paused, fingers wiggling. "Er. You're part of the gift, right? I just noticed there's no bow."

"Boxers are still on, who's to say there's not a bow on my cock."

"Is there?"

"You got home early, what do you think about cock bow possibilities."

"...Okay, I'll accept less decorative dick. Are you part of the present though?"

Dave stepped back from the wiggling fingers and gestured in further to the pink toned room. "How about you strip down and I'll show you?"

Who was John to argue? That kind of a statement usually implied great shit would be following, and when Dave was involved John knew better than to ignore the opportunity. (Seriously, he'd ignored the opportunity a few times and it'd resulted in Dave waking him up at 3am to deliver the gift he'd straight up accidentally ignored, signals are hard to pick up on sometimes, okay?)

Off went the pants, off went the shirt, and with Dave's help and a few hungry kisses off went the underwear as well before he went and took a cozy seat at the head of the bed, already eager and half hard. Oh boy, what could it be? He hoped it wasn't too similar to what he had planned, but at the same time...

"...Chocolate?" John said when Dave pulled out the box and opened the lid with a grin from the side of the bed, making a show of bowing with it for presentation's sake. "Is uh. ...Dave why do I need to be naked for chocolate. I'm pretty sure I can eat those with my pants on. ...Unless there's peanut in it I guess, that'd probably make some microdifference for the epi-pen."

"All of these ones are for you," Dave said, gesturing to 3/4 of them with a fingertip. "These ones though, are for both of us."

"...You're not answering the no pants question yet, Dave."

Rolling his eyes and mumbling something about romance being dead, Dave set the box aside, dropped his final layer, and picked up a chocolate between his fingertips before moving to straddle John's thighs.

"I made these myself you know. They're tempered just right.. which means they melt pretty easy if you're not careful. I used high quality stuff, even made the filling," he said, tracing the chocolate in a gentle line from John's nose, over his lips, and down his throat before it started to melt. He used it almost like a crayon, drawing widening lines of chocolate till the berry filling leaked out as well in an arc towards his chest. "So like I said. The others are all yours. But these ones are for sharin'," Dave said as he carefully licked the stripe from John's neck and slipped his fingers into his boyfriend's mouth so he could get the rest of the chocolate and the spreading sweetness at the same time Dave's tongue cleaned the messy path it'd made as thoroughly as possible.

Oh. ...Oh, okay, John hadn't anticipated THIS kind of present. He could feel his dick twitch against Dave's stomach while he leaned and roved his tongue around, pausing here and there to suckle and bite, no doubt leaving marks more lasting than the chocolate had been. The fingers in his mouth were sweet over top the familiar taste of Dave, and his own reached down to grasp either side of the blonde's ass to hold him closer, keep him from pulling away.

Till he pulled his fingers loose to grab another chocolate at least, and showed interest in going further down with it. With a fond farewell squeeze, John released Dave and watched with rapt attention as he repeated the same process down his stomach, down his abdomen, and... to his inner thigh instead of his dick. It made his blue eyes twitch a bit, so close yet so far before he accepted the messy fingers between his lips again, Dave staring up from beneath his bangs with heavy lidded eyes. He could feel the smirk again his skin, smug, knowing just how much he was denying John but not giving anything a second faster than he wanted to.

The third piece of candy brought Dave back up to John's chest, over either nipple.

"Dave I'm dying, come on, you can't just tease me like that! It's. It's right there!!" he complained, surprised at how frantic he felt. Maybe it was the leading touch and then the licking that was doing it? He'd been teased plenty of times and it hadn't felt quite like this before, never been quite this methodical and maddening. "It's gonna turn blue and break off," John whined, complaints only stopping when fingers were once again worked into his mouth.

"You and your smurf dick can hold out for another few minutes while I enjoy my dessert, makin' this shit took all day," Dave drawled, biting a peaked nipple gentle with his teeth and tugging. Who was he kidding, his own dick was aching like crazy, but he didn't want to touch it yet. After all, there'd still be eight more candies by the time he was done with John. Who knew where the night might lead?

John's whines were cute, puppy dog eyes in full activation behind his glasses any time Dave looked up, frantic and hopeful when he pulled his fingers free to grasp the last chocolate he'd allotted himself. The trail ran along his inner thigh once more, Dave's tongue right behind it as he hummed and cleaned the sticky treat up on the fly, before finally, finally there was relief. John's whine turned to a throaty moan when he finally felt the press of candy on his dick... only to return to the whine when he didn't feel Dave's tongue right afterwards.

"Dave! Dave, come on, it's. It's sticky when you just leave it like that!"

"Yeah, it's candy."

"It's gross!"

"For a minute, chill out," Dave said lazily, tracing till he was halfway done before putting the remaining candy in his mouth and stuffing his fingers back into John's mouth before dropping down onto the head of John's dick.

He was thorough, for all the whines and shuffles that John had him working to keep up through. The candy had dissolved and disappeared, the mess had been cleaned up thoroughly already, and now all that was left was the heavy heat of cock in Dave's mouth, the faint hint of salt from pre-come and the sweet aftertaste of chocolate and berries as he bobbed his head. John's hands rose to withdraw Dave's fingers, guiding his hands to his hips instead before his own hands went to stroke at the faintly curled strands of blonde hair, trying not to buck up into his mouth as he worked.

All good things must come to an end, however. For all the lead up Dave had secured and how eager John was surprised to find himself under the loving onslaught of candy and mouth (and by now the sight of Dave's skinny hips moving as he rutted against John's legs and the air beneath him out of the need to find some friction to work himself against), John could only hold out so long. Though he tried to warn Dave, maybe have him pull up for a kiss or the sexy option of painting his face a bit and making a frosting joke, his boyfriend stayed determinedly in place and sunk even lower. When John stiffened all he had to do was hurriedly swallow to keep up, the bobbing of his head slowing till he pulled away with a few final licks. The taste of candy was gone, but it still felt just as well.

Flush faced and lively still, John waited about ten seconds for Dave to catch his breath before he shot up and rolled him, catching his wrists and drawing them up over his head as he straddled his waist.

"So. The other candies are mine, right?"

"All yours."

#johndave #davejohn #john egbert #dave strider #homestuck #not sfw #my fic

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oneddashone · 4 years ago

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Games of the Year 2020

Given that I don't think anyone reads this, especially since I've largely stopped using it for anything other than these lists, it feels silly to write an intro on "what a weird year 2020 was" or whatever. It is worth mentioning, however, that in a "normal" year, it's quite possible that my GotY would have been different.

I think every game on this list was played on the Nintendo Switch, which, aside from FIFA, is really the only device I play games on these days. I've waxed poetic about this in the past, so there's no reason to talk much more about this now. I'm really hoping a "Switch Pro" comes out next year—to me, that's much more interesting and desirable than either a PS5 or X-Box Series Whatever.

Anyway, on to the list.

***RECOMMENDED*** What the Golf Minecraft Dungeons Bubble Bobble 4 Friends Mr Driller DrillLand Carrion Panzer Paladin A Short Hike Part Time UFO Immortals Fenyx Rising

I kept a list of all the games I played this year, and more than half didn't make the cut at all, so the games in this lowest category are all still extremely worthwhile games, in my opinion. What the Golf was originally a mobile game, but I played it on the Switch and had a blast. Very funny and inventive, and more than enough "game" there, in case you were wondering. I played through and beat Minecraft Dungeons with my daughter, which was a blast. She knew all the lore, and I knew the genre, so we were genuinely able to help each other out throughout the game. The new games in the Bubble Bobble and Mr Driller franchises were largely carried by my nostalgia for them—neither was perfect, but absolutely worth the investment if you care about the series. DrillLand in particular had some surprisingly inventive takes on the established formula.

Carrion and Panzer Paladin were nice surprises when they came out. A lot was written about the former when it debuted and I don't have much to add to that conversation, but I didn't see nearly as much love for Panzer Paladin. It's a fun little retro platformer, something like a "12 bit" art style, and you play through levels in any order you want, a la Mega Man. The most interesting part of the game to me is actually the weapon management system—you get a ton of weapons throughout the game, and the real strategy lies in choosing when to break certain ones, maintaining a steady supply of good ones, and even in using them to trigger checkpoints.

I watched my friend Ben stream A Short Hike when it first came out on PC, and I was excited to finally play it myself. It didn't disappoint, and I loved the relative short length, combined with the overall carefree and relaxed vibe. My daughter played through to the end too, which was nice. Another short-ish game this year was Part Time UFO, which, like What the Golf, was a originally a mobile game. Part Time UFO was made by HAL, and it shows throughout—most obviously in that Kirby shows up in the background from time to time, but also in the overall craft and polish.

The last game in this tier is Immortals: Fenix Rising, which nearly ended up being a tier higher, but in the end it just felt better here. This is a great take on an Ubisoft BotW clone (which I mean in the nicest way possible), and the setting is fantastic, but ultimately there are some key flaws that hold it back for me. Ubisoft's seemingly insatiable appetite to Get More Money Out of the Player, even after they've purchased the game, comes to mind immediately. Requiring a login and creation of an Ubisoft account is another. You don't really think about these things when you're playing the actual game, which is great, but it ended up being enough for me to dock it a little bit in the end.

***ESSENTIAL*** Kentucky Route Zero: TV Edition One Step to Eden Streets of Rage 4 Clubhouse Games: 51 Worldwide Classics Sakuna: Of Rice and Ruin

Kentucky Route Zero is another game that I feel like has already been written about and discussed a lot, and I don't know what I have to add to that. I'm so glad it ended up on consoles—it always seemed to me like the kind of game that would be trapped on PCs forever. The one moment that will always stick out for me was when I was playing it in bed one night with the kid. We found something in our inventory that had a phone number written on the back, so, in effort to kind of indulge her and be a little goofy, I decided to actually call it. I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't the fully realized "Guide to Echo River" (voiced by Will fucking Oldham!) that we got. It was an incredible experience, one of many in this extremely beautiful, thoughtful game.

One Step to Eden introduced me to a game genre I didn't know I needed—basically, "what if deck-based roguelite, but with an action-based real-time dexterity component?" It's all well and good to create a perfect deck in something like Slay the Spire, where any nerd can take as long as they need to run their perfect calculations or whatever during their turn, but it's really something else to try and do it while dodging complex enemy attack patterns at the same time. I feel like I read that this was based off a Mega Man spin-off, but to me it felt like a breath of fresh air in the increasingly oversaturated roguelike genre (oh, but more on that later).

Streets of Rage 4 is the perfection of a genre that I thought I was completely done with, and one that I think a lot of other people were done with too. Belt-scrollers made a certain amount of game design sense when they were first introduced in arcades, what with the goal being to collect as many of your quarters as possible—but the gameplay hook suffers tremendously when there's no tangible cost to failing. And yet the team behind SoR4 breathed new life into the genre, via incredible art, animations, and music. Most importantly of course is how it feels, and the deep combat system allows players of all different skill and interest levels to get exactly as much out of the game as they put into it. A friend played this in a much deeper way than I did, chaining combos across entire levels at times—whereas I just played through twice—and yet we both came away from it completely satisfied. This is a masterpiece of the genre.

Clubhouse Games is a sequel of sorts to the DS game of the same name. The first thing I think of when recalling this game is just the incredible amount of craft that clearly went into making it. From the heavy thud of the Hanafuda cards being forcefully plopped down to the sound of marbles jostling in Mancala, every little detail of this game has been thoughtfully executed. Sure, there's a few games I played once and never wanted to play again, but mostly this collection is just an outstanding bang for your buck. It also succeeds as a kind of virtual history lesson/tour of the best and most-loved tabletop games from around the world; and, especially during a pandemic, who could say no to that?

Sakuna snuck up on me towards the end of the year. Apparently it was first announced as a PS4 exclusive, but Nintendo saw it and rightfully made a big effort to get it on its platform as well. The gameplay mostly consists of an incredibly satisfying loop of starting the day by tending to your rice field, in full 3D life sim style, and then going out and exploring levels in fairly fast-paced 2D action/platforming levels. During the 2D parts, you'll find supplies that help your rice field, and by completing tasks there you'll unlock better equipment and weapons for the platforming levels. On top of all of that, there's a night/day cycle as well as a seasonal one, which vastly changes the type and amount of work you need to do in the field each day. That might sound like a lot, but it all snaps together wonderfully, leading me to quite a few "well I'll just play one more day" long nights. Oh and I haven't even mentioned the clear reverence shown towards the surprisingly complicated act of actually growing rice—every step of the way is a different kind of mini-game, essentially, and I ended up taking a lot of pride in making the best rice that I could. This is one I'll definitely still be playing into the new year.

***RUNNER UP*** Hades

Everyone's favorite horned-up mythological roguelike ensnared me pretty deeply when the full version was released on Switch this year. I had seen snippets of it on Early Access, which was enough to pique my interest, but I was still caught pretty off-guard by just how incredible this game actually turned out to be.

I haven't talked much about story in these write-ups so far, but it's clearly the first place to start with Hades. If I had to pick one thing to set it apart from similar games, it would be how perfectly the notion of dying and restarting is to the central story of Zagreus. Every time you die in an unsuccessful run, which will be a lot early on, you're encouraged by NPCs to try again—and not only that, it makes thematic sense with—and in fact is central to—the story of the game. This completely removes the sting of feeling underpowered and kind of helpless in your early runs, and to keep playing and powering through it.

The pantheon of gods in this game will show up and offer to help by way of boons. These grant you temporary new abilities, which not only vary depending on which weapon you've picked, but will also combine with and modify other boons that you pick up in the run—not unlike the weapon synergy of Binding of Isaac, for example. The gods have their own agenda, of course, but with some experience you'll start to favor certain builds over others, and to try to and build towards a fully-optimized set of skills to tackle the underworld. Then again, sometimes you'll get something you've never seen before, and change up your tactics on the fly. It's all very rewarding and incredibly replayable.

As with a lot of roguelikes, you do carry some things forward from run to run. As you unlock all of the weapons, purchase upgrades and new abilities, and naturally start to learn how the game works and improve your own strategy, you slowly begin to feel much stronger and eventually, well, god-like. The near-perfect difficulty curve gives players of all skill levels complete control over how hard or easy to make the game for themselves. This carries over perfectly into the "Pact of Punishment" system that's unlocked after your first successful run, which lets you dial up the difficulty to frankly fiendish levels in order to, first and foremost, keep skilled players engaged, but also to provide a ton of "end-game" content for those that want to keep playing.

And really, you'll want to keep playing. The first ending is just the beginning, as the story compels you to keep playing and see how everyone's stories pan out. The NPCs are incredibly well-written and the voice-acting more than lives up to the lines they're given. I was completely invested in these characters and the fates they would have to reckon with by the end.

I got my tenth clear—the first one to roll credits—fittingly enough on attempt #69 (nice). This seemed like where the game naturally "ended," and I put it down—even though there's still a ton of previously mentioned end-game stuff I could do in the game if I wanted. But the end of Zag's main story felt so pitch-perfect, and so earned by the experience with the game overall, that I decided to leave it on that perfect high note.

***GOTY*** Animal Crossing: New Horizons

This wasn't my first Animal Crossing game (it was, I think, my...fourth?), but it was the first Animal Crossing game that a lot of my friends played, and that alone made for a different experience than I've had with the series before. In the early days of quarantine, we were visiting each other's islands every day, trading items, sharing insider tips on the Stalk Market, and just generally enjoying the game in a social way that was suddenly not allowed in day to day real life.

For the most part, that lasted for about a month. Maybe two. But I kept playing, every day, for a few reasons. First was that I have a lot of time with this series, and more or less knew what to expect going in. I didn't get disappointed when Nook's Shop was mostly just stocking items I already had, for instance. But more importantly, I knew not to burn myself out on it early on. And look, I know there's no "right" or "wrong" way to play a game, but Animal Crossing (at least to me) seems unique in that the gameplay is so clearly designed to be enjoyed in 20-30 minute, daily chunks. There's just not that much to *do* after a half hour or so, but I was seeing friends' hours totals in triple digits after just a few weeks.

Two other things unique to this entry helped keep it persistent for me, I think. One, Nintendo committed to and delivered on a regular update schedule, which kept things fresh (and safe from the naughty time travelers of the world, even). Pretty much every month, something brand new happened, and it was enough to keep my interest even after I'd donated every fossil to Blathers.

The second, and much bigger thing by far, was that my daughter started playing. She named our island ("Turtlerock") and moved in on day one. We'd talk about villagers—which ones were our favorites, which ones we wouldn't mind seeing move away—and collaborated on the city-planning of our island. I played first, and was therefor the "primary resident" or whatever it's called, but I never made a big decision without checking in with her first. We're both invested in it, and it's been a fun experience to share together over the course of the year. Hell, we even counted down the last seconds of 2020 together in local co-op.

Sure, my house is paid off, I have two million bells in the bank, and my museum is roughly 95% filled out—but I still play this pretty much every day. It's become a ritual. Usually right after work, which happens to be the best light on the island; sometimes later at night, especially during a meteor shower; and on the weekends frequently in the morning—but no matter when I'm playing, the remarkable thing to me is that here we are, nine months later—still in quarantine, and still playing Animal Crossing.

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allicekitty13 · 4 years ago

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Burning Gold: Chapter 1

Read on Ao3

It was calming in a way, the sound of the rain tapping against the windshield. The way it raced down the large window in long streaks- nature reflecting the tears streaming down her face. Most of the people she knew were upset about the inclimate weather. She wouldn't call them friends. Friends were people you could confide in, who you could rely on. Friends were those who held a place in your heart, with whom you could enjoy your time. These people were acquaintances.

That being said, Alice had always loved the rain. She adored how the air before a storm filled her with an irreplicable energy that made her heart race and never failed to leave her with an excited smile. Alice enjoyed the smell of the grass and the dirt as the clouds above darkened. She relished in the crashes of thunder and the flashes of lightning. The entire experience always left her peaceful and content.

That was why she was grateful to have her old friend the rain with her that day as she sat alone in her car, breaking down in tears. It had been another of those excruciatingly long days she was quickly becoming accustomed to. The month had been one bout of bad news after another; her ex had started dating her boss less than a month after Alice had ended things. While she didn't hold any feeling for James any longer and had gotten the dog out of the four-year relationship, seeing him with Victoria had still felt like a punch to the gut.

That was just the start of her problems; however, dumping James had left her with nowhere to go but back. She'd had no other options than to return to her father's home, a house that still felt empty without her mother. A place that was still haunted by the years of verbal abuse and blatant manipulation that had never really ended. A house that had never really felt like home after her mother passed.

She'd stayed for so long, putting her own dreams on hold to care for her sister. Cynthia was twenty now, safe miles away from their father living in a college dorm. Alice couldn't regret that decision, though. Making sure the youngest Brandon daughter made it out without bearing the brunt of their fathers anger, without any of the mental scars that Alice would be healing from for the rest of her life, was worth every extra second spent in that town.

So what was keeping her here? Her long-term relationship was ended when she had decided to end the cycle of abuse. The day Alice had realized James was no better than her father, that she had moved from one hell seeking better, only to fall into the same pattern only this time by choice had been the day she'd ended things.

The dead-end job that brought her no satisfaction, that treated her like replaceable garbage certainly wasn't worth staying for. It unquestionably wasn't her father or step-mother keeping her tied to the location. It was in that moment, as she pulled out of the parking lot of the dingy bar she worked for, that there really was nothing holding her to the small town where she'd grown up.

There was no reason to stay, to watch her life, and any chance she had of following her dreams slip away every day. She wanted to dance or draw, maybe even design. She wanted to see the world outside of that town, to travel. There was no reason to watch her future die in front of her eyes anymore. She was so very tired of being pushed around desperately seeking worth living for, of not standing up and demanding more for herself. It was time for a change.

So maybe that was why, as she smiled at her dog Bowser safely in the backseat, she didn't take a left at the intersection back to her father's home, choosing instead to keep going straight. Why she continued driving aimlessly for twelve hours, stopping only to get gas or let Bowser use the restroom. Why she kept driving until the car broke down outside Dublin, Texas.

This was, unfortunately, something she hadn't accounted for in her spontaneous decision to run away. Alice had known the shitty 01' Lumina was on its last legs; she had known she was running low on cash. The excitement of her reckless actions was quickly wearing off as the reality of what she had done was setting in. She was now stranded alongside a lonely, rarely used highway hundreds of miles from home with no idea where she was, only a few hundred dollars to her name, and no one she knew to help her.

She popped the hood putting all of her limited knowledge on vehicles to the test, cursing her father for not teaching her more about car maintenance. It wasn't as though she hadn't asked, she had numerous times, but his response had always been 'If you're ever in trouble, you can always call your daddy to help you.' A thinly veiled manipulation tactic meant to prevent her from doing exactly what she had done in running away.

"Jokes on him, isn't it Bowser." She joked half-heartedly to the basset hound, who stared at her from the cracked open passengers' side window, oblivious to the precarious situation they were currently in.

Despite her attempt at good humor, things weren't looking good. The engine was smoking; the air smelled sulfuric, almost like fireworks. This was something far beyond fixing roadside, even if she did have any knowledge of vehicle maintenance.

She was preparing to inform Bowser they had a long walk ahead of them when a white truck, the first vehicle she'd seen in the twenty minutes she'd been there, drove past, slowed down, and backed up. The truck pulled up alongside the road in front of her and out stepped quite possibly the most attractive man she had ever seen. He was tall, very tall towering over Alice's short stature. His pale blonde hair cut short in the back with bangs barely brushing his eyes showed signs of being slightly curly if allowed to grow out.

As he approached, she seriously reconsidered her recent declaration to never date again as this man was a snack.

"You alright there, ma'am?" He asked her, taking off his cowboy hat presumably in a gesture of politeness. His voice was slightly gravely with a thick Texan accent; she wondered if it was possible to be attracted to someone's voice as she took a moment to collect herself. Being approached by a stranger alone on the side of the highway in a strange area was not the time for sexy cowboy fantasies; that was how people got murdered.

"Yeah, I'm good; thanks for stopping."

"Your engine is literally smoking..."

"It's cool, my very vicious attack dog and I are gonna walk to a nearby mechanic." She felt confident in the assertion until she glanced back at the car where Bowser was drooling in his seat and not at all concerned by the situation.

"Ma'am, it's ninety-six degrees, and the nearest town is ten miles out. Look..." He reached into his pocket to pull out a very worn brown leather wallet. He took out a business card to hand to her. "My sister is a mechanic; let me drive you into town. She'll get you fixed up and on your way."

She thought over her options; on the one hand, she could accept a ride from a stranger who literally had a mechanic's business card. He seemed genuine, but Alice was a little doubtful of her ability to judge character at the moment... after everything with James turning out to be just as fake and manipulative as her father. On the other, she could walk to town, which was apparently quite aways away with Bowser, who was seemingly useless as an attack dog.

"Fine," She conceded, but if you murder me, I'm gonna be pissed."

"I'm not gonna murder you, ma'am."

"That's exactly what a murderer would say." She scoffed, grabbing Bowser, her phone, and her purse from the messy car before making her way over to the much larger truck. She made an honest attempt at climbing in, but unfortunately, her height made it difficult.

"Would you like some help there, ma'am?" It was a question she'd been asked numerous times; Mississippi was filled with vehicles like this. It usually came with a tone that clearly made fun of her height and found humor in the situation. This man asked in a genuinely caring way proposing the offer with nothing other than the intent to help. As she bucked herself in and made sure Bowser was safely situated, she thought to herself that maybe this guy wasn't that bad.

#Jalice #jasper hale #alice cullen #Twilight #twilight fic

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best-left-hook-jones · 7 years ago

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It Is Not Yet Evening (11/?)

A/N: First things first, I am absolutely ecstatic to reveal the new cover art for this fic! I’m so grateful to @mrs-emma-swan-jones for taking time to make this wonderful artwork (I honestly can’t stop staring at it!!). Even if you don’t follow this story, everyone needs to send a lot of love her way :) Secondly, because I received this fantastic piece of inspiration, I went a bit overboard with this chapter and you’ll be getting a lot more bang for your buck. Enjoy!

Summary: Historical AU. It is 1917, and with the Russian empire on the verge of collapse, Emma - a former maid for the Imperial family - means to escape the imminent revolution and start a new life in London. Desperately fleeing the Bolsheviks and armed with fake documents and a new identity, she sets out to find the mysterious man with the power to grant her her freedom. But the road to Moscow is a treacherous one, and a chance encounter with a wealthy British businessman may change her life forever.

Words: 54,454

AO3: It Is Not Yet Evening

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Nikolayevsky Station; March 15th, 1917. 12:47pm.

He had wanted to speak to her about what had happened on the platform. It had seemed like she was nearing to kiss him, he was almost certain that she had been, but every time he looked at her now, all he saw was sadness. It was almost as though she could read his mind, see what had been meaning to ask her and pitied him for thinking that her motives were anything but innocent.

In a way, he wished that they had been. Killian was the first to admit that he had been far from celibate since Milah’s death, but all of the women before had been faceless, nameless distractions that had eased the ache. Nothing had made his heart race quite like the near kisses he had almost shared with Emma. It was terrifying.

He liked Emma. His heart certainly didn’t belong to her, but he couldn’t deny that he liked her. After all, what was not to like? She was beautiful, intelligent, funny and had a good heart that he was still trying to uncover. Any man would be lucky to have her, and Killian had no doubt that one day, someone deserving of her love would win her heart. A far better man than Killian Jones, that was for certain.

It was a harsh reality, but it wasn’t any less true. He had been resolute in his plan at the beginning; he was going to help her get to her destination, receive similar help in return, and perhaps flirt a little bit. There was no harm in that, surely. It wasn’t as if he were somehow growing feelings for her, was it?

It made him nearly squirm that the answer was no longer a sure ‘no’.

Killian let out a breath and rested his forehead against the double layer of thick glass. Emma had immediately requested use of the cabin to change her clothes when they had boarded the train, and Killian had of course obliged. He had tried pacing to clear his mind, wearing down the already threadbare carpet, but when that had proved ineffective he had given up. Leaning against the wooden panelled walls, Killian tried to make out the blurred objects rushing past the window, but even with the added sunlight, it was impossible.

When he was summoned back inside the room a few minutes later, Emma was curled up on her bench, nose deep inside a book. She had exchanged her simple black skirt for one that was a deep crimson, and her simple white blouse had been swapped for one that was patterned with small roses of the same red. Killian couldn’t help but gawk; red was certainly her colour.

She glanced up from her page as he sat down across from her.

“Would you like to change now?”

Killian thought about it. He hadn’t changed his clothes since the night before, but in order to dress, Emma would need to leave the room, and Killian didn’t want to disturb her for something so trivial. Not when she looked so comfortable, her feet tucked up under her.

“Perhaps later,” he said with a shrug. Emma immediately returned to her book, thumbing through the pages to her spot. He couldn’t tell what the book was - the words on the cover were clearly written in Russian - and by the look of determined concentration on her face as she scanned the text, now was not the right time to ask.

Not sure what to do, but half-certain that Emma was actively trying to do anything else but converse with him, Killian brought out his own book and tried to read. They sat in silence for the next two hours as the train made its final approach into Moscow. He half expected her to say something when they finally pulled up to the platform, but instead, he found himself packing his bags in further silence.

They were halfway through the station, following the thick crowd through the tall, arched exits, when Killian finally had enough.

“Swan, are you avoiding me?”

She stopped, her eyes widening in surprise. At least he had gotten her attention.

“I am not avoiding you. I have a million things on my mind.”

It was a weak excuse, a reflex garnered from years of practice. For whatever reason, her walls seemed to be back up. He wanted to scream.

“Is that all?” He pressed, his voice as even as he could make it.

Emma looked as though she were about to argue - or worse, deflect again - but something made her pause. She returned his gaze, her lips pursed in contemplation as she mulled something over in her mind. Finally, she looked away, sighing in a way that indicated she was about to share something she had hoped to keep to herself.

“And,” she continued, “perhaps our discussion about the Imperial family earlier set me ill at ease.”

“The family?” He asked, confused.

“I left many loved ones behind yesterday. It makes me nervous, knowing that it may be a long time until I receive word from them.”

Though the words surprised him, they didn’t necessarily ring false to his ears.

“Of course, lass,” he responded, hanging his head. “My apologies for thinking otherwise.”

He had worried that she regretted being with him - agreeing to be his translator. If he was honest, he had also been afraid that their near kisses - twice, now - had been weighing on her mind, and her silence meant that she simply couldn’t decide on how to let him down gently.

How selfish to think that he should occupy her thoughts as often and she occupied his. How arrogant could he be that he should think he was somehow worth her worry. He wanted to curse himself for his stupidity.

“Where are you meeting him?”

Her words drew him from his thoughts, and his scowl turned into a look of confusion.

“Your partner,” she quickly clarified. “You said he would be expecting you here.”

“Oh, yes. Right.”

He scrambled for the little folded note in his breast pocket that Will had given him before he had left. Even through his partner’s terrible handwriting he could make out the swirled letters of the restaurant that he was meant to go to upon arrival.

The White Rabbit.

“Cheeky,” Emma commented, reading through the list of instructions she’d been given.

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Yes, well just wait until you meet him.”

Emma handed him back his note and they set off to find a driver.

It took a few minutes, but soon they were on their way, their luggage packed away in the boot of a jittery little cab that sounded as though it was practically wheezing in the thick snow. After about twenty minutes, the driver chirped out some instructions, glancing into the back mirror at the pair. They had arrived at the pedestrian only street - the Arbat - and would need to walk from here. It mattered little; the weather seemed to be much more pleasant that it had been in days, and after being cooped up in a small cabin for a day, Killian had to admit that the long stroll would do them both some good.

They got out, collected their possessions and paid, before turning down the street that Emma believed the restaurant to be on.

The Arbat, Emma explained, was one of the oldest streets in Moscow. It was far enough from the Kremlin that the nobility tended to leave it alone, and the street had developed almost a rural feel. Since being rebuilt after the battle with the French had left the area in ashes, the street had begun catering mainly to scholars and artists, both of which brought it’s own unique flare. Most of the buildings were all two, three stories high at most, while others looked more modern and reached seven or eight stories high. It was the churches, however, that dominated the view, towering high over the street below, their shadows almost non existent in the grey-white daylight. Electric trams likely frequented the busy street, but with the power reserves drained, they now sat stationary in their tracks.

Emma must have noticed his wonder, for a moment later, she leaned in closer.

“Do not worry,” she teased in his ear. “I will not be letting you out of my sight for a minute.”

He returned her smirk.

“I would despair if you did.”

The restaurant was a small little hole in the wall just off of the main boulevard. He might have missed it if it weren’t for the faded sign hanging outside, written in tall white cyrillic letters and boasting a cartoonish white rabbit rearing on it’s hind legs. It both looked nothing like and exactly like the type of place that Will Scarlet would frequent.

The outside door was unlocked, and they slipped inside easily as the heavy door thudded shut behind them. Immediately the pair were hit with a wave of heat. It was just past four o’clock and the heat from the ovens combined with the candles adorning the walls had turned the room into a furnace. Still, it was a refreshing change from the chill outside.

Killian tapped the little desk bell, and almost immediately, a young woman appeared from a hallway off to the side. She wore a friendly smile, her rosy cheekbones high and pronounced by her long brown hair tied up in a tight knot at the back of her head. She greeted them, her voice up turning into a question that Killian did not understand.

“We are meeting Will Scarlet,” Killian informed her, hoping that the name was enough to direct her. “I believe he is expecting us.”

It was enough. The hostess nodded once, and lead them down the hallway to an arched wooden doorway that led to the dining room. The rooms were cooler in the back, though still warm, likely due to the old stone walls. While the front of house had been apparently renovated, the back retained its rustic charm. Whether the decision was due to esthetics or money, Killian did not know.

Almost as soon as his foot had crossed the threshold, Killian heard Will’s thick cockney accent echo out a cheery greeting.

“Where the devil have you been?”

His partner, who had moments before been seated at a table in the corner of the small dining room, stalked toward him, his thick, perfectly groomed eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. His hair was cropped too short for the cold weather, and Killian was sure that the tips of his ears would be aching with frostbite by the time they returned to London.

“You were supposed to have been here bloody hours ago, you-”

Will stopped short and his eyes widened slightly as he noticed Emma walk through the doorway behind him.

“Ah, my apologies,” he began again, slowly and definitely more quietly. “I did not realise you had lady in tow.”

Will had not taken his eyes off of the blond at his side as he’d spoken, but now he looked at Killian, his eyebrows raised and stare accusatory. There would surely be hell to pay later for not informing him of Emma’s presence.

“We were detained,” Killian stated simply, turning to help Emma remove her overcoat before shucking his own. He took their bags and tucked them under the table.

As soon as Emma’s arms were free, Will stepped forward to take her hand is his. “Will Scarlet,” he introduced himself, bowing slightly to place a light kiss on her knuckles. “Trust Killian Jones to go on a business trip and land himself a pretty lady.”

Killian nearly choked. “It is not like that. She is merely a friend.”

“Ah, well, then. My apologies, miss…?”

“Emma Nolana,” Emma finished for him, giving a slight curtsey. Will’s grin widened as he detected the hints of her accent.

“Privet, Emma Nolana. Ochen Priyatno.”

“Ochen Priyatno. Your Russian is very good,” she praised, releasing his hand.

“Very kind of you, lass. I taught this man all the Russian he knows,” he ribbed, gesturing at Killian.

Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I was not aware that Killian spoke any Russian at all.”

“Exactly! He would not need me if he did, and I am not about to get myself fired. A trick of the trade, my dear. Always know your own worth.”

Emma looked bemused by the quick wit of his business partner, and Killian felt something akin to jealousy curl in his stomach. He had spent the past day and a half building an easy friendship with the blond, slowly gaining her trust and getting to know the real Emma, and here was Scarlet, seconds after meeting her and already charming his way into her good graces. It wasn’t fair.

He stepped up behind one of the carved wooden chairs and pulled the seat out for Emma. She nodded graciously, and he took his seat next to her, while Will moved to reoccupy the chair across from them.

“Well it was lucky that you arrived when you did,” Will pointed out, rolling up his sleeves. “You would not want your food to be served cold on a day like today.”

“What do you mean?”

Will’s eyebrows raised at Killian’s question. “Did Miss Nolana not tell you anything?”

“How could she when you have not stopped talking since we entered,” Killian muttered a bit sourly.

“Alright.” Will waved him off. “The city is under strict gas hours since they ran out of coal. Moscow only has access to fuel between 7 and 8 in the morning, 11 and 2, and 4 and 5pm. I would guess this is the only place in town that even cares to light the ovens. The owner is a friend of a friend - well, friend might be a strong word, actually - but he is granting me this favour anyways.”

Almost as if on cue, the woman who had brought them in reappeared at Will’s side. Will ordered for himself and Killian - knowing what his boss liked to eat was one of the many things the Will received payment for - before turning to Emma.

“Anything you would like, my dear,” Will encouraged, pushing a menu toward the blond. “Though I would caution against the mushrooms. They are not always what you think.”

Emma nodded, glancing down at the worn piece of paper on the table. She quickly read off her order to the woman, who then dashed off toward the kitchen.

“How was St. Petersburg?”

“Petrograd,” Killian corrected automatically. Will waved him off.

“Changing the name of the city to make it sound less German is a cheap parlour trick to disguise the fact that the Tsar has no bloody idea what he is doing in this war. Call the city by its true name.”

Killian hummed noncommittally. He had felt Emma go rigid in the seat beside him at the mention of the family, so he quickly changed the subject.

“Have there been any developments regarding the shipyard?”

Will made a face. “Our friend Hans seems to think he owns half of the ports between here and Denmark. I am not surprised he tried to buy the loading dock out from under us.”

“Does he have the funds?”

“According to the rumours, yes. But,” Will added, noticing the scowl on his partner’s face, “that is where my expertise comes in. I happen to know that the harbourmaster prefers to deal in favours rather than money. Hans may be rich, but he is no Will Scarlet, I can tell you that. I can manage it.”

Killian relaxed. If securing their shipping dock in Petrograd meant relying on Will’s silver tongue, then it was almost a certainty. Will had been his partner for years, and he knew the limits of what Killian was willing to sacrifice for his company. He did not even need to ask to know that whatever trade that Will made to reaffirm their presence in the busy shipping port would be worth it. Another box ticked.

“I have no doubt that you will. I have heard that Hans is more brawn than brains anyways.”

“Well, fortunately for us, I am loaded with both.” Will smiled up at the waitress as she returned with their tea. The woman blushed and scurried away.

“Now,” Will exclaimed, rubbing his hands in anticipation, “I have told you what I have been up to. I think it is time for you to explain how you found such a lovely young lady in the few days that I left you alone.”

Killian had expected the curiosity. He had even rehearsed his response on the train, working on his tells and hoping that Will would not ask more questions than necessary. Of course there was no chance for the last bit, but he could dream.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and begin spinning his story, Emma piped up.

“I am afraid the story is not nearly as interesting as you might think,” Emma started, her smile polite, her posture perfect. Perhaps he had not been the only one who had prepared their skit. “I found your friend at Moskovsky station, wandering around as a lost puppy. I am a language tutor by trade, and so I stepped up and offered my services.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You mean to say that you travelled all the way to Moscow to help Killian? That seems awfully generous of you.”

Emma laughed, light and innocent.

“No, no. I was already on my way here. There are some supplies that I am meant to pick up here. My employer has a fondness for rare books, and I was the most suited to go.”

She was good. Her words flowed easily, her story convincing. If Killian hadn’t known the truth, he would have been almost tempted to believe her himself. But it wasn’t him that she needed to convince, it was the sharp minded partner across from them.

Will’s surprise seemed to fade, but his curiosity did not. He turned toward Killian. “Is that right?”

Killian shrugged, picking up his tea to distract himself from the urge to scratch behind his ear.

“As you said, you left me alone without a translator. I made do.” He sipped his tea.

Luckily they were saved from further scrutiny as the waitress appeared with their food. Emma had opted for the same thing as the men; a bowl of hot beetroot soup and bread. They ate in silence, the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain dishes the only sound in the room. The texture was slightly more watery than was probably typical, but none of them complained. It was likely the best food in the city, and as neither of the travellers had thought to eat breakfast, the group had to refrain from devouring their meals.

“I have a room for you,” Will started again after a few minutes. “I was not aware that you would have company, so I only picked the one, though it does have two beds. I was.... meant to have the other one.”

Emma’s brow furrowed in concern. “We could not possibly push you out of your room.”

“Fear not, Swan,” Killian reassured her. “Will may look well and proper, but I assure you he is accustomed to sleeping in rough places. I am certain he will find somewhere to rest his head for the night.”

“‘Well and proper’? Someone is trying to butter me up!”

“Really, though, it is your room and I-” Emma tried, but Will waved off her concern.

“I am quite well acquainted around these areas, Miss Nolana. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Worry about you?” Killian snorted. “I am more worried about the poor lass who will have the misfortune of sharing her bed with you.”

He knew very well whose bed Will would end up crawling into at the end of the night - it was the same one he had snuck off to during every other trip they had made to Moscow - and that the lovely lass wouldn’t mind a bit. Still, it earned him a smile from Emma.

“Speaking of which,” Will added, ignoring the jab. “There is going to be a party at Anastasia’s home tomorrow evening. I already told her that you would go.”

Killian’s stomach immediately flopped.

“Will, I am afraid I cannot. My plans have...changed.” It was a reflex that had his gaze flickering to Emma, but Will’s keen eye noticed immediately.

“Well, by all means, bring Miss Nolana!” Before Killian could say a word to stop him, Will had turned to Emma. “How would you like to come to a party, Miss Nolana?”

“Will!”

“If you will not, I might as well invite the lady,” Will pointed out with a wolfish grin. He directed his attention back toward the lady seated across from him. “Miss Nolana. Would you care to accompany me to a party tomorrow? I am afraid that if Killian will not go-”

“Fine, Will,” Killian stopped. “Yes. I will go.”

The thought of Emma tagging along with Will as a date was slightly more than he could stomach. She would be safe enough - the invitees would surely be people that he had met a dozen times or more - but he couldn’t count on Will to keep her company the entire night. Not when Anastasia was there, at least.

Killian turned to her then, his expression equal parts frustrated, apologetic, and hopeful.

“Would you care to go to Anastasia’s party with me tomorrow?”

Emma hesitated, her green eyes flickering between the pair. This was assuredly not the way in which he would have liked to ask her to go on an outing with him. Not that he had thought about it much - well, not overly so, at least. He had thought about it. He had thought about a lot of things regarding Emma lately, some more innocent than others…

He found himself rather nervous of her answer.

“Yes,” she finally answered with a small smile. “Why not? It sounds like it will be great fun.”

“Grand!” Will exclaimed, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together. “Tomorrow, then. Killian knows the address.”

Will paid little attention to the glare he was receiving from his partner as he dug around in his breast pocket for his watch. Clicking open the face, he nearly started at the hour. “Bloody- is that the time? I need to leave before…” He trailed off as he stood to pull his winter coat over his shoulders. He wrapped the last of his bread in a handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. Good food was not to be wasted.

“Killian. Miss Nolana,” he nodded with a wink, as he laid down a wad of cash on the table to cover his check. “I must bid you adieu.”

“It was a pleasure,” Emma responded politely, ever the diplomat. Killian was not as refined.

“Where are you going?” He asked, suspicious.

“Business.”

“Need I remind you that your business is my business?”

“Of course! Even more reason not to delay. I cannot appear to be slacking off in front of my boss, now, can I?”

Killian glared at his partner. “Alright. Just remember to stay out of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Will asked, affronted. “I would never, Jones.”

Killian almost rolled his eyes at the smirk on his partner’s face.

“Speaking of trouble,” Will continued, glancing again at the pocketwatch in his hands. “You might want to find yourselves at the hotel sooner rather than later. The city goes dark at 8 o’clock. Though,” he added with a wink, as he began to walk away. “I have no doubt that you will find other ways to keep yourselves busy.”

Killian didn’t need to look to know that Emma had flushed at the words.

“Piss off, Will,” he couldn’t help but mutter as his partner made his way toward the stairs, waving farewell to the head server as he left.

“Mind your language, ol’ chap!”

As was often the case with Will, the room seemed to turn quiet with his departure. It was one of the most tactical tricks about his business partner; his ability to leave a room and make a person long for more. More energy, more lightheartedness, more excitement. Despite his earlier jibe, he really was an indispensable member of Killian’s team and there were more than a few antics that Killian had let slide because of his talent. If anyone could sell water to a fish, it was Will Scarlet.

“That man must have the ears of a fox,” Emma remarked, her eyes lingering on the doorway.

“I apologize for my partner. He can be a bit much,” Killian sighed, an anxious knot forming in his stomach. “Do you mind very much? About the party, that is. I know it is last minute...”

“Not at all, I am sure it will be fine. It is only that I am afraid I have not brought anything to wear.”

“We can take care of that. I will need to buy some things tomorrow as well.”

“Alright.”

They slowly finished their meal and paid, handing each waiter a generous tip that left the staff beaming. Emma smiled as the owner walked them to the door, the jolly man singing their praise in a way that only a friend of Will Scarlet’s could. It was only after Killian promised that they would be back soon that the man finally granted them a moment to make their escape. Even then, the owner stood on the stoop and watched the pair set off for the hotel, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder what a Muscovite had to do to stock enough food to run a restaurant in a country currently plagued by famine. Perhaps it was best not to know.

They walked arm and arm down the snowy street, their bellies full and warm from the hearty meal. A good thing, too; it was barely half past six and the sun was already beginning to set. Soon, the little warmth that the daylight provided would soon be gone entirely and the city would be dark and cold once more.

Yet, even at dusk, the city seemed full of life. The street was filled with chatter as Muscovites rushed home from their jobs, eager to get home before the horizon extinguished the last of the light. A few children played in the streets, bundled in whatever their parents had found suitable to protect them from the cold. They would no doubt be scolded by their parents when they returned home with soggy mittens, but for now, at least, the fun could continue.

The hotel was only a few blocks away and, for once, Killian knew the route well. It was the same building that Will had rented out every time they had travelled together to Moscow. Still, it had been a while since they had made use of the accommodations; Anastasia had insisted on hosting them for their first night back in Russia the evening before they had set out for Petrograd, and Killian was unused to making the trek through the city without Will.

He felt a flash of pride when they finally rounded the corner and the weathered, grey building came into view. It was nothing fancy - as head of his unit, Killian insisted that business trips be expensed accordingly, even for the higher ranking positions - but the sheets were clean, the doors had locks, and Will swore up and down that the tenants outnumbered the rats.

Just as he was about to ascend the short flight of stairs that led to the entrance, Killian felt a tug on his arm. Emma had stopped, and was glancing warily at the building.

“I am not sure that I should accompany you. Perhaps I ought to get my own room.”

Killian furrowed his brow in confusion. “Nonsense. We have shared a room before, and Will has assured me that there are two beds.”

“It is not that,” Emma insisted, her gaze flickering to the door. “I only worry how it will look for you if you arrive with, well, me on your arm.”

“Fear not, Swan,” he reassured her, slipping his arm out of her grasp to take her hand instead. “I assure you, this establishment has seen far more questionable women passing through it’s doors.”

Emma appeared to pale slightly at his words.

“I was only trying to protect your dignity.”

“My dignity is quite well protected, Swan,” he chuckled, reaching up to place a hand on the doorknob. “You are quite possibly the most unique woman I have ever met, but I do not think that they will suspect you of it. Now, shall we?”

He nodded his head toward the wooden entranceway, and after another moment’s hesitation, Emma shifted her bags in her hand and followed him up the stairs.

The receptionist nearly leapt from her seat as the pair entered. The novel that had been clutched in her hands had been immediately tossed aside, an envelope shoved in between the pages to mark her spot, as she reached for the ledger beside her. She was an older woman, her hair already white as the snow outside, but she was quick, and after a rushed - and rather ingenuous - greeting, she was pushing the leather bound book across the desk toward them. Emma responded politely as the duo removed their hats and gloves, brushing the snow from their clothing where it had gathered in clumps. The ease with which Emma switched languages on a dime never ceased to amaze him.

Killian picked up the pen from the desk and signed his name where Emma indicated that he should. His eyes were fixed on the form in front of him, and as such, he missed the cause of the old woman’s indignant huff. He looked up quickly, catching the moment that Emma shoved both of her hands into her pockets, her cheeks flushed scarlet in embarrassment. The woman was nearly glaring in disapproval, and Emma gave a nervous smile before replying to a question that he hadn’t be privy to.

The woman rolled her eyes, but reached into a drawer nonetheless and retrieved a single key with a number engraved into it. After ruffling through another drawer, she produced a single candle in a small holder, using the oil lamp on the table to light it. She made to hand the candle to Killian, but upon showing that woman that he hadn’t enough hands to carry everything, the woman passed it to Emma. She muttered some instructions, performed some hand motions that Killian was just able to make out as directions, before snatching back the ledger and retreating into a back room behind her.

Killian raised his eyebrow at Emma in question, but she simply shook her head and led him down the hallway that the woman had indicated.

As promised, the room contained two narrow beds that mirrored each other on opposite walls. The room also contained two identical bedside tables, a large standing mirror, a dresser, and a coat rack. A stone fireplace sat in one corner of the room, though the city had run out of firewood long ago and the pit now housed only soot and ashes. There was an old room partition cramped in one corner, but other than that, the room provided little privacy. Not that it mattered; the night was still very young, but the pair were exhausted and were ready to sleep in proper beds. Besides, without any real light, there was not much that they could do.

The pair split off to change into their sleepwear, with Killian taking the first shift so that Emma was not forced to be alone in the hallway in only her sleeping garments. When Killian had finished, he lay his wooden hand on the dresser and snatched up his bottle of rum. Set, Killian moved into the hallway to stand guard as Emma took her chance to change. He leaned against the opposite wall, bottle in hand, as the lock clicked shut behind him.

All at once, the light from the room that had been illuminating the hallway vanished, leaving only a faint glow from underneath the door. Killian felt a pang of guilt at not realising that Emma had been left in the dark while he had been changing. He pulled out a match from his pocket - he had learned long ago to keep a matchbox on his person for just these reasons - and struck it against the wall. The tip immediately sparked into flame, casting a faint glow around him.

The candle holders anchored to the walls were all empty, the cost of burning more candles than needed either too high or the stinginess of the landlord too great. Killian didn’t know which, but had a feeling that it might have been both. The fact that the hotel was able to operate at all given the rampant poverty was impressive as it was. Thinking about it now, he had yet to see another soul in the building. The hallwalls all seemed deserted, the lack of sound a jarring change from the hours spent on the rattling train. The matchstick burnt out then, and Killian didn’t bother lighting another one.

Killian waited, sipping his rum, until the sound of the lock on his room door being clicked open shattered the silence. He waited for Emma’s head to pop out and invite him in, but when that did not happen, he pushed off from the wall and moved closer. Tucking the bottle under his left arm he placed his right hand on the doorknob, and listened. Nothing. A slight twist and a soft push later and the door swung open easily.

Emma was already in bed, the sheets pulled up high on her torso so that only her blond head was visible. She was turned toward him, her eyes barely visible in the low candle light. She seemed to be watching him, her hands clutched around the blankets in order to conceal her body. The sudden defensiveness had Killian frowning in confusion. It was not the first time that they had slept in the same space, and, indeed, this space was much more accommodating than the cabin. Why would she suddenly be embarrassed? Unless...

Ah.

Emma had likely not prepared her luggage thinking that she would be sharing her space with a man.

He looked away immediately, noticing that Emma had moved the candle to his bedstand and assuredly not imagining the clothing that the beautiful blond had hidden underneath the covers.

“How are you finding the accommodations?” He asked, scratching behind his ear. It was a stupid question, but it was far better than admitting where his true thoughts had gone.

“Yes, thank you. I must remember to thank your partner again tomorrow for his generosity.”

Killian hummed noncommittally, walking over to his own bed and sitting down. If he was honest, he didn’t believe his partner required any more praise than was necessary. He remembered the comment Will had made as he was leaving and nearly blushed all over again. He wondered if it was on Emma’s mind as well.

“You need not worry about Will,” he tried lamely. “He is a fine chap, even if he is a little overwhelming at times.”

Emma nodded, though it wasn’t clear whether she really agreed with the statement.

When she said no more, Killian tucked himself into the thin sheets and snuffed out the candle. The room was immediately plunged into total darkness. Even on the train, the low burning lamp light had broken the blackness enough to see some. The feeling of his eyes trying and failing to adjust was disorienting, and he found himself missing the sight of the woman across from him. He doubted she would run away and disappear into the night, but the discomfort was still there.

It was only when he heard her faint voice pipe up across the room that he relaxed some.

“Who is Anastasia?”

Killian supposed he should have realised that Emma would be curious as to the identity of the lady at the other end of the generous invitation she’d received. Someone in Emma’s sensitive position would have to be.

“In a better world, I think she would be Will’s fiance.”

He listened to the floorboards creak as Emma settled into the bed. He thought she might be facing him now, but he couldn’t be certain.

“How do you mean?”

“They have been in love since they were practically children. Will’s father travelled for work, and Will was brought to Moscow as a youth to study.”

“Hence the Russian.”

“Precisely,” he nodded, forgetting that she could not see him in the dark. “They met, and have been smitten with each other ever since.”

“Why have they never wed?”

“Anastasia’s parents do not approve of foreigners. They barely allowed the friendship, let alone a courtship. Will insists that they will one day run away with each other, her family be damned, but…”

“But?”

“I am not certain she will ever be ready to leave her family like that,” Killian admitted. “Not even for Will.”

There was a hum of understanding. Of course Emma would understand that, Killian thought. If anyone recognized the importance of title and status, it would be the woman who had grown up smack dab in the middle of it all. For a brief moment, Killian wondered if a man of status had ever caught Emma’s eye. A duke, or perhaps even a visiting prince. He wouldn’t blame her; Emma might have been closer to royalty than most people would ever dream of being, but she was still a red-blooded woman, capable of wants and urges similar to his own.

“Have you been friends long?” Emma asked, intruding his thoughts.

“A few years now, yes.” Killian considered his words for a moment, before adding, “I first met him in jail.”

He thought he heard a gasp.

“You were in prison?”

Killian grinned at the surprise in her voice. It was childish, but he enjoyed the idea that Emma was not the only one with a mysterious past.

“I spent a night in a cell for drunken disorderly. I believe I was too intoxicated to recall my own name, and the police sergeant had decided to wait until morning to determine who I was. Will was brought in a few hours later, I believe. He had been arrested for breaking and entering - possibly theft as well. I never did find out.”

“You two make quite a team.”

“We did,” Killian chuckled. “Will was somehow able to convince the officer that the house belonged to a friend of his and that he had heard a noise and had rushed in to investigate. He was able to recount every last detail of the inside and told such an elaborate story about his friendship with the owner, that the officer finally believed him and let him go. But just as he was about to leave, he turned and said to the officer, ‘well, if you are going to let me go, you might as well release my friend here. He was only trying to watch my back.’”

“So he had not been robbing the house?”

“On the contrary, he had robbed that house before.”

Emma let out an unladylike snort at that. It was rather charming, Killian thought.

“Why did Will have you released as well?”

Killian shrugged. “I believe simply to show that he could. He is a bit of an arrogant sod.”

Instead of an answer, Killian heard the sound of sheets being rustled and a body rearranging itself on the thin mattress. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed that he had ever slept on, to be sure, but it was still miles better than the leather benched they had been sleeping on. Still, Emma seemed to be struggling. A moment later and he thought he could hear heavy breathing - not the explicit kind. Was she was attempting to warm her fingers with her breath?

“This is a far cry from the soft palace bedding, I would guess, is it not?” He teased lightly.

“Yes.” He had definitely heard her teeth chatter that time. “Dear lord, it is freezing,” she finally murmured.

The temperature in room had certainly begun to drop, the insulation poor in the old building. He had started to feel a slight chill as well, but his experiences growing up in poverty had made him a veteran of the cold.

“Come over, Swan,” he called out into the dark.

“Over?”

“I can make space on my bed for you.”

“I cannot sleep in your bed!”

“Well, you cannot very well freeze to death five paces away from me.”

“I hardly think I will freeze to death,” Emma snorted, but even then there was a slight shake in her voice that gave her away.

There was a long pause. “Very well then.”

Killian heard the distinct rustling of sheets being pulled away followed by the soft groan of old floorboards bearing weight. There was a tentative pause as Emma no doubt considered how to make the short journey in the pitch darkness, but a moment later there was the patter of bare feet on wood. The steps were halting, and Killian could imagine Emma’s arms reached out in front of her, blindly looking for the edge.

“Right here, love.”

Just then, her fingers brushed his in the blackness and Emma let him guide her onto the narrow bed.

“You just mind that you keep your hands to yourself,” he heard her mutter, as she slipped her legs under the sheets next to him.

“Ah I am afraid I have left one of my hands on the shelf by the door. Is there another attachment you would prefer?”

“Very funny.”

He scooted over to the far edge of the bed to make room for her, but even then, there was little room to spare. He felt the tips of her hair brush against his cheek as she twisted and turned in an attempt to make herself comfortable in the narrow space beside him. Killian felt Emma’s long legs cozy up next to his under the sheet, though the comforter appeared to be trapped in a mess around her hips, but it was the sensation of small ice cubes being pressed to the exposed skin on his ankle that had him yelping.

“Bloody hell, Swan! Your toes are freezing!”

“I did warn you!”

“Do you not have stockings?”

“Yes, but that would require getting redressed in the dark.”

Fair point. Emma was more likely to break a toe searching for the garments, and with his own socks strewn somewhere on the floor by his bag, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Here.”

He wrapped his toes around her frigid ones, letting her steal some of his heat. She scooted closer at the feeling, her arms curled up at her chest as they lay on their sides, almost nose to nose. If he hadn’t heard the sheets move, he would have been surprised when her hand reached across to rest at the spot where his collarbone met pillow. As it was he had to force himself not to jump; her slender digits felt like icicles against his warmth.

Her entire body relaxed into the sheets after a moment. If the growing tension over the events of the last two days had seemed palpable before, it’s release now was equally so. He could feel the tension leaving her form in degrees, the stiffness that she always seemed to carry in her limbs abating. She hadn’t even bothered to pull the sheets over herself, the heat generated by the two bodies enough now. Perhaps she was still considering her escape back to her own bed.

Outside, the wind was howling fiercely. The storm had picked up again, and with every heavy gust that whipped around the corner of the building came an eerie moan that made it seem as though it would be the structure’s last. It was a sound he had become well acquainted with over the years, but he couldn’t imagine it had ever been the same for Emma.

Even with the small tidbits he had gathered already, he had gleaned that she had lived a life he could only have dreamed about as a child, having grown up in near poverty himself. His brother had done his best to ensure that they always had a roof over their head, but sometimes that had been all it was, a roof. It had never been as bad as it could have been, and Killian had always been grateful for it, but there were still days as a young lad that he had gone into the city with his brother and oogled at the splendor of Buckingham Palace. That was a real roof, and he was certain that no occupant had ever had to worry about leaks during heavy rainfall or unwelcome creatures making their way in through the cracks. It seemed silly now, but there was still something to be said for a good home, with thick walls and a sturdy roof.

It was almost incredible that the mild mannered woman lying next to him would have seen so much and had been forced to give it all up. But Emma was strong. He had learned at least that much, and if anyone was going to survive the turmoil of the inevitable revolution only to run straight to a continent being pulled apart by war, it was her. She would do it, and do it well. Emma was incredible like that.

Her hand moved to his chest, brushing against the thin silver chain that hung there.

“What is that?” She murmured, her fingers trailing the strand down the hollow of his neck. His fingers met hers at the point where the simple silver ring rested, nestled in soft coils of dark chest hair.

“It was my mother’s wedding ring,” he whispered.

“You wear it all the time?”

“Yes. Ever since she passed away.”

Her nimble fingers continued to explore the thin band, feeling every ridge set in it. It was by no means the most glamourous of rings - his parents hadn’t been wealthy and the bit of money that his father did earn was always immediately wasted on booze. But it had still belonged to her, and so it was perfect.

“It is beautiful.”

His heart swelled with pride and affection. He wondered if she could feel it racing in his chest every time her fingers brushed against him. Surely she must.

Killian raised his hand in the dark, moving it to hover just above where he imagined her left shoulder would be. Perhaps it was the fact that it had been so long since he had lain with - well, next to - a woman, or perhaps it was the bit of rum that he had sipped outside the bedroom door, but a moment later, the tips of his fingers were brushing the strands of hair from her face.

It was the barest of touches, but Emma’s breathing seemed to catch slightly. His offer to let her share his bed had been genuine and innocent, but he hadn’t foreseen what it would be like to have her in such close proximity, to have the scent of her soap filling his lungs, to have her hands against his chest. All of the emotion that he had felt on the platform that morning seemed to rush back with a vengeance. He wanted to lean forward the extra few inches, close the already diminishing gap between them. If the way her cheeks began to heat against his touch was any indication, Emma was having similar thoughts.

He leaned in, and for a brief moment, he felt the slight brush of soft lips against his. It was immediately intoxicating - a shot of morphine to the veins - and as he tilted his head forward again and felt his nose bump hers, he only cursed himself that he couldn’t see to properly kiss the living daylights out of her. He let his hand gently brush down her side to where the blankets were bunched at her hips. He wasn’t sure what he was doing - his mind felt like cotton, his heart beating too quickly. A rush of heat went straight to his loins and he cursed himself for being so responsive.

All of a sudden he felt her tense beneath his fingers and his hand came up in an instant. It was unnerving not to be able to see her expression in the dark, and it didn’t help that Emma wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her feelings on a good day.

“What is the matter, Swan?” He whispered, his eyes wildly searching the dark for hers. He barely cared that his voice sounded half wrecked already. God, it really had been too long.

“Nothing.”

A lie. His heart, still beating frantically, began to sink.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He knew the bluntness of his question would put her off, would possibly make her retreat further behind her walls, but he needed to know. Despite his earlier thoughts, something still nagged at him about her behaviour. Perhaps she hadn’t been lying before, but it hadn’t been the full truth either. It was time to address the elephant in the room.

“The train earlier, and when we arrived outside the hotel. Just now. You keep pulling away from me, and for the life of me, I cannot understand why. What have I done?”

“Nothing. It is as I said, I simply have a lot on my mind.”

“Emma,” he spoke softly, almost pleading. “I know. And I do not expect you to tell me all of your secrets. But please, I just want to help.”

“The landlord believes me to be a prostitute.”

Her equally quiet tone was almost flippant, as though she were trying to brush off her own concerns, but Killian saw through it immediately. The words brought him back to what she had said before, about protecting his dignity, and her hesitation about sharing quarters with him again. It hadn’t been her status as a person of interest that had had her digging her heels into the sidewalk. It was a very different sort of status that had caused her unease.

Suddenly, the entire exchange with the receptionist made sense. The woman - the landlord, apparently - had noticed the lack of a ring on her finger and had said something.

How could he have missed that?

Sure, most of their rules of strict propriety had been thrown out the window when they had both practically become fugitives of the law, but that did not mean that the rules of society ceased to exist. And said rules were particularly stringent on the terms with which a man and a woman could associate with one another. Just because he had willingly abandoned convention did not mean that Emma had.

“Does that bother you?” He asked, realisation dawning on him. “I apologize if it made you uncomfortable.”

“You do not need to apologize. You were right, before. It was quick thinking.”

“If it is all the same, I would still like to apologize. I can see that the insinuation bothers you, even if it was only a ruse.”

“Thank you. It is only that....” She trailed off, and Killian wished more than ever that he could see the emotions in her eyes as she spoke, that he could better decipher what her words meant. “I do not want you to see me like that. As that.”

“I think I understand. And I do not see you as that. I never have. Whatever this is, whatever we are together, it is as much up to you as much as it is me. I will never ask for more than you are willing to give. You have my word, Emma.”

“Thank you, Killian,” she whispered, her tone serious.

He could tell that Emma wasn’t convinced and he could practically hear her mind swirling with thoughts that he wasn’t privy to. If she would only tell him, perhaps he could help.

His hand was still hovering over her hips, and he fumbled in the dark for a moment until he managed to find the end of the heavy duvet and tug it up over her body. Emma immediately tucked her chin under the warm cover, his hand grazing her soft jaw at the movement as he pulled his arm back to his side.

“What if the landlord walks in and catches us like this?” She sounded half asleep, her words thick and heavy in her mouth.

“I expect I would have to scold her for disturbing my slumber with my wife.”

Killian’s mind began to fill with worry as the seconds wore on and Emma gave no response to his rather forward suggestion of feigned matrimony. It was only when he heard a faint sigh that he realised that she had fallen asleep. She had heard him, no doubt, but whether or not she would recall the conversation tomorrow, he had no idea. He hoped so. He had no intention of taking it back.

Indeed, the words had spilled out without prompting, much as they had on the train to the officer. It was as though an instinct kicked in every time Emma came under threat, and he was immediately compelled to do something to help. It was a raw and powerful urge unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And then other times, a very different instinct overcame him, and he found himself fighting the urge to kiss her.

But as seemed to be the case every night since meeting Emma, with the darkness came a new wave of doubt, unsurety, and guilt. It was almost ridiculous that a lovely day spent with Emma should end that way. It reminded him of the more turbulent days of his youth, when the excitement of the liquor he used to sneak from the shipyard would wear off and the shame would begin to set in. Except his shame was not because of Emma - who could ever find reason to be ashamed of her? No, the shame he felt was purely for himself.

For as much as the small voice in his head urged him toward Emma, urged him to take a chance, a stronger voice chastised him. Had he not pledged himself to Milah? No, they hadn’t exchanged vows, but that was a simple formality. They had agreed to love and cherish each other, and only each other.

Until ‘death’ do us part, a small voice corrected.

No, no no. It was more than that. It had to be. His time with Milah had been passionate and perfect and everlasting. He had nothing left to give but his loyalty. He couldn’t take that away. Not now.

It is not disloyal to be happy.

But that seemed almost a ridiculous thought; Killian Jones, living a life free of pain and guilt. He had been on his own for so long now, that the idea that he could share a bit of himself with another person was almost foreign to him. It would never be the same as it was before, though. He needed to remember that. He could never love someone else the way he had his Milah, of that he was sure. But being fond of someone else was not a damning thing, was it? He mightn’t ever be happy again, but perhaps he could be content in the company of another.

Especially if that someone was Emma.

Killian closed his eyes. The exhaustion that had been growing ever since their encounter had begun to tug at the back of his mind as he realised how little sleep he had gotten since Petrograd. He had diligently watched over her as she slept the night before, just as he had promised, but now he could feel the heaviness of his eyelids. There was no reason to fight it anymore; he was exactly where he needed to be. Whatever feelings he had for Emma could wait- and for good or for poor, they were there. That said, if there was one thing that he was certain of, it was this; if given the chance to kiss Emma again, he would take it.

And with that, he let himself be pulled under the waves. The room faded from existence around him until all that remained was him and the sleeping blond, their limbs intertwined under the thick blanket.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs #cs fanfic #ouat ff #cs au #cs art #cs historical au #It Is Not Yet Evening #nextfewwords

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gldngrl7 · 8 years ago

Text

Karamel Fic: Ruination (4/6)

Title: Ruination

Author: gldngrl7

Started: January 5, 2017

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6

Author’s Notes:

I feel like I should point out that some stuff happened in this chapter that literally blind-sided me. Just came out of nowhere. That's how it works with me -- and sometimes that’s how I know it’s working. It’s the stuff that blind-sides that really drives the story forward.

BIG NOTE: I am borrowing canon from other Superman universes. When Supergirl provides direct canon I will always choose that (to the best of my memory) but when no canon is provided I WILL borrow from “Smallville” or “Man of Steel”. Be warned..

More religiony type stuff in this chapter, But it’s alien religion stuff,so if you get offended...you’re weird.

Chapter 4 is NOT explicit in rating. My apologies.

Thanks to the following for your comments and flailing. You guys are awesome: @pwettypwita, @lostin-the-desert

To all others: thanks for reading/liking

Constructive criticisms and feedback/comments/flailing are mightily appreciated. Flames are destroyed by my freeze breath.

Chapter: 4/6

Look what we started, baby

You're not what I expected

'Cause all I ever wanted was some fun

Look what we started, baby

Used to look for exits

'Cause all I ever wanted was some fun

I never meant to fall in love

--Jason Derulo – “Cheyenne”

A black light provided by the DEO reveals the trace remains of the Medusa virus’s presence wherever it fluoresces. Despite the speed of his work, it is challenging to find every bit of remaining contaminant. It’s everywhere, he knows, thanks to the virus being aerosolized into a weapon. It’s on every chair, every booth, on the ceiling, beneath the tables, and every glass and bottle of liquor will be have to be decontaminated.

“Why don’t we knock off for the rest of the day? We can pick up again tomorrow.” M’gann, the White Martian who’s chosen to live in human form, stands before Mon-El in a borrowed HazMat suit. Due to his immunity, he doesn’t require extra protection so he’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs borrowed from the hospital laundry, sneakers that are barely hanging on since walking through fire, and a pair of thick, black rubber gloves that extend nearly to his elbows.

“Walk me out?” she asks. Mon-El nods, tearing off his rubber gloves and dropping them on the bar. M’gann isn’t one for tight spaces and needs frequent breaks from the confinement of the suit, from which she requires assistance in donning and removal.

In the alleyway behind the bar, they stand in front of the open back doors of her van filled with bleach and other cleaning materials. By the time they’re finished, her bar is going to be the cleanest joint in all of National City. Mon-El sprays down her suit with a fine mist of decontaminant before reaching for plastic zipper that from just below the suit’s helmet, diagonally across her body. She’s tearing off the helmet before he’s finished with the zipper.

M’gann takes a deep breath and tilts her head back, eyes clothes, absorbing the sun’s rays like she’s a Kryptonian/Daxamite. She really hates being inside this monstrosity. She hates even more that she has to. She slithers out of the rest of the suit and throws it in the back of the van. The bar had been her home away from home until it was heartlessly violated by CADMUS in an attempt to murder every alien inside. She feels as if it was taken from them—from her—and she’s determined to take it back.

“Same time tomorrow?” Mon-El asks.

“You bet,” she replies. “For as long as I can stand the suit.”

Concerned for her apparent claustrophobic tendencies, he suggests, “You know I can just take care of it. There’s no need for you to get suited up all the time.”

“It’s my place now,” she shakes her head, “and I should be there. I need to see this through.” After the attack, the bar’s original owner couldn’t put the place on the market fast enough, so M’gann snapped it up for a steal, seeing the opportunity to truly make a home here.

“I understand,” he answers. Or at least, he’s beginning to. Working for something, earning it, seems to make people more attached to it – responsible for it. It’s a pattern he’s beginning to see more and more among the humans.

“I appreciate the offer though, Mon-El, I really do.” Then with a chuckle she asks, “You trying to get on someone’s good side?”

“Just yours,” he smiles, in a way that he hopes is not too charming, but rather inviting.

Her eyes widen, not expecting that answer. “Well, you’re on the right track. What is it that you want?”

“Something a little more permanent. I could really use a job.”

“Tired of living off a government stipend?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, I need bartenders,” she says. “I’m having trouble filling my roster at the moment. Can’t imagine why…” she mutters.

A ray of hope lights in Mon-El’s eyes but it’s quickly extinguished. “I don’t…know how to do that.”

“You’ll learn,” she shrugs. “It’s not rocket science, and I’m sure that smile of yours will make up for the mistakes you make when you’re starting out. Although I recommend not smiling at the Tregorians – showing teeth is an insult. Anyway…I’m expecting the place to be slow for the first few weeks. That should give you some time to pick up most of the basics. Four hundred a week to start, plus tips – which you’ll split evenly with the wait staff on shift,” she informs him, her tone all-business. “If you’re still working out after six months, I’ll up it to six hundred.”

It sounds like a million units of currency to him. The ray of hope appears again. “I really owe you, M’gann. You won’t regret giving me this chance.”

“I’m the one that owes you. If it hadn’t been for you we might never have known who did this.”

“No. that’s--,” he shakes his head. “I just wish I could have done more.” He recalls the bar littered with bodies of dead customers. Peaceful aliens, like himself, who died at the hands of CADMUS. He might have been killed himself had he not chased after the perpetrator, narrowly missing the release of the aerosolized weapon; and had he not been a Daxamite, his Kryptonian-esque DNA softening the blow of the virus and giving Eliza Danvers a chance to find a way to combat it.

“Here,” M’gann says, reaching into her back pocket and withdrawing a wad of cash. “For your help today.”

Mon-El stares down at the folded wad and counts three hundred units of currency. “I think you might have given me too much,” he says, confused by the sudden influx of wealth. The currency in his hand is more than his monthly stipend.

“Look, Mon-El, there are two people who can safely handle this task, and the other one is busy being Supergirl. That makes you a hot commodity. Besides, it looks like you might need some new clothes and shoes.” She tilts her head, indicating his borrowed scrubs. ‘There’s a clothing resale shop down the street – that is if you don’t mind wearing clothes other people have worn before. But they’re cheap, and if you’re going to keep jumping into fires, you’ll want to get the most bang for your buck.”

“Right,” he says, having no idea what the phrase means. At least he’s beginning to recognize an idiom when he hears one, so that’s progress. Before he leaves, she gives him instructions on locating the shop and its name. It will be nice to have something other than scrubs to wear for his ‘date’ with Kara.

M’gann, having more knowledge of Earth, and National City in particular, is correct. For a whopping thirty-two units of currency he obtains two pairs of thick denim jeans, a few button up shirts (one with a hardly noticeable stain on the hem), a few t-shirts, a pair of brown work boots with steel toes, and a jacket with a hood. Changing into the jeans, he layers a blue and white plaid flannel shirt with a red t-shirt, and though he has no fresh socks, he laces up the boots anyway, tossing his burned sneakers into the nearby trash. His scrubs he throws into the bag before he leaves. He can’t deny their comfort and wishes to keep them should he have occasion to use them again.

Mon-El makes a few more stops along the way to meet Kara, spending his money like a miser, but picking up a few necessities, like socks and a cheap watch. He also wishes to purchase one of these communication devices that everyone carries around with them, but after stepping into the store and checking the prices, finds it too expensive for his current state of finances.

Outside of the ice cream shop, Mon-El doesn’t wait long before he spots Kara moving towards him, fast by human standards, but by no means using super speeds. She grins at him the moment her eyes alight on his, and his stomach plummets. The thought of losing that look in her eyes, terrifies him beyond the telling of it.

“I’m right here,” Ral interrupts Mon-El’s thoughts, his voice reassuring. “You can do this.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Hey!” Mon-El greets, his grin plastered to his face. She’s dressed as Kara Danvers, which makes sense, since Supergirl on an ice cream outing would likely bring too much attention. She wears a light green Oxford, with a dove gray pencil skirt and pointy-toed flats. She’s wearing her glasses, with her voluminous hair knotted on her head and secured with what looks like…pencils? Will wonders never cease? “You’re right on time,” he checks the hour with the new watch on his wrist.

“Hey, you,” she greets back with her usually cheery disposition. After a moment’s hesitation, a shift of weight from one foot to another and then back again, she throws caution to the wind and leans forward to greet him with a kiss. It’s chaste and quick, appropriate for a public sidewalk greeting, but still she aches for more. Pulling back, her hands on his shoulders, she notices his obvious change of clothes, as well as the bag he carries. “What have you got there?”

“M’gann gave me currency for the work I did today, and so I went shopping. She told me of a place that sells cheap clothes that have already been worn by others. Isn’t that an interesting idea? What does ‘bang for your buck’ mean?”

“It means to get a lot for a small amount of money,” she answers with a smile. “So you went to the Goodwill?”

“Yes, that was the name of it,” he confirms. “I was able to get several articles of clothing and these boots for only thirty-two units.”

“Dollars,” she corrects. “We call units ‘dollars’ here in America…or ‘bucks’—which is why we say ‘bang for your buck’. Though other countries have different names and values for their currency.”

“That makes more sense now,” he says, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “Dollars,” he repeats, committing its meaning to memory.

He’s adorable when he’s working hard to fit in. “Yes. It’s written right there on the bills,” she chuckles. Kara looks down, realizing that, at some point, her hand had slipped into his…or maybe it was the other way around.

“I also got this watch,” he holds up his wrist. “It was twenty-seven dollars. Is that a good price? It has not been used before by another person.”

“Depends on the watch. Some watches cost thousands of dollars,” she informs him with a smile.. “I don’t think you need one of those, though.”

Who would pay thousands of units—dollars—for a common device used for telling time?

“Watches are also a fashion statement,” she answers, as though reading his mind.

“Ah.” Mon-El leads her into the shop and they stand in line as they wait to be served. Ridiculous behavior for the sake of fashion or status is something he understands all too well.

Predictably, when it’s their turn at the counter, Mon-El has difficulty deciding on a flavor as there are thirty-one completely different flavors from which to choose. The teenage girl behind the counter patiently offers him several samples on tiny little spoons, and it’s the pistachio almond flavor that tickles his taste buds the most. Kara chooses mint chocolate chip on a wafer cone. They get two scoops each.

Kara attempts to stop him when he pulls out his wallet to pay, but he waves her off. “I want to,” he says, enjoying the first time he’s gotten to pay the way with her.

Also, he’s about to tell her something unpleasant; it doesn’t seem right that he should drop bad news on her and make her pay for the ice cream.

“How do you feel about taking a walk?” he asks. “To the park, maybe?”

Kara nods and Mon-El’s mind scrambles for a suitable conversation topic. The way she’s licking her ice cream, wide swipes of her determined tongue around the rounded scoop, does nothing to help his predicament. Mon-El clamps down on the groan that’s ready to force its way out.

She tells him about what happened after he left the ruined hospital. How she helped get the critically injured to the nearest emergency room, and how she stayed behind afterwards to talk to the many of the kids.

“Oh, they wanted to know all about you!” she exclaims.

‘They did?” Mon-El asks, surprise written across his features.

Kara nudges his shoulder with hers. “I told you they would never forget you.”

“Well…what did you…say?” He’s almost afraid to hear her answer.

“I told them that you were a secret superhero, which they didn’t believe because they said you had no costume, and I said it was because you didn’t even have a superhero name, which is when they started making suggestions.”

Amused by her description of the conversation, Mon-El inquires, “Really? Like what?”

“Well, there was the ‘Leaping Man’ – an obvious choice, if you ask me. Maybe a little too on the nose. One older kid suggested ‘Ascension’, which I give points for knowing an SAT word. There was one young girl there, in the hospital for a gymnastics injury who suggested, ‘Springboard’. Personally, I don’t think any of them sound like you.”

“What sounds like me then?” he wonders.

Kara thinks for a moment and responds, “Mon-El.”

“But that’s my actual name. And it won’t exactly evoke confidence among people.”

“It evokes confidence in me,” she counters. “What I’m trying to say is …being a hero is a choice you have to make for you, not for anyone else. You showed up today and you saved lives, but I don’t want you to think that’s what I expect from you. I was on this planet for twelve years before I became Supergirl. I chose to save my sister in that plane, exposing my abilities to the world, and as a consequence Supergirl was born. If Alex’s flight had gone on to Geneva and landed safely, there’s no telling what I’d be doing right now. It’s likely that I’d just be plain old Kara Danvers, Cat Grant’s assistant at CatCo.”

“There’s not a single thing that’s plain about you, Kara,” he compliments. Mon-El takes another bite from his Pistachio Almond, and rolls the cold treat around on his tongue, thinking about how his life might have been different if Kara had never become Supergirl. “If that had happened…we might never have met,” he realizes. “The DEO would probably have locked me in a cell and thrown away the key. The only reason J’onn gave me a chance was because of you. You’re the only one who’s ever had any faith in me.”

Faith he fears shattering, now more than ever. When he tells her the truth, if she believes for a moment that he’s lying for his own purposes, she will never look at him the same way again, never hold his hand again, never kiss him again. And she will most certainly never take him into her bed again.

“On Krypton we had a saying: Rao offers freedom with one hand and unbreakable will with the other.”

“What does it mean?”

“That Rao gives us a lot of breathing room to make our own mistakes and live out our own choices, but when He commands something, our own free will takes a backseat. He will have His way,” she tells him. “And by fighting it…the worst harm you bring is to yourself, because he will never stop trying to bring it about.”

“And you think Rao made you Supergirl.”

“Looking back, as I became an adult, there were signs that I didn’t follow; opportunities I intentionally overlooked. I simply put on my lead-lined glasses and turned a blind eye. Until He did something I couldn’t—wouldn’t—ignore. I try not to defy Rao when he makes himself known.”

“You are very religious,” he says, trying not to sound judgmental.

“Yes, Krypton is a monotheist culture while Daxam is a planet of polytheists,” she parrots the teaching of her database construct.

“Or anti-theists,” he counters. “Like myself.”

“So you don’t believe in anything?”

“Can you blame me really?” he shrugs, referring to the unfathomable tragedy that now defines his entire existence. “But even before…there was a god for everything. To believe in a god for everything is to ultimately believe in nothing. How can a person spread themselves so thin, like water spilling across a stone floor?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation has taken, Mon-El is anxious to move onto another topic, even if means deferring to a topic he’d rather ignore altogether. Spotting a bench up ahead, he points her over to it, entreating her to sit, before taking a seat beside her. He tosses the remainder of his ice cream into the trash can beside the bench and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“That part was edible, you know,” she chuckles.

“The receptacle?”

“It’s called a cone, and it’s made to be eaten. See?” Kara demonstrates by biting into the wafer cone with a satisfying crunch. She covers her mouth as she chews but continues to speak. “It’s my favorite part, to be honest. Especially the last bite, when the cone is just a little bit soggy but still a little bit crunchy.”

“Well, the ice cream was delicious, so I’ll remember that for next time.” He watches her whittle her cone down to nothing, before popping the last bit into her mouth to polish it off. Mon-El swallows heavily, hoping the right words to say what he needs to say to her will come. “Kara,” he begins. “I invited you out here for more than just ice cream. I invited you out because there’s something I need to tell you, and I think it’s better if I don’t do it while we’re surrounded by cameras and microphones. It just wouldn’t be fair to you….”

“Fair to me?” The world slows down around her and the vibrating in her body that’s a constant presence around him now, comes to a full stop. Everything inside of her feels like it’s circling a drain and she’s slowly slipping away, scrabbling for purchase but finding none. “You regret last night, don’t you? Was I that awful? I didn’t know what to do because it was all new, and you probably want someone who knows all those things already.”

Mon-El can only watch, stupefied by her conclusions, as Kara builds up a head of steam. But then tears form in her bright blue eyes and her voice begins to hitch in the back of her throat in that way that makes him willing to do anything to turn her world right-side-up again. She stands from the bench and begins pacing in front of it before turning on him.

“But…you!” she accuses, wildly pointing her index finger. “What about all that stuff you said about doing what it takes to win my heart? You lied and I believed you! I’m such an idiot. It’s the oldest story in the book, isn’t it?”

“Kara, stop!” he shouts, grabbing at her arm. Her mouth snaps shut obediently, as she stares down at the hand on her skin. “Could you just…sit down for a minute?” Kara heeds his request, retaking her seat on the bench as far from him as possible. “I don’t know about this book and its stories that you’re talking about, but I didn’t tell you anything that was a lie last night.”

“But—“ He holds up a finger, silencing her.

“Every word I said to you last night was true. I do want to be the man you deserve, the kind of man that deserves you. And I’m willing to do what it takes to earn your love…and…your trust. Which is why I have to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

He reaches for her hand but before he can take it she snatches it away. A part of him shrivels up and dies on the inside. “Last night…” he swallows, “when we had sex, I discovered something that may be very hard for you to hear.”

“It’s about me?”

“First of all, you did nothing wrong last night,” he begins, disabusing her of the notion that she is a lackluster partner. “You were amazing and I can honestly say that being with you was the most fulfilling sexual experience of my life.”

“Oh,” she replies, blush spreading across her face, followed by a smile. She worries a paper napkin between her fingers.

“Kara, you are beautiful in every way and your body is spectacular. But it is also extremely strong – every part of you. I know you are very good at controlling your strength in ways I haven’t yet figured out myself. I mean…you could probably arm wrestle a drunk reveler and not break his arm.” Mon-El’s attempt at humor misses the mark, and so he quickly moves on. “The problem, Kara, is that there are certain things that you can’t control, because you’re not supposed to control them, and when they happen they are tremendously powerful.”

“Oh,” she says, this time a shadow passing over her eyes.

“Kara, you will never be able to have sexual relations with a human man,” he says, at last, feeling a part of himself deflate a bit inside. “When you take your pleasure—“

“I understand,” she cuts him off, her voice emotionless, like an automaton.

“I’m sorry…to have to be one to tell you that. I know it can’t be easy to hear.”

“How would you know?” she asks, a tinge of coldness in her voice. “I mean, how could possibly know how I feel?”

“Do you think I like this, Kara? Do you think I wanted this for you? How do you think it makes me feel knowing that if you choose me…it will be because you had no other options? Besides…do you really think I wouldn’t have the same problems? That I wouldn’t worry about breaking any human partner I chose?”

“Clark and Lois seem to be just fine,” she points out.

“Your cousin’s been here for thirty-seven years – since he was a baby. He’s had decades to adjust. I’ve been here for a few months and I can barely hold an ale glass without shattering it.”

“I’m thought you were getting better with that.”

“I have to think about it every single time,” he counters. He tilts his back, closes his eyes and sighs, defeated. “This conversation was not supposed to become about me. I just delivered some news that wouldn’t be easy for anyone to hear. So…I think it’s best if I…give you the time and the space you need to process it.”

Mon-El stands up and looks down at the top of her bowed head. He wants so badly to comfort her, to place his hand on the crown of her head and stroke her hair, until her sadness goes away. “I think…maybe right now…I’m just a reminder of things you’ll never have.”

He picks up his bag and with one last look back at her, turns and walks away.

****

Kara sits there on the park bench until after the sun sets beyond the horizon. Until the sound of police chase on the I-25 catches her ear and she’s off to nip that in the bud before innocent bystanders get hurt. She’s happy for the distraction. But standing there, in the middle of the freeway in her flowing cape and Kryptonian glyph, she’s reminded that this person she is – this hero with all of her unfathomable powers, may be all she is ever meant to be. And there’s something heartbreaking about that.

She takes to the air where it’s easy to be alone with her thoughts. Up there, in the stratosphere she can block out the sound of the city below and just…float.

In the weeks prior to the fall of Krypton, Kara’s parents and Kal-El’s parents had spent many hours huddled together speaking of their plans. Kara always knew that her newborn cousin, Kal-El, was special, having grown inside of Lara’s belly instead of the Argosian birthing matrix like all the other children of Argo City, going back thousands of years. Like herself.

Beyond changing Kal-El’s cloths in the first few days of his life, Kara recalls her Aunt Lara grasping her smaller hand, an excited smile on her face, and placing it over her ever expanding belly. She remembers vividly the way she giggled when the growing child inside of Lara pressed against Kara’s hand, as though trying to greet her before his own birth.

“Can you feel that, Kara?” she asked.

“Yes, Aunt Lara. He moves so much!” Kara loved him so. Even from the very beginning.

A sad, resigned expression passes over her aunt’s face. “He’s a strong one,” she said. ‘Stronger than any Kryptonian born in ten generations, for growing inside of me. He’ll make his own choices one day. Decide who he wants to be without some birthing matrix telling him.”

“Maybe I’ll get to make my own choices too when I’m grown up,” Kara grinned, blissfully unaware that so many of her already limited choices would be taken from her in the coming weeks.

“I hope so Kara. I hope so,” Aunt Lara said. “Can you promise me something, dear one?”

“Anything, Aunt Lara!”

“If something should happen to me…or to your Uncle Jor…will you promise to take care of Kal?” Aunt Lara rubbed her belly indicating her unborn son.

“Is that to be his name?” Kara asked. “Kal-El?”

“Yes,” Aunt Lara nodded with a wan smile. “It means…Bringer of Hope.”

“I like it.”

“Will you make me this promise, precious Kara?” Aunt Lara asked, her voice taking on a near desperate edge. “It would soothe my soul to know he will always have you.”

“Always, Aunt Lara,” she promised the woman, reaching out to caress the squirming bundle beneath her skin. “I will always be by Kal-El’s side.”

“Then I know that wherever he is, he will be in the best of hands.” The relief on Lara’s face was palpable, but Kara couldn’t think why.

Kal-El’s tiny foot kicks hard against her hand and Kara, filled with awe, presses back, letting him know she’s there and always will be. “Aunt Lara?” she inquired.

“Yes, dear one?” Lara’s hand caressed Kara’s long golden hair.

“Will a baby grow inside of me one day?” Kara asked, excited at the prospect of feeling it all from within.

“Would you like that, Kara?”

“I would!” She replied with the innocence of a child without the means to determine the responsibilities that come with parenthood.

Lara placed her hand over Kara’s on her stomach, and squeezed her fingers lovingly. “Then…if it is Rao’s will, that day may yet come…if you’re very lucky.”

“I will pray to Rao to make me lucky.”

A sadness crossed Lara’s face, and Kara wanted to inquire why her aunt was so melancholy about such a happy topic. “I will pray with you,” she said. “For the sake of all Kryptonians…may Rao see fit to bless you.”

Kara didn’t know what her aunt meant by invoking all Kryptonians, but she echoed back the expected answer anyway, “And may Rao see fit to bless you as well.”

She never forgot those moments with Lara which, as it turned out, were their last together before Kal was born. By the time he came into the world, a fat, hungry baby, blissfully unware of the destruction bearing down on his people, Kara knew something was frightfully wrong. Many times, she’d overhead her parents and Kal’s parents as they huddled together, speaking of escape pods and a planet with a yellow sun where Kal would grow to be strong.

At first she wondered why Kal couldn’t grow to be strong on Krypton, until more of the pieces were revealed to her and everything became terrifyingly clear. No one was going to be growing up on Krypton anymore, because soon there would be no Krypton. She remembers her father, Zor-El, a well-respected bioengineer, telling her that something was wrong with Krypton’s core and that it couldn’t be fixed. Not even by Uncle Jor-El, an astrophysicist, who was an expert in such matters, could find a solution.

Very soon Krypton would meet its doom, and everyone along with it. But they had a plan to evacuate as many people as possible using a variety of means.

It was a plan that never made it to fruition. The time they were hoping for and counting on, never materialized. Kara had hope upon landing on Earth (arriving late after having been thrown off course) that others had survived the cataclysm and found their way here. But her cousin Kal, who was now a full-grown man and very much beyond need of her help, explained that there were no others. He too had been hopeful, and was glad, he’d said, if he only had her. But over the years, that didn’t stop her from hoping.

If she had been thrown off course…didn’t that mean others could have been too?

It wasn’t until a year after her arrival on Earth, while lying in her twin bed next to Alex’s, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling, that Lara’s words that day began to make sense.

For the sake of all Kryptonians…

Kal-El was the Bringer of Hope, but so too was she – although of a different sort. One day, when she was ready to be a mother, she would carry a child that would merge the world of Earth and Krypton together. A child that would, in time, take humans to the next level of evolution. And in that child, Kara could instill knowledge of the best of Krypton, so that the culture of her ancestors could live on after she was gone, at least in memory.

Even before she was grown—before there was a Supergirl—it was her biological and moral imperative. Krypton must live on beyond her own lifetime and beyond Clark’s. Not at the expense of another people, but with the help of it; together becoming better…stronger. Kara hovers high above the clouds, her secret spot, mulling over her memories and everything she thought her life was supposed to be, but turns out…wasn’t.

Perhaps Krypton is meant to die with her and Clark, she considers. But if that was so, why should they have survived in the first place? Kara finds it unfeasible to believe that their joint survival was anything other than ordained. It can’t have been an accident. Yet why bring her across a galaxy to this place and then make it impossible for her to perpetuate her bloodline, her culture, her history? Well…almost impossible. There was, after all, still one possibility.

One possibility.

One path.

Her breath catches in her lungs, her heart taking a giant leap forward before every ounce of tension seeps out of her body, as all the threads begin to gel into a cohesive tapestry that’s been right before her eyes all along. Why hadn’t she seen it?

Every muscle in her body tenses as she prepares to put on some speed. It is about time she stop brooding over the derailment of plans she made as a child, and start accepting the path before her – a path laid out for a grown woman. Kara shoots forward, almost instantly breaking the sound barrier with a loud boom, a ballistic missile with a pedicure headed for the DEO. She just has one stop she needs to make first. Kara smiled.

She has to see a man about some red tubes.

TBC

#karamel #karamel fic #hanging on letting go series

15 notes · View notes

jeremystrele · 5 years ago

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51 Leather Sofas To Add Effortless Refinement To Any Home

From mornings with kids watching cartoons to nights enjoying cocktails and conversation, our sofas undoubtedly get a lot of use. So how do you pick a sofa that is versatile enough for everyday use and stylish enough to wow guests? Try a leather sofa. Leather sofas feature an easy clean surface that protects from stains and spills from kids—or messy adults—plus, they offer longevity, effortless elegance, and can be found in a variety of styles, shapes, and colors to meld with any decor. Our collection below includes everything from compact Mid-Century Modern finds to expansive leather sectionals. We’ve even scoped out some genuine leather options that get better with age—not something you can say about most furniture!

$984BUY IT Mid Century Modern Leather Sofa: A cognac colored sofa that is sure to add warmth and a dash of Mid-Century Modern allure to any decor. It offers crisp lines and a distinct shape that is sure to stun in any space. Matching chair also available.

$1702BUY IT Top Grain Leather Sofa: Another sofa that is brimming with Mid-Century Modern appeal. Square tufted cushions, high-density foam, and top grain leather infuse this option with a mix of style and comfort. Pair with a light-colored area rug (like shown) to further highlight this sofa’s deep warm tones.

$1639BUY IT Mid Century Black Leather Loveseat: Black is a classic option that blends with almost any decor style. Whether you’re trying to capture the decor of Mad Men or simply want versatile seating, this leather sofa will get you there. Its two overstuffed cushions offer tons of comfort, while its splayed wooden legs offer some Mid-Century Modern style and make this design particularly easy to clean underneath.

$751BUY IT Black Faux Leather Sofa: A black sofa that is simple enough to use in a commercial space, yet sleek enough for the home. A fantastic find if you want a leather sofa that won’t hog the limelight but still looks great.

$3559BUY IT Black Mid Century Modern Leather Sofa: Cone-shaped legs with brass metal tips add just the right amount of detail to this inherently Mid-Century Modern sofa. Its solid wood frame displays a beautiful wood grain that not many other sofas can boast. Want something a bit lighter? This design is also available in White, Grey, and Tan.

$1434BUY IT Brown Leather Chesterfield Sofa: Pair the charm of a Chesterfield with the appeal of leather and you are sure to have a sofa that impresses. Just check out this beauty! It comes in Brown, Black, or Cognac (shown) and also has a matching tufted chair available.

$1463BUY IT Grey Leather Chesterfield: A Chesterfield with a contemporary twist. The grey leather and polished steel frame on this sofa offer contemporary flair to a classic. This on-trend seating would look fabulous everywhere from the living room to the study. Also available in Brown.

$2559BUY IT Genuine Leather Channel Tufted Sofa: And if you prefer a tufted sofa with channel tufting, this genuine leather option should be on your shortlist. It has a large singular seat cushion that beautifully contrasts against the ornate channel-tufted back—an ideal sofa to display colorful or bold decorative pillows.

$499BUY IT Small Brown Leather Sofa: Have a small space? A leather sofa like this one might be just what you need. Its simple lines won’t visually clutter the space, while its classic design will meld with any decor style. A fabulous addition to a professional environment or a home.

$419BUY IT Small Contemporary Leather Sofa: A small sofa with big contemporary vibes. Encouraging Review: “I love my loveseat! I was easy to assemble. It’s just the right size for the room I put it in. The cushions are somewhat hard but still comfortable for me. It serves its purpose.”

$1599BUY IT Teal Leather Sofa: This sofa offers a combination of modern sophistication and eye-catching teal leather. A great addition to any space, but it would look exceptionally stunning if you were going for a coastal vibe. The brushed rose gold metal legs on this piece infuse the design with just the right amount of contrast. It even offers removable seat and back cushions for easy cleaning. Also available in Grey, Cobblestone, or Navy.

$1650BUY IT Blue Leather Sofa: A blue option that feels a bit lighter and brighter than the previous sofa due to its soft blue leather. This loveseat will bring sophistication into big and small spaces alike with its Italian upholstery, sharp angles, and soft curves. A must for those who don’t want to give up color for elegance. Also available as a 3-seater.

$4540BUY IT Cognac Camel Leather Sofa: A simple leather sofa that doesn’t need any bells and whistles to impress. Its modern design offers a pleasing visual contrast with the robust cushions and slender legs. Want to make this sofa a focal point in the room? Opt for a color like Rose Pink or Dark Blue. Matching chair and stool also available.

$9622BUY IT Minimalist Leather Sofa: A leather sofa that takes on a bit of a different form with its single tufted cushion and bolster. The Barcelona Couch was added to Ludwig Mies van der Rohe’s in 1930—the year that followed the release of the Barcelona chair and stool. This luxury option in crafted from African Mahogany Sapele, while its individual panels of leather are cut, welted, and tufted by hand.

$11759BUY IT Eames Sofa in Black Leather: Add a timeless touch to your home with an Eames Sofa. This sofa effortlessly blends wood, leather, and aluminum to create a poignant design that has stood the test of time. The Eames sofa was the last piece of furniture produced by Eames Office and has been in continuous production since 1984 due to high demand. Available as two-set or three-seat.

$1139BUY IT Modern Black Leather Sofa: A black leather sofa with a more substantial and robust feel. Its chunky seat cushions, flared arms, and swooping back will surely draw the eye of any onlookers—we know it certainly caught our attention! No assembly required.

$3495BUY IT Modern Brown Leather Sofa: A low-back sofa that feels modern and rustic with its organic shape and distressed leather. Not many sofas can boast that they get better with age, but this one surely can. It is available in an array of vintage leather colors that will develop a rich patina with age.

$2099BUY IT Dark Grey Genuine Leather Sofa: We instantly fell for this charcoal grey sofa with its nailhead trim and top-grain leather. It offers superior quality and style, plus if you want to pull together your living space in an instant, a variety of matching pieces are also available—chair, loveseat, and ottoman.

$3495BUY IT Distressed Leather Sofa: Opt for this distressed sofa if you have a space that is craving luxurious and modern seating with gorgeous detailing. This sofa is built to last with a solid wood frame and leather upholstery that will gracefully age over time.

$4699BUY IT Distressed Leather Sofa Set: Rustic enough for a man cave, yet, stylish enough to display in your main living space. This leather sofa set will keep the whole family happy with its oversized seats, leather that will only get better with age, and sleek design.

$2720BUY IT Italian Leather Sofa Set: Want a set that feels more contemporary and bright? This leather sofa set offers a unique design that is luxuriously elegant while being anything but boring. It has adjustable headrests for an extra boost of comfort, as well as geometric patterning and sleek metal detailing that is unparalleled. Also available in Beige, Black, Camel, or Dark Grey.

$719BUY IT Queen Size Leather Sleeper Sofa: Multi-functional and highly fashionable, this L-shaped leather sectional has a lot to offer. Encouraging Review: “Very large, but small enough to fit into my apartment living room. Comfortable to sleep on. Love the material. Took maybe 15 minutes to assemble once we realized that the parts are zippered into the underside of the lounge. I like how the headrest is adjustable. The material is faux leather. So far, it has been easy to clean.”

$159BUY IT Faux Leather Sofa Bed: A highly affordable sleeper sofa that has the added benefit of a pull-down center console with cup holders. A fabulous option for those who have small spaces but don’t want to skimp of function or style. Also available in Black, Brown, or White.

$190BUY IT Cream Leather Sleeper Sofa With Cup Holders: Small details like blind tufted cushions and cup holders are truly what makes this sofa shine. It is not only budget-friendly, but you get a lot of bang for your buck since it also converts into a bed. Perfect for accommodating surprise guests or a good option for studio apartments. Available in multiple neutral colors.

$572BUY IT White Leather Sofa: A leather sofa that is all about comfort with two adjustable armrests and plush cushions—ideal for laying down or lounging. A versatile daybed to indulge in a book on rainy days or accommodate guests. Matching ottoman also available.

$599BUY IT Leather Storage Sofa Bed: You can never have too much storage! The chaise on this leather section flips up to reveal open space that is ideal for stashing everything from blankets to magazines. This true space optimizer is available in 5 colors.

$1139BUY IT Farmhouse Leather Sofa: Anchor any space with this chic leather sofa. A streamlined silhouette, divine caramel coloring, genuine leather, and removable cushions are just a glimpse of what this design has to offer. Also available in Vintage Black.

$18640BUY IT Naturally Tanned Leather Sofa: Characterized by simple shapes and luxurious material, this leather sofa was designed by Børge Mogensen for his own home in 1962. Since then, it has been spotted in embassies, minister’s cabinets, and upscale hotels around the world. It is crafted from breathable, vegetable-tanned leather that will develop a darker patina over time.

$2607BUY IT Grey Leather Sofa: The Harvard Sofa won’t make you smarter, but it is a smart design choice for any home with its wood frame, Italian leather, and comfortable cushioning. Want to pair it with a fur rug like seen above? Check out our rug collection for inspiration.

$1174BUY IT Red Leather Sofa Set: A splash of red may be just what you need to make your interior design a hot topic. This leather sofa set not only offers an eye-catching color, but it also has adjustable headrests, sleek metal legs, and genuine leather upholstery.

$107BUY IT Kids Leather Sofa: A faux leather sofa that not only looks great with its soft pink upholstery, but it also excels at withstanding everyday use, including spills. This gem-studded beauty measures 3 feet across, making it the perfect size to tuck into a small space. It provides a wonderful place for kids to relax in a playroom, reading nook, or bedroom.

$7799BUY IT Layered Leather Sofa: If you are looking for a leather sofa that takes pride in its material and craftsmanship, then this beauty should be a major consideration. It fits with most styles of decor, and it is sure to turn a few heads with its unusual layered design.

$658BUY IT Rustic Leather Sofa: Bring a piece of nature into your home with this rustic leather sofa. Its wood frame not only holds an earthy and textural appeal, but it also doubles as a bed when folded down, making it highly functional.

$1929BUY IT Leather Power Reclining Sofa: Do function and comfort rank high on your must-have list for a sofa? You don’t want to miss this leather power recliner! With a power headrest, hidden LED lights, cup holders, armrest storage, USB and power ports, and pop-up wire management, this sofa has a whole lot to offer.

$1179BUY IT Leather Reclining Sofa With Built-In Table: A reclining sofa that has fewer features, but that certainly doesn’t mean it lacks comfort. Kick up your feet and place your drink in the fold-down center console for the ultimate at-home movie watching experience. Much more comfortable than the movie theater!

$1839BUY IT Genuine Leather Sofa: A real leather sofa with rave reviews. It is available in Camparo Brown, Fumo Grey, or Tan Brown (shown). Encouraging Review: “This couch is like butter! So soft, smooth and freaking comfortable. We love it, dogs love it and its beautiful. I’m so in love!!!”

$1654BUY IT Oversized Leather Sofa: A sofa that will add comfort to homes both big and small. This oversized leather sofa is moisture-resistant and stain proof, making it ideal for homes with kids. However, even spaces without kids will benefit from its quality and comfort.

$8230BUY IT Real Leather Sofa: The simple design of this sofa makes it an appealing option for most spaces. It is upholstered in real leather that is equally as luxurious as it is stylish. We adore the slight puff that the feather filled cushions offer this design.

$999BUY IT Real Leather Sofa With Square Arms: A real leather sofa with a more traditional feel. Not only is this affordable sofa versatile when it comes to blending with color schemes and interior decor styles, but its solid wood frame and genuine leather means that it can be enjoyed for a long time to come.

$9989BUY IT Swan Sofa: A couch like no other, the Swan Sofa is brimming with minimalist charm and sophistication. This fluid design was created by Arne Jacobsen in 1958 and was created with fluid curves and a molded shell. Today it is made similarly and available in multiple upholstery colors. A fantastic sofa for brighter upholstery since its simple design effortlessly works in harmony with any color.

$869BUY IT Tufted Leather Sofa: If you love the color of the Swan Sofa, but are looking for something more ornate, this button-tufted sofa may be up your alley. Not only does it offer a steel base that gives it a contemporary vibe, but its leather also has a slight gloss that adds to this design’s allure. Available in multiple colors.

$6699BUY IT Tufted All Leather Sofa: And if the other options don’t have enough tufting for you, look to this all leather sofa that is tufted from top to bottom. Its soft curves and simple shape embellished with tufting makes for quite the statement everywhere from modern to contemporary homes.

$3339BUY IT L Shaped Leather Sectional: Or perhaps you prefer to make a statement with a subtle pop of color. This L-shaped sectional features a rich navy blue leather, wood legs, tufted cushions, and a side chaise. Put in a lightly colored room to add depth and contrast, or put in a neutral living space for a punch of subtle color.

$499BUY IT Tufted Faux Leather Sofa With Ottoman: Another L-shaped sofa, but this time in a neutral chocolate brown that will effortlessly blend with most warm color schemes. This faux leather sofa includes the ottoman pictured, so no more fighting who gets to put their legs up!

$591BUY IT Faux Leather Corner Sectional With Ottoman: A sectional that uses nailhead trim to highlight its unique angles and add a bit of flair to an otherwise standard design. This budget-conscious buy can be displayed in the center of a larger living room or tucked into the corner of smaller spaces—either way, it will add style and comfort. The ottoman shown is included.

$3499BUY IT Grey Leather Sectional With Recliners: Recline in contemporary style with this grey leather sectional. It is available as either right-hand facing or left-hand facing and boasts power recliners, medium firmness, and adjustable headrests for supreme comfort. It also offers genuine top-grain leather and sleek metal feet, so not only does it feel good, it looks amazingly contemporary and sleek.

$546BUY IT Leather Sofa Bed With Chaise: A large contemporary sofa bed that your wallet will love. For a little over $500 this versatile sofa could be making your living room into a multi-use haven. Its wood frame and leather seating provide everyday comfort, while its fold-down function is perfect to accommodate overnight guests. Love the look, but not the color? This sofa is also available in Black.

$1339BUY IT White Leather Sectional Sofa: With over 200 5-star reviews, this curvy sectional is a crowd favorite. It offers smooth faux leather, wide seating for up to 5, and a unique shape that is sure to add a fresh contemporary vibe to any living room, waiting room, or den. Available in multiple colors. Encouraging Review: “The sectional looks so much better in person. Although I fell in love with it when I saw it. In person you see the curves, the grooves, each stitch made with perfection.”

$3299BUY IT Black & White Leather Sectional Sofa: This large leather sofa is a book lovers dream! The shelves built into the arms will keep all your latest reads on hand, while the 5 extra-wide seats and chaise offer plenty of room to stretch out. Not much of a reader? This sofa would also be perfect for movie nights with the family or cocktail parties among friends.

$3299BUY IT White Leather Curved Sectional Sofa: A curved sofa is a great way to add an unexpected element to any space—and this chic c-shaped sofa is no exception! Its elegant build and white leather finish are sure to add a touch of refinement to any large living area. Plus, all of its cushions are removable for easy cleaning, so you don’t have to worry about messy kids—or friends.

$3739BUY IT U Shaped Leather Sectional: Big and bold, this large leather sectional demands attention! With its rolled arms and tufted back, it has the feel of Chesterfield but is a lot more expansive. A must-have for those who love to entertain, as it sits 11 and is the ideal shape for group games and conversation. Available in multiple colors and fabrics.

Recommended Reading: 51 Leather & Faux Leather Chairs that Redefine Classic Comfort

Modern Classic Chairs

41 Mid Century Modern Clocks To Accessorize Your Wall, Desk, Or Mantel

58 Mid Century Modern Furniture Selections to Help You Recapture the Era

30 Mid-Century Modern Sofas That Make Your Lounge Look The Era

51 Tufted Sofas that Make Everyday Comfort Look Extraordinary

3 Examples That Show How To Go Full Mid Century Modern

0 notes

drewebowden66 · 5 years ago

Text

51 Leather Sofas To Add Effortless Refinement To Any Home

Recommended Reading: 51 Leather & Faux Leather Chairs that Redefine Classic Comfort

Modern Classic Chairs

41 Mid Century Modern Clocks To Accessorize Your Wall, Desk, Or Mantel

58 Mid Century Modern Furniture Selections to Help You Recapture the Era

30 Mid-Century Modern Sofas That Make Your Lounge Look The Era

51 Tufted Sofas that Make Everyday Comfort Look Extraordinary

3 Examples That Show How To Go Full Mid Century Modern

0 notes