#not in like. god how do i put it. usually the broad strokes are perfectly fine. it's the little interactions that i watch and go ohhhh hm.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Uhhh ship bingo: whatever assassins creed ship is in ur brain rn

alsdkjsakjd your support of my stint of madness is much appreciated, my friend. anyway twincest time.

every time i play syndicate im like OKAY. im gonna be normal about it this time. and then five seconds after loading the game up, im on the train and (jacob voice) OH EVIE HAVE I MENTIONED HOW PRETTY YOU LOOK IN YOUR OUTFIT. IM YOUR BROTHER BTW AND IM JEALOUS OF YOUR BOYFRIEND FOR GETTING ALL OF YOUR ATTENTION.

this is not my fault. i mean it's never my fault but it's even less my fault than it has been other times. im not the one who wrote that dialogue into the game. and besides :3 they're fun. they're stupid competitive. they're always bickering. they're annoying to each other, i love that they're annoying all the time, i love that you get shit like jacob putting his boots up on evie's desk for No Reason while she's working and evie making fun of him for blowing up a train because he was in the middle of making fun of her for. well. also blowing something up during her assassination mission. they explode things a lot. it's fun. i think they should kiss about it, too. what's a little incest between assassins.

[barnes-n-nobles]

Youre My Path (SMUT)

Yandere Bucky being crazy, possessive, and DARK!

TW-Mentions on non-con, drugging, stalking, and overall dark behavior. A little bit of knife play as well.

Smut SMUT SMUT

Let me know what y’all think 

Today was just another boring ordinary day. You had to go to the store and stock up on some groceries that you had been planning on getting but you lacked the will power to do so. You opened your phone and looked at the time. Ugh, I need to go before they close you thought to yourself as you managed to peel yourself off of your comfy sofa. You got ready and headed towards the nearest super market.

Lately youve been having some weird feelings, as if someone is constantly watching you. You always shake it off though, because nothing ever happens to you. You always get home safe and sound. Today was a little more intense though, as if you could almost hear someone breathing behind you when you were walking to the store. Relieved to have made it inside, you grabbed your cart and started your trip through the empty isles of the store. You loved and hated to come at night, it made you feel at peace knowing there there wouldn’t be annoying ass kids and angry moms yelling at them to behave. No people blocking the isles with their carts and most importantly, no need to run into someone you knew. The only reason you hated it, was because you didn’t want to get kidnapped and left for dead.

As you made your way to the bread isle, you had that feeling again. You felt like someone was behind you, you stopped dead in your tracks to see if anyone would walk past you. You pretended to look at the merchandise and you slowly turned around to see if there was anyone there. You looked both ways, and sure enough there was nothing. You rolled your eyes and kept it moving. As your trip started coming to an end you decided to stop by the makeup isle, needing a couple of items that you would use for your upcoming date.

Usually you didn’t try this hard but you figured you would give it a shot. All the past times you went on dates they would disappear after your first date. You weren’t sure if it was because you didn’t try hard enough or if they simply weren’t feeling your vibe. As your mind trailed off you accidentally ran into another person with your cart, completely snapping you out of your mind. A broad man, fell to his knee. “Oh my god!!! I’m so sorry. Are you ok? God I’m so clumsy please forgive me” you said frantically as you started to help him up. He lifted his head up to meet your gaze, big blue eyes % bore%% into your own. Your eyes started to trail from his eyes, to his lips, and up again to his perfectly sculpted face. You were mesmerized, you had never seen such a handsome man. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, y/n” he said quickly getting up and walking off with a visible smirk on his face. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, knowing damn well he did not just say your name. You werent exactly sure if your mind was playing tricks on you or if he really said what you think he had said. You got up quickly, still in shock but hoping that it was really your mind playing tricks on you. Hesitantly you continued to shop, even though there was a little voice in your head telling you to get the hell out of that store.

Bucky POV

FUCK she’s so beautiful, he thought to himself. The way you stared at him, it was clear you wanted him the way he wanted you. This was the moment that he had been waiting for ever since he laid eyes on you. He had never been this close to you, it was like a dream come true. You smelled like candy, your beautiful e/c eyes meeting his. Just how he had imagined but better. The way you apologized made him hard. Just think of how submissive my y/n will be to me mmmm I’m going to devour her in every way possible he thought to himself, smirking.

Bucky ran into you at a coffee shop near your house. It was love at first sight for him. He watched you interact with your friends, smile, laugh, and it was like a match made in heaven for him. He knew he needed you to smile for him, laugh for him, and live for him. He followed you home that night. Making sure you wanted to be safe, of course. But his monthly visits turned to weekly and then turned to daily. He eventually managed to get into your home. You left a space key under your mat, and he felt so happy yet disappointed that you would endanger yourself like that. “When we live together, I’ll make sure you don’t make silly mistakes like this” he said to himself as he got into your home.

He went through your house just browsing, seeing if anything interesting caught his eye. He then made it into your room and continued to look through your things. He found your panties next to your bed and quickly grabbed them and put him in his picked for him to enjoy later. He also took some pictures of you, to also enjoy later.

You were his new routine and he enjoyed every second of it. As time went on he would keep tabs on you, absolutely hating it when you went on dates. He was consumed with jealousy and couldn’t believe anyone would dare lay a finger on you. He knew that this would not fly and he had to make sure to get rid of any roadblocks that got in his way. Bucky murdered them and everytime he did he felt relieved, almost happy knowing that he was that much closer to you.

After his encounter with you, Bucky walked off into the parking lot, one car over from yours, slipping into the drivers seat. His mind started to go wild. He needed you so badly. He wished he could have taken you right then and there. How he wished he could be inside you, your soft moans begging him to make you feel good. His cock soon started to throb at the thought of you. He leaned back in his seat taking a pair of your panties out from his pocket. He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply, moaning as he exhaled. “Fuck Y/n...you make me so horny...I’m going to fuck the shit out of you when you’re here baby just you wait”.

Wasnt long before he pulled out his dick, stroking it hard. His hips bucking into his hand wishing it was your pussy. He started to think about how beautiful your pretty mouth would be around his dick, how good your tongue would feel swiveling around his tip. Just as he was about to cum, he stopped. He growled and threw his head back lowly moaning your name. “Fuck...I cant take this anymore. I need her” He quickly tucked himself back in and relaxed.

All you could think about was how that guy knew your name. It kept replaying in your head and it didn’t make sense. You headed to your car and started to load everything in. “Hello my Y/n” you heard someone say in a low deep voice. You quickly turned around, your heart starting to beat a little faster. “Umm. Do I know you?” You asked. Bucky sighed and started to walk towards you. “Not yet doll but you will” a smirk on his face once again. You backed up as he took steps forward. “Don’t come any closer, or I’m calling the police”.

Bucky pressed himself against your body, his hands snaking their way to your hips. His face now pressed against your neck. “No you wont Princess, I know you like this. I can tell by the way that you’re breathing that you want me to keep going” his low voice going straight to your core. “N-no please...stop I ..” you tried pushing him off but you started to feel so weak. You had not noticed that Bucky had used something to drug you. All you felt was your body going limp and you falling into his arms.

Bucky smiled as you fell into him, placing a soft kiss on your temple. He noticed that someone was coming over so he quickly pressed your body to your car, and grabbed your face, kissing you. The person walking, walked a little faster as they were feeling a little awkward. Perfect he thought to himself. He placed you into the back to his car, resting your head to a pillow he had just bought and covering you with his sweater. He quickly drove off, leaving all your things by your car.

Your eyes opened, your head pounding. Wherever you were it was dark but comfortable. You groaned as you started to fully wake up, slowly sitting up. Your left hand felt heavy, you tried pulling it and you heard a chain. You yanked your hand hard again, making a loud sound. Bucky heard the noise coming from your guy’s room and he smiled and quickly got up making his way to you.

“Baby you’re awake now” Bucky excitedly said

“What’s going on..why are you doing this to me, where am I?”

“You’re home doll, with me”

“But I don’t know you” you cried softly

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. I’ve been looking after you for a while now and it’s been a pleasure but I'm so glad that I finally have you all to myself, just how it was always meant to be”

He started to get on the bed climbing towards you. You backed up as he came towards you, your back was now against the wall, pinning yourself between the cold wall and his broad body. His hand going to the back of your neck, bringing you close to him, your lips almost touching his.

“I’ve waited a life time for this, to have you here with me. You make me crazy and I would sacrifice the world for you. Now that you’re all mine, I won’t ever loose you” he closed the gap between you two, his lips desperately locking into yours. Kissing you passionately, he was hungry and desperate. You turned your head to the side, breaking the kiss.

“This isn’t the way Bucky, this isn’t right. You need to let me go” you begged. Bucky smiled and looked down moving back away from you. It made you feel relieved that he was not too mad due to your actions. He slowly got up from the bed and went over to his dresser, rummaging through some things.

“Bucky...maybe we are in different paths right now, maybe in the future we will be together but now right now, not like this...please Bucky listen to me”, hoping that he would have a little sympathy, you used his name to make it more personal.

“You know , y/n...just because you say we are on different paths doesn’t mean it’s true” he grabbed something and started to walk towards you again. This time his metal arm reached out to pull you by your leg to the edge of the bed, giving you whiplash. He quickly climbed on top of you, pinning your arms above your head with his metal arm and pulling out a syringe with his other hand.

You quickly started to wiggle around trying to get him off you. Shaking your head, “no no please stop no”. Buckys eyes had a hint of madness to them, dark and disturbing. “Don’t worry these don’t hurt, it will make you feel better I promise”. He quickly injected it to you and you soon started to feel get hot, with a tingling sensation “This will loosen you up a bit, it’ll make you relax so that we can enjoy eachother baby”

His lips made their way onto your neck, kissing and licking you all over. Your heart started to race, your eyes closing, soft moans escaping your lips, “n-no..” Bucky grunted as his erection started to press against your clothed pussy. His hips bucking forward, dry humping you. He lowered down to your ear, whispering, “ cant you see what you do to me. You’re so sexy and sensual you’re almost making me cum in my pants with your adorable moans, my love. As much as love to hear you right now, I want you to moan and scream my name y/n...begging me to fuck you harder”

All his words, combined with his dry humping made you soaking wet. As much as you hated this you couldn’t help but moan louder. His cock pressing against you was not enough and you needed more. You tried your hardest to resist, “G-get a..way f-from me..” you managed to choke out, trying to not moan anymore and trying to push him off with your body. Suddenly Bucky got angry. Hating how you were fighting him. He tore off your thin leggings in a fast single motion, revealing your soaked panties. He took out his knife and pressed it against you, earning a frantic gasp but you stopped moving. “Stop fighting me doll, for your own good because I swear I will fucking destroy you. I’ve waited too long for this, don’t push me because you won’t like the way I punish you.But......if you behave I’ll make sure to take care of you..real good care darling” he said as his knife traced your body. He grabbed your shirt roughly and ripped it off, slicing your bra open as well.

His mouth watered at the sight of your delicious breasts, making his cock twitch with excitement. His knife trailed down to your panties, making you whimper. “You’re so delicious kitten, I’m going to fuck you so hard. I cant wait till my cock is right in here” he motioned and tapped your clit with his knife. He roughly grabbed them and ripped them open instantly. He threw his knife to the side and quickly started to rub your clit making your back arch with your eyes closed. Your moans now filling up the room. Bucky smiled and took one of your nipples into his mouth, making you quiver and move your hips down into his hand. “Mmm, I knew you wanted this..wanted me...only me” he growled against your chest. “F-fuck Bucky...keep going please”. You hated yourself for saying that but you couldn’t help it, you were in pure ecstasy.

Just as you were about to reach your orgasm, he removed himself from you. Making you whine and buck your hips up, wanting and needing his touch once again. “Don’t worry kitten, I’m not done with you yet”. He quickly undressed and positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing his tip on your clit, making you mewl. “Tell me what you want doll...tell me what you want from me” he coaxed. You didn’t answer, as you were too embarrassed to say anything. His metal hand went to your neck, squeezing it hard. “Tell me y/n..tell me what you want NOW” he yelled, releasing his grip from your throat.

“Fuck me Bucky...please” you finally said. “I don’t think I heard you doll, say it loud and clear”. “FUCK ME BUCKY PLEASE I NEED YOU...PLEASE”. You finally broke. You needed him now, there was nothing in the world you wanted more than to have his cock inside of you, his lips on your skin and his hands all over you. You were finally filled with his big cock slipping in and out of your wet pussy. His hands on your neck, choking you but not too hard like before. His hips snapping in and out of you making your body shake. 

“Such an obedient slut, MY obedient slut. I’m going to break you and bend you to my will. Making you all mine. I’ll make you crave my touch, my attention, my voice. You’re going to live only for me, doll. Only for me” he growled as he pounded into you, rubbing your clit making you loose it. He then started to feel you reach your end, making him moan, “cum on my dick baby...cum for me. Let go” he cooed as he angled himself to reach into you deeper. That’s when you felt your orgasm hit you, your body started to shake, waves of pleasure surging through your body. “Mmm Buckyyyy” you moaned. Making him loose it as well, he coated your insides in his thick warm cum. Pumping himself in and out slowly. Gasping for air.

Fuck he was such a God, he made you want more of him. It was the first night and you were already going crazy for his touch. You wanted him to keep going keep doing you however he wanted, but most importantly to keep pleasuring you. Bucky finally pulled out and laid next to you, looking at your beautiful face. He brought his lips to yours and gave you a soft kiss. “The drug hasn’t worn off baby, don’t think this is over. We’re going until we cant no more, doll.” He said against your lips, flipping you over for round two.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #26: Cracked: Katsuki Bakugou

Bakugou’s a controlling bastard. But every now and then, something slips.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugou x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, bratty sub!Bakugou, soft domme!reader, bondage, overstimulation, begging, cum play, dry orgasms

Notes: We are finally caught up! This may be the same reader and the same Bakugou as yesterday’s fic. So... let that mean what it will. 👀 Navigating Bakugou as a sub is definitely interesting, but I like to think that, if he can be vulnerable for you, he can be a switch for you, too. 

EDIT: Forgot to add! Today’s prompt was “Overstimulation.” But that will become very obvious to you imminently. 

Kinktober Masterlist

Bakugou’s a controlling bastard. But every now and then, something slips.

Some nights, he comes home with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Hero work is high-pressure. Life-or-death, always. As a kid, it was all about the glory for him. But now, it’s been brought abruptly to Bakugou’s attention that there’s no saving everybody.

When the pressure of control sends cracks spidering through the veneer of his confidence, he has you to fall back on. You can assume control. You can take care of him. For the world, he’s strong. Always.

Sometimes, here, you get to be the strong one.

Tonight, he’s been quiet and fitful- needy, even if he isn’t very good at showing it. He gets temperamental when you draw too far from him. So, after dinner, you get the handcuffs. And to your immense delight, he relents.

It’s better when he’s ready to admit that he needs it. It means he’s going to let you help him, without having to bust through his iron-clad walls first.

By the time his resolve breaks, you’ve got him cuffed soundly to your bed. You’re perched in his lap, riding his cock slow and smooth. He’s drawing into himself, so you’re testing his patience. It’s one of the easiest ways to find out what he really wants. Katsuki is transparent, when his patience wears thin.

“That’s it,” you praise, even if he’s not ready to give you what you want. “Good boy. You’re such a good boy for me, Katsuki, letting me give it to you slow like this.”

His jaw ticks. His eyes crackle like bright, hot flame as he glares up at you. Every so often leading up to this moment, he’s let out a little grunt of sensation, but the look he gives you now implies that you’ve made an especially low blow.

“So patient,” you croon, giving a deep, low scoop of your hips against his. He groans through clenched teeth with hard lines of muscle standing out in his shoulders as he strains against the cuffs. “Waiting so well for me like this, Katsuki. My perfect, patient-“

He snaps.

Planting his unbound feet on the mattress, Bakugou gives a demanding roar and thrusts his hips violently against yours. It’s awkward and fumbling with nothing to brace against, but he can’t hold out any longer.

“Just- fucking- get it- over- with-“ he snarls between brutal pumps of his hips. Above him, you’re doing your best to fight the pleasure. You grab his hips and pin them down hard, pulling yourself abruptly off of him and watching as he growls and squirms.

“Tell me what you want,” you practically bark. Katsuki’s face is scarlet.

“Shut up,” he snaps back. “I said it already.”

“No. Tell me all of it.”

“God dammit. Just fucking give it to me.”

“What? Give you what?”

“Too much!” Bakugou blurts the words and then immediately shrinks into the mattress, sullen and embarrassed, “I want… too much again. Okay?”

“Baby,” you purr, softening immediately. He’s struggled through his own insecurities and given you what you asked for. Now, it’s time to reward him. You lean down and push a tender kiss against his damp forehead, sliding a palm up and down his heaving chest.

“You want me to overstim you?”

The flush is creeping down to his chest now. He glares at you, mortified, but pushing himself.

“Yeah.”

Much better.

You sense the root of his request easily. He needs to be exhausted tonight. He wants to fall into your hands. It’s been a long time since he let you take control like this, so he must really need it.

“Okay,” you soothe. You swing a leg back over his hips, lining his cock up with your slick pussy. “Alright. I’ve got you, babe.”

This time, when your body sucks him down, you don’t hold back. You hold him by the throat and ride him viciously, and he meets you at every stride. You revel in the way your flesh slaps against his, the soft creak of the mattress springs beneath you.

“That’s my baby,” you rasp, bracing your other palm on his broad chest and relishing the scrape of your clit over his body. It’s pushing you to climax far faster than you’d anticipated, but he’s starting to pull at his restraints again.

He’s not far off, either.

It’s the quiet gasp of your name from his lips that makes you sure.

“Almost-“ he chokes, and you press a little more firmly against his throat, drawing the restriction as tight as possible right before he cums. His chin wobbles a little as he lifts his head, bristling beneath you from mere sensation.

You hit your peak first. But he doesn’t follow far behind. As you fall forward against him, your pussy seizes hard around his shaft and milks the pleasure from his body. His wrists jerk against the cuffs- fighting his innate need to grab you hard while he cums. He plants his heels and shoves his hips up hard against yours, and his cum rolls down your insides and coats his shaft as he pumps it slowly into you.

“Good…” You’re breathless, pushing yourself up onto your hands to force the post-orgasm weight from your limbs. “Good one, baby.”

You stroke your fingertips down the side of his sweaty cheek and push a tender kiss to his pink mouth.

You’re just getting started.

Drawing yourself slowly off of him, you settle onto your knees between his legs. You resist the urge to lick your lips.

“Look how much you made for me,” you croon. His cock is slick and messy from his own cum- and yours- and you wrap your palm around his twitching shaft. He’s starting to go soft, but as soon as you squeeze, Bakugou bristles, and you can feel the surge in his muscles as his body reacts involuntarily to the sensation.

“So slippery,” you purr. “So slick for me. Let me give you another one, okay?”

You tighten your grip- firmer than usual and spurred on by the lubrication that his cum provides. He’s already trembling beneath your fingers, but he’s taking his pleasure in stride. He asked for this, after all. You plan to deliver.

“Gah!” He shudders when you start to stroke. You’re jerking him off in earnest, gripping and tugging and using every ounce of that lubrication to your advantage. Your palm slips easily over his tender flesh, and it’s not long before he’s flushed and twitching in your hand again. Fresh swells of precum break through his thickening cum.

It’s when he’s getting ready for his second orgasm that Bakugou starts to whimper.

It’s your favourite sound of his. Prized because of its rarity. You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve managed to pull that sound from him, and it’s almost perfectly aligned with the amount of times that he’s let you do this to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting tender already,” you purr, keeping up your steady rhythm. Squeezing just a little tighter, for good measure. His hips jump into your palm and his toes start to curl.

“T-tender,” he stutters, “g-gonna… baby…”

The last syllable gets drawn out as his body arches clean off the bed. He tenses, and his cock shoots thick ropes of cum over your hand and across his belly. There’s more than you anticipated, given the fact that he’d just cum already, but you’re not complaining.

“Holy shit, Katsuki.” You dip your fingers into the mess on his firm belly, slicking fresh drops of cum across his cock. His whole body jerks, hard, when you touch his cock, and you draw your eyes quickly to his face. You want to drink in his expression.

He’s irresistible like this. His whole face has gone maroon, his lower lip pulled tightly between his teeth. His eyes are all heady and soft, blown out with desire and tender sensation. It makes you want to stop, want to throw yourself into his arms and pepper him with kisses, but you know you can bring him further.

“You want my pussy again, babe?”

“Oh, God.” His eyes roll hard as he draws a tight breath through clenched teeth. You only grin wider.

“Come on, baby, I know you got it in you.”

He shoots you a wicked glare, not appreciating his own words when they’re turned on him. But he leads out a heady sigh.

“Just fuckin’ get it over with already.”

You’re far too happy to oblige. This time, you turn your back on him. You reach behind you to dip your fingers into the cum that pools in the grooves of his stomach, and slick some over your own tender folds.

“Jesus,” he snarls, and his cock twitches against your ass.

You ride him a little slower and steadier this time, knowing that your own pleasure is spent. But it doesn’t matter when this is about him. You want him to be so overwhelmed with pleasure by the end that he can’t handle anymore. You want him to break for you. If you take him to pieces, you can put him back together again the right way.

By the time he hits his third peak, the air of aggression and impatience has gone completely. He ruts his way through it with desperate whimpers of overstimulated pleasure, twitching weakly against you as more cum drools into your body.

You clean him up diligently afterward. After licking the mess from his stomach and thighs, you suck down his flushed shaft and he gives a sob of desperate sensation. He’s gone sensitive, so sensitive, but your mouth isn’t enough to hurt. It’s just gentle enough to drive him to that tender ecstasy- the place that feels impossible to reach, with bruised flesh such as his.

You suck diligently and slowly, grabbing the swell of his balls and making him shout for you. His pleasure builds anyway, and you brace your hands on his tensing thighs as he fusses and cries your name and shakes against your lips.

He gives you two bare spurts of thin, desperate cum. You swallow it eagerly and pull away, stroking his trembling thighs.

It’s working. The cracks grow deeper.

“You’re almost there, baby,” you promise, kissing the hard flesh beneath your palms. He starts.

“Almost?”

“One more for me,” you plead. ���C’mon, Katsuki, you’ve got one more, right?”

“N-no,” he grits, looking almost teary as he lifts his head to find your gaze. “No, please. I-I can’t take anymore, sweetness, baby, please.”

Concern rises sour in the back of your throat. You take a deep breath and crawl out from between his legs.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, tender as a lamb. You drop to the edge of the bed and push your forehead against his, reaching forward to twine the fingers of one hand with his.

He squeezes your fingers, carefully and distinctly.

Three times. I love you.

That’s your green light.

“Here,” you soothe, reaching into the bedside drawer and producing a bottle of cooling, water-based lube. “Let’s make it a little easier on you this time, okay?”

You squeeze a generous dollop into your palm and rub it between your fingers. When you get between his thighs again, his cock has started to droop in protest. He’s spent- far beyond spent- but you plan to push him through that. It’s what he’s asked for. What he needs from you.

“That must feel better.” You smooth your lubed hands over his cock- the skin is molten- and he fusses again, bristling beneath your fingers and letting out a fitful little moan of indignance. His fingers curl above the soft cuffs that bind him.

“Fuck,” he gasps, but as you squeeze and massage his exhausted flesh, he begins to stir to life again. Even the sensation of arousal seems painful, given the way he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head to one side.

“Don’t worry, Katsuki,” you promise, “I’m gonna take it nice and slow. I know you can do this, baby, I know you’ve got this for me.”

It doesn’t take him long at all to struggle and fuss his way to a peak.

You touch him in long, smooth, easy strokes, gliding your hand through the cool lube and letting him squirm between your fingers. Every breath he draws is shuddering. His skin is kissed all over with blush. You’ve never seen him look so desperate, so vulnerable before.

It’s no surprise that, as his thighs draw up and his hips shoot downward, as he thrashes against his restraints and sobs your name like a desperate prayer, he produces nothing.

His cock twitches and strains in your hand. His balls draw close, tight and protective. He’s coming, it’s clear, but his orgasm passes without a drop of cum.

“Please,” he begs as the desperate ache of a dry climax settles into his body. You pull your hands from him.

“No more,” he continues. “Please, god, I-I got nothin’ left for you.”

“I know.”

You unbuckle him from his restraints, leaving wet little fingerprints across the supple leather. As soon as he’s free, he rolls onto his side and grabs you tight.

“You’re okay,” you soothe, settling your sticky palms on his back. It doesn’t matter how messy you get- you’re going to clean him up soon, anyway. “You’re alright, baby, I got you.”

“Fuck,” he shudders into the crook of your shoulder. “Gonna fuckin’ get you back for this.”

You grin against his sweat-slicked skin and pull him a little closer.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

[bluewhale52]

Little Black Book: The One You Hate (M)

Summary: There are a few names in your Little Black Book, and these seven hold a special place in your heart. Now that you are closing that chapter in your life, you reminisce the time and experience you have had with your seven favourite men, especially with Kim Seokjin, the one you hate.

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Rating: Explicit. NO MINORS ALLOWED.

Genre: nonidol!au, strangers to lovers, friends with benefit

WC: 3.9k

Warning: swearing, car blowjob, ass slapping, OC loves going down on Seokjin, sex against a window, sex between coworkers, love-hate relationship between OC and Seokjin (more on OC). I guess that’s about it….

A/N: Many, many, many thanks to @rainbhrts94​ for beta-ing this piece. I was experiencing a burnout and having a hard time putting all my thoughts together, and her reviews and suggestions totally helped getting this fic into its final form. Thank you!!  Also, I’m a total dodo when it comes to Tumblr so with some help from @aroseforyoongi​ and @moccahobi​, I’m reposting this with hope that the link works this time round!

Series Masterlist:  Little Black Book

Kim Seokjin was the bane of your existence. 

The cocky, arrogant IP attorney from the New York office had everyone on your floor in an uproar for weeks. You had seen him making one of the conference rooms his home away from home, with a hoard of lawyers and secretaries going in and out at his beckoning. You were watching them with jealousy. Sure, you were a mere junior in the firm and therefore the lowest in the food chain (just slightly above the interns), but you really wanted to be part of the action. 

Then, somehow, during his  last few days in Seoul, you were picked to help him and his team. Your excitement soon turned sour, as you were constantly on coffee and photocopy duties. How could you prove your worth when you were too busy being worked as Kim Seokjin’s personal server? Why couldn’t he ask one of his groupies? There were plenty of secretaries and PAs throwing themselves at him; you bet one of them would be happy to do this… THIS menial job. It was truly beneath your job description, and you started to simply, truly hate the man.

If that was really the case though, how did you end up in his luxury rental car, bending over towards the driver seat, sucking his cock? How did your mouth end up around his shaft, while your saliva dripped down and coated your fingers around his base? Why were your panties getting wetter with every moan and groan that left his lips? Why did you wish he would just spank your ass instead of tugging your hair? Why, when he came, did you gobble up his seed so greedily and lick him clean? Why did you even feel the need to stick your tongue out to him to show him you had swallowed every single drop?

Seokjin exhaled sharply then looked over at you as he tucked himself back in. “You do this with every visiting attorney?” He leered at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Just the one that pisses me off.”

He chuckled. “I should piss you off more then.”

“Are you going to drive me home or what?”

Seokjin started his car. The engine purred, and you pressed your thighs closer together at the soft vibrations that went through the car. “I promised I’d buy you dinner first, didn’t I?”

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I had a meal already, thanks.”

Seokjin sniggered as he pulled out of the parking lot. He had offered to drive you home - “the least I can do after all your hard work this week” he had said- and while your little apartment was at the other end of the city from the five-star hotel he was staying, it was indeed the least he could do for you. So when you had settled in his car and buckled your seatbelt, after he had asked if he could buy you dinner, you- in your frustration, because you hated him and you just wanted to go home (god, was that too much to ask)- muttered under your breath on how you would rather suck his dick than have dinner with him. 

You had been taken aback when he broke into a brazen smile, challenging you to eat your own words, and damned if you were going to back down. Deep down, you had wanted to see if this perfect man with the perfect face and the perfect suits tailored around his perfect body (he had legs that went for miles, you hated to admit), also had the perfect dick. 

It turned out that he did, and his perfect dick was perfectly hard when you unzipped him. And so, that was how you went down on Kim Seokjin, giving him a near perfect blowjob, in his car, in the basement parking lot of your firm. (Near perfect because honestly, you could have done a lot more had you had more ample space to move.)

You stole a glance at Seokjin as he drove. His side profile was sharp and too good to be true. Flashes of lights only further highlighted his jaw and cheekbones. You looked away, pouting. 

“I’m flying back tomorrow evening.” He broke the silence. “You gonna miss me?”

You scoffed. “You wish. I’ll finally be able to do real work rather than making you coffee.”

He had the gall to laugh. “I’ll be back in two months. Don’t worry.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. How did you get into this? How could you possibly be so horny for him? Was it your dislike for him that made you like this? You should have known better than blowing him in his car just now. What if he started shooting his mouth off in the office? Or worse, in your personal promised land, THE New York office?

“Seokjin,” you started, “about what happened just now, I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”

“Of course, I’m not Yuna.”

You tilted your head at the name. Yuna was one of the senior partners’ secretary. “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? She’s been telling everyone how good I was in bed.”

“You slept with her?” You couldn’t mask your surprise. “I didn’t hear anything about it. I must’ve been so out of loop with the rumor mills. Wait… Is that why you’ve been asking me to do all that shit? So you don’t have to deal with her?”

“Smart girl.” Seokjin made a turn, stopping just outside your apartment complex. He turned off the engine.

“And here I thought you liked my coffee. And how I photocopied your endless documents.” You said dryly. “Thanks for the ride.”

Seokjin stopped you before you exited his car. “Aren’t you going to invite me to your place?”

You chortled. “Why, you need a goodbye fuck?” You spat it out, but internally, you hoped your playing hard to get was not going to backfire. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin looked out of the car, eyeing your apartment building. “What kind of bedsheets do you have?”

“What do my bedsheets have to do with anything?”

“500 thread count? Or pure linen?” 

You opened the car door and got out. “Bye Seokjin.”

He got out too, walking you to the main entrance. “I’ll buy you some. For next time I’m here. Two months from now.”

You scanned your access card, but he stopped you from opening the door.

“Not gonna kiss me goodnight, sweetheart?”

You turned to him and leaned forward. But instead of kissing him, you stuck your tongue out and licked him, along his jaw, all the way to his ear. You did not miss the shiver that ran through his body when you closed your lips around his earlobe. Smiling smugly,  you opened the door, and as you were about to walk into your safe haven triumphantly, Seokjin slapped your ass. You stilled yourself, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. 

“See you in two months, sweetheart.” You heard him chuckle as the door closed behind you.

Kim Seokjin was truly the bane of your existence. 

~~~

He returned to Seoul in two months. You were not keeping track on your calendar, no of course not. You just knew because the commotion was back, as it always was when he stepped into the office. He picked you again to assist his team (Yuna gave you an evil eye for that), and at the end of the work day, when you were filing papers and folders, he slipped a small envelope into your hand. 

“Open it at your desk.” He said in a low whisper. 

You looked at the envelope quizzically before putting it into your pocket. “Is it your credit card? To buy pure linen bed sheets?” You whispered back. 

“Sweetheart, I already bought you a few sets from New York.”

You snorted. Later, when you were back at your desk, you took the envelope out and opened it. You found a note with a gold monogram of Seokjin’s initials at the top. You laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Under his insignia, was a series of digits you assumed to be his mobile number. You saved it in your phone. 

There was something else in the envelope, however. A piece of key card, with the logo of the five-star hotel on one side, and handwritten 4-digit number on the other.  Your eyes widened. Was this an invitation to his hotel room?

You peered out of your cubicle like a meerkat, trying to find where Seokjin was. Then you remembered foolishly you had his number. So you immediately texted him.

– You [18:40] : Seokjin, WTF??? 

– You [18:40] : also, nice stationery

– You [18:40] : it’s me btw

– Seokjin [18:41] : hurry the fuck up. I’ve been waiting for you in my car

You smiled. The time had finally come, you were going to fuck Kim Seokjin.

~~~

You had to admit, high quality bed sheets felt amazing. It hugged your naked body like soft clouds as Seokjin pounded into you relentlessly. His thrusts had caused your body to move, inch by inch, from one end of the bed to the other. You were not complaining though;  the way he rammed himself into you made your breasts bounce back and forth like a pendulum on a string, the feeling was so delicious.

You gripped the edge of the bed as you watched him over you. His usually perfect hair was messy now, his perfect face was void of the usual laser focus expression you normally saw at work and of the arrogant smirk he liked to give you. His broad shoulders and lean torso filled your vision- you had had fun stroking your hands over his pecs, abdomens and biceps. God, you hated how perfectly hot he was. 

You whined pathetically when he plunged his cock and pushed it as deep as he could into you. Seokjin dropped to his elbows, and you welcomed the new weight on top of your body. He stilled, letting his hardness rest inside you. You wrapped your legs around him and could not help but clench around his cock. He groaned against your chest at the sensations. 

“Do that again, sweetheart,” he nibbled and licked your collarbone, “squeeze my cock again.”

You did as he asked, tightening your walls around him before loosening again, repeating the movements and creating your own erotic Kegel exercise around his cock. You could feel Seokjin’s breath faltering on your neck, and before long, you were careening towards your peak.

“Seokjin,” you gasped, “close.”

He remained still, even at your warning. Choosing to work his lips on your neck and up to your ear instead. Finding a spot behind your ear, he licked and nipped at it, sending shudders all over your body and suddenly pushing you to your release. Seokjin held you down as your body shook, willing himself not to come, but the way your pussy walls massaged his cock, it did him in. 

You and Seokjin held each other tight as you both came. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips pressed harder against yours as he shot his seeds inside you. Finally groans and moans gave way to heavy breathing, and as your heart rate slowed down, sanity returned. 

You opened your eyes. “God, don’t do that EVER again.” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m super ticklish there.”

Seokjin hummed, and nipped at the spot again. You yelped, but in the process you also squeezed his flaccid cock, still sheathed fully in you. “Now I know what to do when you talk too much.” He mumbled. 

You tried to wriggle away from his mouth, but the more he teased your spot, the more you moaned, and the more your body became heated again. You were all ready for round two, but your stomach betrayed you, for it growled shamelessly. Seokjin’s eyes widened at the sound, and the two of you burst out laughing.

“OK, I’d better feed you before I fuck you against the window.” He pulled out of you, holding on to the spent condom on his dick. Walking to the bathroom, he gestured to the phone on the bedside table. “Whatever you order, order the same for me.” 

And that was how you spent your first night with Kim Seokjin. Fucked out of your brains and eating room service food in his luxurious hotel room. 

~~~

You gave Seokjin your Saturday nights whenever he was in town, which was only about three to four times a year.. You hated to admit it, but you enjoyed your time with him. It was obvious he liked your company too, and your arrangement worked out well. You both wanted sex with no strings attached. You enjoyed arguing with each other, although it felt like Seokjin lived solely to rile you up to get a reaction out of you. He said he was training you to hold your poker face better; after all, didn’t you want to be a successful attorney like him?

And that was the situation you found yourself in that evening. Seokjin kept prodding at you until your temper snapped, and you roughly pushed him to the chaise in his room. You quickly worked on his jeans and his boxers, pulling them down to his ankles, only to find his cock already hard and weeping with precum.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Making me angry turns you on so much, huh?” You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, lazily stroking it a few times before squeezing it gently at the base. Seokjin hissed, but his annoying smirk never went away. 

“You can’t shut up your opponents by going down on every one of them,” he teased, his hand reached out to touch your hair but you swatted it away with your free hand, “no matter how sexy you are when you’re angry.”

You scowled as your hand continued stroking him. Keeping your eyes on his, you closed your lips around the head of his cock, your tongue lapping up his precum. Seokjin sucked in a breath. 

“So what should I do then?” You asked before licking up and down his length. Seokjin threw his head back, enjoying the wetness of your tongue on his hot member. 

“Hmmm… “Seokjin moaned. “Learn to control your temper better, sweetheart. You know how our kind is…”

Seokjin took a deep breath. Your tongue was still busy on his cock. It drove you nuts how addicted you were to the taste of him. “… especially to female attorneys..” Seokjin continued.

“Excuse me?!” you sat up straight, but your hand was still around his member, unconsciously squeezing it a little harder than normal.

“Ouch!” Seokjin yelped. “What are you trying to do? Pull my dick off?”

You sniggered, your grip loosened slightly as you continued to stroke him. “Tell me,” he asked, “how did your last case go? You almost lost because the opposing attorney kept throwing jabs at your gender, am I right?”

Your cheeks reddened. “How did you know about that?” you pouted.

“I get regular updates on you, sweetheart, I like to know how my protege is doing.”

You eyed him skeptically. “Wow, I’m so honored.” Your tone was flat, but your hand started pumping his cock faster. You thought back to the moment you nearly lost your temper in court, and you buried the memory deep. You leaned in and started to take Seokjin’s length into your mouth when it suddenly dawned on you.

“Wait,” Seokjin’s cock popped out of your mouth. “Is that why I didn’t get the promotion? I won that case but I didn’t get my promotion because I was too emotional?”

Seokjin groaned, in desire and in frustration. He looked down at you, kneeled between his legs, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes angry, mouth in a pout, and his hardness in the mercy of your hand. He ran a hair through his hair. 

“Now that you recognise the problem, will you solve it?” 

You nodded.

“So can we please continue?” He asked. 

You nodded again before your mouth returned to his cock. You enveloped your lips around the head, sucking it gently and licking it until you heard him moan. You started taking more of him into your mouth, the muskiness of his scent filling your nose. His hands found your head and held it gently, his fingers carding your hair. 

You continued to lubricate him with your saliva, relaxing your mouth and your throat to take all of him in. You steadied your breathing as you sucked in your cheeks, and you slowly pulled out all the way to the tip, before filling your mouth again. “That’s good sweetheart, you know just how I like it.”

You stupidly beamed at his praise, and it encouraged you to pick up your pace, sucking him faster and harder. His breathing was getting heavier, and you massaged his balls, eager for him to cum in your mouth. “No, no,” he pulled your head, and you came up gasping for breath. “I want to be in you now.”

You and Seokjin undressed immediately, and Seokjin went to the bathroom to retrieve a condom. He rolled the rubber as you positioned yourself by the window. The window felt cold on your back, but your core was wet and hot.  Seokjin lifted you up effortlessly, and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck. 

Seokjin spat into his hand and rubbed his saliva over your cunt. Then the blunt head of his cock was at your entry, and he pushed it in, inch by inch until he was fully inside you. Adjusting his grip, ensuring he got you secured between him and the window, he started to move. Slowly at first, and once your juices were flowing and leaking, he went faster. 

You felt sweat developing on your back, making your body slippery against the glass. You dug your fingers into Seokjin’s shoulders, anchoring yourself up as he continued to pound into you. You turned your head to the side, catching the city skyline in the corner of your eye. 

“God, Seokjin,” you whined wantonly, “When I get that New York position, will you fuck me like this with the New York skyline in the background?”

Seokjin huffed, his hips not missing a beat. “Sweetheart, you’ll never get the New York position.”

You snapped your head back to look at Seokjin, he was still thrusting mercilessly into you. You pulled his hair. “What do you mean I will NEVER get the New York position?”

Seokjin’s smirk was back. He pulled out slowly then he rammed himself back into you hard, making you mewl. “It means…”

He took his time thrusting into you again.

“… you will…”

Another slow and hard thrust.

“… never get…”

He was hitting the sweet spot inside you.

“… the New York position.”

You cried out at his last thrust. “Because I’m too emotional?” you asked breathlessly.

“Because… “ his mouth was inching closer to the sensitive spot on your ear, “we’re closing that office.”

You gasped, at the news and at Seokjin’s sudden change of pace. He was fucking you fast again, pressing your body harder against the window. 

“Wait.. ah, Seokjin… “ you said between pants, “does that mean…”  

You could not finish your question because Seokin began nibbling and sucking your ear, sending your body rigid as the pressure on your cunt was waiting to explode.

“Yeah,” Seokjin panted. “I’ll be back in Seoul for good, sweetheart.”

You threw your head back against the window as Seokjin continued pistoning into you, pushing you towards and over your climax. You wailed in pleasure as the heat enveloped you. He did not let up at the slightest, his hips kept thrusting into you ruthlessly even as you began to sob from the oversensitivity.

Seokjin wrapped his arms around you tightly to move you, and you both collapsed on the bed, his cock still secure in you. He rolled to his back, bringing you on top of him. He slapped your ass. “Can you ride me?”

You pushed yourself up with your arms, your hair curtaining Seokjin’s face. You started to move your hips back and forth as you tried to get your breathing back. The sensitivity in your sex slowly turned into pleasure once again, and you quickened your pace. Seokjin moved his hands to your breasts, squeezing the flesh and flicking the nipples as they swung before him.

“Does… does this mean you’re gonna be my boss?” You asked between moans.

“Do you want me to be your boss?” Seokjin tugged your nipples, causing your back to arch.

“You’ll scold me everyday.”

“And I’ll fuck you every Saturday.” He thrusted up to meet your hips. “You like that?”

“Fuck no…” you felt the heat returning back to your core. “I’ll just hate you even more.”

Seokjin slapped your ass. “Just admit it, sweetheart, I’m your favorite among all your other fuck toys.”

You stammered as Seokjin thrusted up again, and he took the opportunity to pull you down onto his chest. Planting his heels on the bed, he held you down as he started thrusting his hips to plunge his cock into you, fast and hard. You closed your eyes tightly and felt tears slipping down your cheeks as you came closer to your climax.

“Come on sweetheart,” Seokjin whispered in your ears, “give me one more. Milk my cock.”

You cried out as your body jolted and shook. Seokjin kept holding you down, chasing his own release too. His thrusting became more messy, and he finally came too, swearing and groaning loudly.

You stayed still on top of Seokjin, your heart beating out of your chest, and so was his. You both lay on the bed, bodies sticky with sweat, waiting for the haze of your orgasms to pass.

“If you become my boss,” you whispered, “I want no special treatment.”

“Of course not, sweetheart. The only special treatment you get is I feed you after sex.”

You chuckled. “Speaking of…”

Seokjin rolled you over and pulled himself out. “Yeah yeah, order whatever you want.”

~~~

Today

Seokjin walks into your room. You barely glance up, used to him barging in whenever he likes.

“So, Yuna told me there’s a tall drink of water waiting for you in the lobby.” He plopped down on the little settee in your office. “So naturally I went to see. And you’d better get there before Yuna devours him.”

You glance at your watch. It’s ten minutes to 7pm. You smile softly, leave it to your boyfriend to arrive early. “He’s my boyfriend. I told you about him.”

Seokjin ahs. “So, that’s the man who took away my Saturday night fun.”

You glare at him as you tidy up your desk. “Yeah well, he feeds me AND reads me poetry after sex. So, sorry.”

Seokjin stands up as you ready yourself to leave. 

“Besides, now we play Maple Story every Saturday, surely that’s more fun?” You tease him. He chuckles and rubs his chin. He accompanies you walking down the hallway towards the lobby. 

Before you arrive at the glass door separating the inner office from the reception area, you turn to Seokjin and ask, “Do you want to meet him?”

Seokjin thinks for a moment. “Does he know about our history?”

“He knows MY history, but I never share any names with him.” you explain. “He only knows you as my asshole boss.”

“Now I am offended. I thought I was a nice boss!”

“Well, I rant about you too much maybe. But he doesn’t mind, because you know what happens when I get riled up.” You wink. 

Seokjin laughs. “What a lucky bastard. OK, come on, introduce your asshole boss to your boyfriend.”

Published 01022021

[youbloodymadgenius]

One Step At A Time (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry for @geekandbooknerd​‘s 1K challenge. Congrats again love, you deserve each and everyone of us 💖 I hope you’ll enjoy it.

My prompt: I’m going to break your jaw if you keep talking.

the gif belongs to @kendaspntwd​

@inforapound​ - thank you 💐

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😉

Summary: In bed with Ivar, you wish he’d let you try...

Warnings: oral sex (female and male receiver); Ivar’s insecurities; fluff.

Words: 2000

Crying his name again and again, you scream loud enough for everyone in the great hall to hear, you come hard, back arched, your whole body shaking with his hands on your thighs.

"Gods Ivar, that was…" Catching your breath, your mind still filled with stars, you don't bother to finish as you slowly shift in the bed, his strong arms supporting you, your stiffened limbs barely working. But you both know how it was.

Amazing. Powerful. Prodigious. Could Valhalla be any better than that? You're not sure. Riding his mouth, his skilled fingers twisting inside you and his tongue driving you crazy, is definitely your favourite thing in the world, an addiction you want to keep. 

As you slowly lay down next to him, you kiss him eagerly, propping yourself up on your elbow before resting your head on his shoulder. Snuggling against his side, you release a sigh of satisfaction when his right hand works its way through your tangled hair, his left arm playfully squeezing your ass.

"Everything all right, my queen?" his cocky voice asks. His queen… You still have to get used to the title. You had been his little bird, his sweet, his loveling, you still are Y/N every time he's mad at you, but now that he's king, you're mostly his queen. You love the way it rolls off his tongue, and how proud he is. The truth is, he could call you anything and you'd love it. Ivar is your everything, your whole world, your chosen one, your endless love. The true king of your heart.

"How could it be otherwise, my love?" Smiling softly, you pepper light kisses all over his upper-body, your fingers grazing his warm skin, drawing random patterns from his navel, up to his chest.

"I love you so much." Ivar is usually neither soft nor especially talkative, yet sometimes, in the privacy of your shared bed, he just lets go, whispering sweet nothings for only you to hear. You cherish those moments, which vividly express his love and even more his unwavering trust in you.

As he mumbles against your skin, you just get lost in the moment, perfectly happy and still lightly dazed by your previous climax, your hand running along his side and sliding under the heavy furs. Ivar doesn't react at first, but when your bold fingers wander down to his sleep pants, playing with the strings, he holds his breath before grabbing your wrist, his grip soft yet firm.

"Please, don't." His pleading voice hurts you more than the rejection you're used to. You wish he could forget his shame and get rid of his doubts. You would convince him that nothing is impossible. You would want him to stop being gripped by his own fears. You wish he could see himself as you see him. Strong and whole. Perfect, no matter what.

"Just let me my love, please." Muttering, you raise your head, giving him a warm smile. He doesn't smile back, his jaw clenching as he closes his eyes, huffing out a breath.

"Y/N, you know I can't." Barely hearing his shaky whisper, you know he wants you to drop the subject more than anything. And gods, you hate it!

"No Ivar, I don't." Keeping your voice strong and stifling a sigh, you gently kiss his cheek. "I never got the chance."

Ivar had been your lover long before he was your husband. So long that you have trouble remembering what it was like before him. Despite this, however, your hands – let alone your mouth – were never allowed anywhere near his defective cock. His words, not yours. That hurt.

You can feel all his muscles tensing up. "That would be useless. You know how things went with Mar–" Cutting him off by putting your free hand over his mouth, you scowl, anger bursting through your mind, roaring as you prop yourself once again on your elbow. "Don't say her name, Ivar. And never ever compare me to that whore."

She mocked him. Belittled him. Destroyed him. Shattered what little self confidence he had. You hate her deeply, with all your guts.

"I don't." Ivar quickly retorts, a sigh falling out of him. "You know I don't." Releasing your wrist, he keeps his hand on yours, preventing you from moving it.

"If that's so, then let me try, my love." Your voice is soft and gentle, your heart hopeful, but when you look up into his eyes, Ivar clenches them shut, his breath hitches. Not willing to embarrass him further, you almost consider backing off for a moment.

You both keep quiet for a long time, Ivar's uneven breathing filling the silence, your head resting on his tensed shoulder, his fingers absent mindedly stroking your arm. More and more uncomfortable, you're afraid you've gone too far. You should probably be grateful for what you have, instead of wanting more. But you can't help it. You're frustrated, every day a little bit more. Not for you, clearly. For him. You wish you could give him back what he gives you, day after day, night after night. The bliss. That perfect moment when everything explodes, when nothing else exists, when there is nothing left but feelings.  

"I… I can't get it up." Shivering as his shaky voice breaks the silence, you answer him back immediately, your eyes locked on his, your voice soothing. "Ivar, my love, we don't know that for sure. That's why…" biting your lip, you speak hesitatingly, "that's why we should … you should really let me try. Please."

Inhaling deeply, Ivar squeezes your arm incredibly tight. "And what if…" his words catch in his throat, he's hard to understand, "what if it doesn't work?"

Your response bursts forth as you give him an encouraging smile, your eyes twinkling with love, your words firm and your voice steady. "It won't change anything, Ivar. I'll love you just as much, and you know that. I promise, nothing will change. Please, Ivar. My king. It's time. Don't admit defeat until you've tried. With me. You and me together, Ivar, we can make it happen. We've worked miracles before, we can do it again."

Hearing his breathing starting to shake and failing to even out makes your heart crumble. "You… you have too much faith in me."

"And you don't have enough." Glancing at him, you can tell he's hesitating, so you insist. "Ivar, if you don't trust yourself, trust me." You can be his confidence if that is what he needs.

Your hand grazing his lower belly, you look at him expectantly, releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding as he faintly nods, his lips twitching nervously.

As you shift in the bed, a light smile on your face, Ivar stops you, his eyes full of doubts. "And what if… what if I hurt you?” he shakes his head no, leaning himself on one elbow, "I don't want to hurt you like I… hurt her."

Hiding how much the mere mention of Margrethe makes you cringe, you give him a broad smile, your hands resting steadily on his hips, waiting to take his pants off. "You won't, Ivar, I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" His voice is so frail right now, giving away all his insecurities, and you feel like you're melting, seeing your ruthless lover trusting you enough to expose himself completely.

Carefully choosing your words, you spread light kisses over his chest. "Because we'll take it slow, my love. One step at a time."

At the very moment when you see a twinkle in his eyes, you know you have won.

"One step at a time?" For the first time, you can hear hope in his voice. The fear isn't gone, but it doesn't matter. Instilling in him a sense of hope is all you need. All he needs.

"Yes, my love, one step at a time. As we did in York. You were sure you could never walk, and look at you now, tall and impressive as you move through Kattegat. You can walk, Ivar. It took us awhile, but we did it. You did it, Ivar. You can do anything, my love, all you have to do is believe."

Rewarded by a weak smile, you pull his pants down over his thighs as he raises his hips, his whole body shaking, his breathing still clipped and shallow. He doesn't need to voice all the doubts he's still feeling.

"Don't worry, everything is going to be fine, Ivar." As you know he is still terrified of hurting you, your voice is gentler than ever. "Tonight, it's all about you my love. I'll take you in my mouth. A first step." Grazing his flaccid cock with your hand, your eyes widen, amazed that you're finally getting the chance.  

Ivar may find this hard to believe, but you love everything about him. Every scar, every broken bone. And tonight you're determined to prove that you'll love his cock anyway, should it stay that way, limp and soft, because it is a part of him.

When you're about to wrap your fingers around his shaft, Ivar tenses again, his fists clenched as he asks in a halting voice. "Are you sure?"

This time you don't try to hide your annoyance, sighing loudly as you glare at him. "Of course I am. But we'll never get anywhere if you keep interfering, you know? So now my love, you be quiet. I love you very much, but I won't wait. I'm going to break your jaw if you keep talking. Seems only fair to warn you."

Chuckling, Ivar looks at you, somewhat flabbergasted, unaware that this is what you were looking for. A way to lighten his mood. "And how would you do that, woman?" he asks, his cockiness obvious.

Pretending to think about it, your head tilts to the side, you manage to suppress a smile but your eyes sparkle with mischief. "You shouldn't underestimate me, Ivar. I am a queen after all."

Without giving him time to answer, you wrap your hand around his cock, Ivar shuddering at the feel of your touch. Fingers running up and down his length, your thumb plays with the tip, and even if it's still soft, you can tell Ivar is enjoying it, his moans building as you lower your lips, lightly kissing his head.

It takes you a long time – not that you mind it – but eventually, as your hand touch his balls, your tongue licking, your lips sucking, you feel it. It is slow at first, faint, almost nonexistent and you're not sure Ivar is aware of it. Yet you know it's there, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride, getting back to work with renewed vigour as his cock gets harder and harder.

Suddenly, Ivar squeaks. Literally. An odd sound you have never heard before, something between a wail and a gasp. Looking up with concern, a frown on your face, you want to be sure he is all right. "Ivar, are you okay?"

Pushing himself upright, he blinks several times, clearly astounded. "No, I… no… yes, I…" he stutters, his breath getting caught in his throat when you release his erected cock for him to see. His jaw drops open in profound amazement. "What's… what's that?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he bites his lower lip, but his frown disappears quickly, replaced by a heart stopping smile. "Is that… is that magic?"

Giggling, you rest your hand on his, looking straight into his watery eyes. "No my love, it's not magic. That's the power of love."

Ducking down once more, licking his precum eagerly, you wink, "And now, my love, enjoy!", before engulfing his cock as much as you can, your hand squeezing his balls. Ivar lets out an almost painful whine and you know he won't last. The bliss is coming. You couldn't be happier. You couldn't be more in love.

First step done.

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @saldelys​ @waiting4inspiration​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @lonewolf471​

[slvtbible]

G O L D 

chapter two

summary: [y/n is a young stripper who is adored by many men. harry styles is a man who loves to carry danger with him]

word count: 4787

pairing: stripper!y/n and gangleader!harry

warnings: violence, vulgar language, sexual acts, alcohol and drugs

Read it on my wattpad here too!

previous chapter here and here’s the series masterlist !

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y/n swears she can hear her heartbeat beating loud soon as she sets herself down on his lap. Still, she keeps her flirty persona for a show so he won’t suspect anything, though on the inside she can feel herself about to faint. She doesn’t quite understand how difficult it is for her to avoid his sharp gaze either, it’s clear that his eyes haven't left her body the minute she stepped into the room earlier. Because when she looks up, his beautiful green eyes are already staring back at hers.

“So… Mr. Styles” y/n starts, giving him a naughty smile as her hands find their way to his shoulders. She feels how tense his shoulders are under her grip. “What brings you to this awful depth of New York city?”

He clears his throat, licking his lips before biting down his lower ones and keeps his hands on her hips. Finding no desire to remove them. “Stress reliever. Haven’t got a time off in the last few weeks. I thought to myself, ‘strip clubs should be fun’, to be accompanied by a gorgeous woman like yourself seems like a good idea.”

It’s either he’s being sarcastic or really is just telling the truth. But she refuses to believe the latter. He sure is charming and cheeky from what she can tell but y/n sure as hell isn’t buying it. “Mhmm, you sure are a sweet talker Mr. Styles.” She tells him as she begins to slowly grind against his bulge causing him to exhale a deep groan. “You sure you don’t talk to other girls that way?”

He mutters a “Christ” when he feels himself growing hard under her sultry move, yet she isn’t stopping. And she only had just started. “Believe me doll, I don't. Being in a mob, relationships are hard to keep, you know?”

“I’m not talking about relationships, Mr. Styles” she utters gently, starting to circle her hips in a slow pace but hard enough to keep him satisfied. She smirks as soon as she hears him mumble a curse. “Anyway. . . What did you and Joe talk about earlier before I came here? You must know something, Mr Styles i-”

“Harry” He cuts her off, his thumb softly stroking against her hip bone,

“What was that?”

“Call me Harry, doll. Just call me Harry” He repeats, staring intensely into her eyes,

She hums in response and nods. “Okay, Harry. . . You must know something that Joe, he never gives up on me that easy. Rarely letting me perform in private for anyone.” leaning herself back slowly and rests her palms upon the table, now moving her hips back and forth.

Harry shamelessly lets his eyes wander down from her perky breasts to her thick thighs, moving his hands to rest them there. “I threatened him” he says casually with a shrug, feeling her tense but brushes it off. “Said i’ll kill him if he doesn’t give me the 50 grand he owed me and a girl for tonight.”

He sounds so calm yet so serious it scares her a bit. With the way his eyes staring at her aren’t really helping too. And how his tongue pokes out a bit to wet his bottom lip, like he knows it makes her even more nervous. He really knows how to make a girl weak on her knees.

“Looks like someone is in trouble” she giggles cutely, imagining the terrified look on Joe’s face when Harry threatened him. “Not surprised. . . He does that alot to people. Including me.”

He cocks an eyebrow, curiosity building up. “really? Like what”

“Like. . . he knows I'm short on money because I keep stalling to pay the rent just so he can ‘borrow’ half of the earnings I got every week. He really is a dick and never pays me back” she spills casually, then her eyes widen when she realizes what she had just said about her boss. “Shit! Don’t tell him i said that.”

With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “Relax. . . He’s not the type of man I would tell my problems to.” He speaks lowly and continues to admire her body, rubbing gently on her soft thighs. “So tell me, how did you end up here?”

It takes her a while before answering. “Well. . . Short story. I ran away from home to start a new life. Began doing it when I was 18. Technically wasn’t illegal but it’s what kept a roof over my head”

“Mhmm. . . must be tough. But i’m glad you did otherwise we wouldn’t have met.” He flirts, shooting her a wink to fuck with her a little.

She rolls her eyes playfully and grins after. Carefully lifting her hands off the table and leaning forward to set them back on his shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. Her eyes suddenly fall on his two swallows tattoos, beautifully inked on his broad chest. She struggles to find the urge not to trace her fingers across them.

“Those tattoos are gorgeous” she comments blatantly, eyes stuck on the masterpiece. “Do you mind if i. . . touch them a little?” she asks softly, looking up to his eyes innocently yet teasingly,

Harry smirks, exhaling a deep breath. “Go ahead baby. . .” he speaks in a hum, voice so deep and carries a thick british accent that causes her to squirm a little.

She ignores the butterflies in her stomach when he calls her ‘baby’. Without being told twice, her soft hands make its way to his chest. Thumbing the large ink and feeling how soft his skin is. Her eyes are paying attention to the every single detail of the ink, wondering how the tattoos could fit so perfectly on his chest.

No doubt, he is the sexiest man she has ever come across to. She can feel his large hands going towards her backside, palming her plump cheeks and giving them a light squeeze. Usually she would tell anyone off for touching her like that especially if she told them no. Yet this time she doesn’t say anything. Not because she’s afraid of him but she strangely feels turned on.

“Fuck” he breathes out, feeling her ass one more time. Hearing her giggle as she gradually picks up her pace grinding on him, catching him off guard. “You really are a God’s masterpiece, huh? Bet you wouldn’t mind having that ass spanked would you?” He whispers against her ear, biting his lower lip hard.

Though she’d admit she wouldn’t, she can’t give up that easily. She slowly shakes her head and removes herself from him causing him to whine. Spinning around as she sways her ass side to side, sneaking a glance to make sure he’s watching. And he is.

Her hand wraps tightly around the golden pole. “You have to take me to dinner if you wanna go down to that path, Mr. Styles”

He watches with lust and adoration in his eyes as she now, hooks her arm around the pole, lifting herself off easily to give her body a gentle spin. Her eyes screw shut and her head is thrown back. Then she’s coming back down slowly, legs wide as she lands with a perfect split. Long brown hair covering the side of her beautiful features, her tongue licking her upper lip with her eyes looking at his.

He follows the curve of her round ass, eager to get his hands on them again but he knows he has to wait. His eyes squint a bit to spot a small detailed heart tattoo on her ass cheek.  

Harry learns that y/n is a little teaser. Enjoy making a man hard but refuses to be under the spell of a man’s touch. He likes that actually. He likes that a lot. It may be painful to have his cock hard at the moment while she’s not doing anything about it, but she’s worth it.

With that gorgeous face and beautiful body having to perform for him, what more could he ask for now?

“You are so. Fucking. Sexy” his voice is darker now, a seductive grin is slowly forming as he thirsts over her. “Must have made a lot of men mad out there.”

“So i’ve been told” she declares with confidence, putting on an innocent smile as she gently crawls towards him, seeing how hard he is from this view. Her eyes never leaving his.

She stops in between his legs and settles on her knees. Being the little minx she is, she brings her hands on his thighs. Giving them a gentle rub like he did earlier with her. “I’ve never come face to face with a man like you, Harry. . . Not sure if there’s another one like you either.”

“Because there’s only one Harry Styles, doll.” He delicately caresses her soft cheek, moving a few strands of her hair from blocking her pretty face. “And I am sure I'm the only man that gets to see you on her knees, being a naughty little thing with her hands on him knowing how hard she makes him.” He whispers gently, seemingly can’t take his eyes off her as she plays with him a bit more.

“You’re a handsome man, Mr. Styles. Any girl would be lucky to be on her knees. . .touching you in a way she wanted to” She responds cheekily, winking at him.

He chuckles deeply, shaking his head. “Now look who’s the sweet talker eh?” He jokingly asks, reaching down to grab her hand. “Up you go, pet”

She looks at him questionably but stands up anyway when his hand wraps around hers. “Um. . . we still have thirty minutes left. Joe told me to at least give you an hour.” She notifies, looking down at him as she fiddles with her fingers,

He nods. “I know. But doll, you’ve given me much already. Plus, if I stayed for over thirty more, I would probably bust in my pants because look what you've done” he shamelessly points to his tent. Chuckling as she blushes and biting down her lip. “That doesn’t mean this is one and done. I’d like to see you again next time. I did tell Joe I wanted you. Just wanna make sure i picked the right one and indeed i was” He stands, pulling out his wallet from the back and pocket and grab five hundred dollar bills from it,

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

She looks down on the bundle of cash he’s giving her in shock and lets out a nervous laugh. “Oh. . . no i can’t take that. It’s too much. Men usually paid me twenty or fifteen at least.”

He frowns. He doesn’t believe any word she just said. A gorgeous woman like her getting paid less? Fucking assholes.

“Well, I am not them, am i?” He quirks an eyebrow watching her adorable expression. “I’m Harry Styles, baby. Money isn’t a problem to me. Come on, you deserved it.”

She stares down at his hand and hesitantly takes the money from it. Giving him a soft, thankful smile. “Thank you, Mr-- uh i mean, Harry. I appreciate it.”

He grins, nodding his head as he slips his wallet back into his pocket. “Anytime, doll. Don’t go far from me, eh? Would love to take you out on a stroll sometimes.” He leans down a bit to peck her cheek. “Take care of yourself, love. I’ll be sure to call you once I get the time” with one last smirk and a wink, he swiftly walks out of the door and closes it. Leaving her dumbfounded in the room.

She tries to process everything that has just happened. Not once did any of her clients ever pull a move like he did. It’s not like she would be interested anyway since most of them are old and married. Something about him doesn’t terrify her anymore. Okay, maybe a little. Especially when she caught a glimpse of his gun fifteen minutes prior but she shakes it off quickly.

Maybe she did enjoy being alone with him. With his hands feeling her ass and his heavy voice speaks to her making her squirms in excitement. She tried really hard to not let him know he’s doing things to her but she thinks he’s smarter than that. He must’ve guessed that.

With a smirk, she hides the cash in her bra, checking if it’s prominent or not because she doesn’t want anyone--especially Joe-- to find out. She stands in front of a mirror, fixing her hair a bit and letting herself out of the room.

If he keeps handing her cash like this then she cannot fucking wait to see him again.

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Harry steps inside the dimly lit room, removing his Rolex before laying it gently on a table. His feet allow him to carry himself towards a black safe, which it’s firmly settled on the wall as he unlocks it. Digging his hand through the bundle of cash to grab his gun before loading it with three bullets.

The thing about Harry is that he doesn’t like wasting precious things too easily. What he had learned for the past twelve years of being a gunrunner, he notices a few minor details about guns. How the bullets normally get wasted for less than an hour while they’re being used. Harry doesn't actually condone guns. He hates the idea of having to carry such a heavy weight item wherever he goes.

But somehow, guns are a ‘must have’ in every single mafia group. So he has to learn to live by it every day.

“You said there won’t be a bloodshed tonight, boss. What changed?”

Harry stops moving and turns around, meeting Reece’s gaze immediately and his smirk which plants on his features. Hands behind his back as he takes a couple steps forward.

Harry emits a deep chuckle while shaking his head lightly, putting the gun down. “If you’re talking about the Glock 43 i had in my hands, i wasn’t planning anything stupid. I like being prepared.” He closes the safe and locks it with four digits passcode.

Reece’s eyebrows raise and his lips form into a pout as he nods, retracting his hand from behind showing Harry a sealed brown document making Harry’s brows twist in confusion.

“What’s that?” Harry strides his way towards Reece’s figure, close enough to examine the documents he is holding,

Reece says nothing but pulls a few papers and pictures instead inside of it, throwing them on the table sloppily causing them to splatter a bit. Harry peers at the papers carefully, fingers reaching out to move the papers a little bit so he can observe them better.

“That’s Alejandro Blanco. He owns the infamous Blanco Cartel, passed on by his late father who died in 1999.” Reece begins to explain as he points at the picture Harry is touching, the twinge of his spanish accent comes into play as he speaks the name. “If you didn’t know, Blanco Cartel is an International Drug Trafficking organization and a criminal syndicate. Money laundering is a part of their characteristic work. Blanco Cartel is named to be the second most powerful International drug trafficking in the world right after the Sinaloa cartel.”

Reece then gently grabs another photograph of two young men having a conversation, dressed in pastel colored shirts with their glasses on. “They operate in Calabria, Italy. Seems like the United States Intelligence Community are chasing their asses too.”

Humming as a response, Harry quickly pulls the photograph off the table. Observing it closely towards his gaze as his eyes flicks back and forth to the other photos. “I may be out of my fucking mind but i could swear i’ve seen him before.”

“If you’re referring to the guy we saw at the black market two months ago, yes that was him. He wasn’t very subtle back then.” Reece pours two glasses of whiskey, knowing it’s going to be a long night. “Said he had contact with Joe too.” He hands out the glass towards Harry, which he grabs lazily.

His head snaps at the mention of his name, eyebrows pulling forward. “Joe? That son of a bitch who works in the Red Room?”

Reece can only give a small shrug, sipping on the alcoholic beverage. “We don’t know for sure. But i talked to a few guys at the club, they mentioned about Joe having a close off relations with other drug cartels. They didn’t give me names but it’s a coincidence.”

Harry nods, pinching his bottom lip with his forefinger and thumb. Something that he always does whenever he’s in a deep thought. “Joe’s an Italian… He said something about having colleagues who worked there six months prior.” He mumbles, fiddling with the bottom edge of the paper. “You’re saying that the package that I've delivered and the 50k he owes me, Blanco has something to do with it?”

“I didn’t exactly confirm it, Boss. but it could be. Joe’s a tricky asshole, he would find any kind of loophole to get out of his fucking mess.” Reece answers, gulping down his drink in one swig.

“Okay then… We’ll get our heads in the game tomorrow morning. Call Junior and Dominic as well.” Harry states, throwing the papers back to the table and exhaling a sigh. “Need to make a few calls tonight”

“Oh? Was it the girl back in the room, boss? Got her number already?” He teases, gathering the photographs and tucking them back into the brown paper.

“Fuck no” He laughs, pulling out his phone from the back pocket. “Not tonight.”

“So the answer to that last question is…?”

Harry rolls his eyes in annoyance yet pulling off a small smirk to grace on his face, sipping on his drink as he waves Reece off. Earning a loud cackle from him,

“Told your ass you would get it tonight right? Always listen to your right hand man, boss! Motherfucker is always right.” Reece sticks his tongue out as a form of mockery and point at himself which causes Harry to laugh,

“Yeah yeah whatever.” Harry says getting annoyed though really he can’t seem to fight back a smile,

“So what happened? Did she casually slip her number on or what?” Reece asks, moving towards the kitchen to put the empty glass on the sink,

Clearing his throat, Harry shakes his head. “Asked Beck for it. I don’t think she’s the type to easily give out her digits to a man she knew for less than an hour.”

Now Reece is confused. “So you asked someone else for her number and hope to pester her later?”

“No” Harry denies, “Just wanna surprise her a little. What’s with the interrogation?” He asks, getting quite defensive, twirling the drink lightly, causing the ice to clink against the glass.

Reece stares at his boss with a perplexed look before laughing, “you’re not making any sense boss but all right.” He shrugs on his black suit and reaches for his keys. “Night, boss. Try to get some sleep eh? You look like shit”

Harry rumbles a chuckle, “I’ll let you know if we’re on tomorrow. Drive safe”

With a nod, Reece salutes to Harry and opens the front door before walking out of his mansion and drives off back to his home.

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Her head hurts when she wakes up, hand pressing on to it and giving a slight massage in hopes to ease the pain. She removes herself from the bed and struts her way to the kitchen just in her bra and panties. It has become her routine sleeping half naked--or just naked really-- she hates sleeping with clothes on. Especially during this time where the weather isn’t really considering to coordinate with where she lives.

She spots her phone on the kitchen counter and reaches out to grab it, pressing the home button key to find a few dozens of messages that were sent from last night. Mostly from Violet.

Vio: Okay you little bitch, you haven’t spilled the tea on how it went last night.

Vio: Please tell me you at LEAST sucked his dick

Y/n chokes on her morning coffee at Violet’s bluntness. Setting down her cup while shaking her head, swiping her finger to the right to respond to her message,

Violet is known to have a big mouth. She honestly could give two fucks about what other people think, one of the things Y/N loves about her best friend. Not that she’s any different from her.

“Vi you little ass” she mutters on her breath with a small smirk, typing down the message before pressing send,

Y/N: i did NOT suck anyone’s dick last night.

Y/N: aaand… nothing happened. Just got paid to do a lap dance.

As she puts her phone back on the table, she decides to make herself a breakfast. Pulling out a carton of eggs from the fridge and sausages. She sighs looking at her empty fridge, only spotting a half filled milk, bacon and the instant korean noodles from last week.

It’s not that she earns a very small paycheck from her job that she could barely buy groceries. But the thing is, being a stripper kept her extremely busy whether during the day or night. She’s barely even at her place most of the time. Joe always makes her come early to do unnecessary shit but of course, she can’t go against him.

Today is the lucky day though, it’s her day off. She can finally take a breather and relax. Perhaps watch the new season of La Casa De Papel or read a few books. She never got to finish Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Spy’.

“Okay, I really need to go get groceries” she utters, slamming the fridge door close before breathing out a sigh. Heading towards the stove to turn it on,

As she cracks open the egg one by one, she hears her device vibrate from behind causing her to stop her movement. She spins on her heel to see an unknown number calling, eyebrows knitting together as curiosity starts to build up inside of her.

‘Who the hell is calling her at 9 am in the morning? Other than Joe and Violet that is.’

As she clutches her phone in her palm, she’s debating whether to turn it off or answer it. Small chances are it’s her ex boyfriend, Kai. Begging for another chance to be with her since he fucked it up with their relationship the last time. He hasn’t stopped pestering her, changing his number every chance he gets.

With a sigh, she taps the answer icon before pressing it against her ear. “Hello?”

“Morning, gorgeous”

Her eyes bug out a little, freezing in place as she hears the voice speak. An unfamiliar deep british accent ringing through her ear. She can sense a smirk on his face as he speaks to her. That cocky bastard.

“Mr. Styles?” she asks carefully, feeling the need to confirm that it’s actually him. “No offense but… how the hell did you get my number?” She walks back towards the stove, finishing cracking the two eggs before giving it a mix. Pouring them on the pan to make an omelette.

“From someone” He says sarcastically, almost making her scoff. “Not from Joe if you’re wondering.”

“Mhmm” she murmurs, finding it hard to believe but she plays along anyway. “Can I ask you what you want from me, Mr. Styles?”

She’s not entirely annoyed that he called. But shouldn’t people learn to not ring someone at 9 am in the morning, especially if that person just woke up? Clearly rules don’t apply to him.

Harry smiles hearing her soft angelic voice, ring clad fingers tapping against his work table. “Can’t stop thinking about you if i’m being honest, doll. You were driving me crazy last night.”

She bites down her plump lip, smiling at how her charm gives that much effect on him. “Mhmm really? Which one? Me grinding on your hard on, me dancing around the pole, or the one where I was tracing my fingers along your tattoos? Gotta be specific” she teases with a flirty tone,

Groaning as a response, he throws his head back against the chair and shuts his eyes close momentarily. Imagining the look on her face when she teases. “You’re doing it on purpose. You’re gonna make me hard again, baby. Don’t start something you can’t finish”

“Big boss don’t like playing games?” She pushes, faking a pout though he can’t see her. Grabbing the steel spatula to flip the egg. “My bad.”

“Don’t tempt me doll. I love playing games. Especially with a pretty girl like you.” He responds, standing up from his chair only in his grey sweatpants. His tan chest glistened with flicker of sweat. “But what’s the point of playing around if your fine self isn’t here with me?”

She lets out a breathy giggle, playing with her uncooked eggs with the edge of her spatula. Enjoying every word that came out of his mouth. “Is that your subtle way of asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe. Didn’t really have the chance to get to know each other last night, yeah?” He questions, sinking his teeth on his lip. “You had me hooked the minute you stepped into the room.”

‘God, he’s good. He’s really good.’ she thinks,

y/n clears her throat, tracing her finger gently around the empty plate. Just like she did to his tattoos last night. “I thought Mafias don’t do relationships?”

“We lie sometimes doll. Doesn’t mean we actually meant it.” He declares, smiling to himself at her playful teasing. “So what time do i have to pick you up?”

A small laugh escapes from her mouth, shaking her head side to side at his question. Plating the egg on the plate before moving it to the counter so she can sit on the stool. “Very forward. I’m flattered” She admits, feeding herself a small bit of the dish. “What would happen if i said no?”

His eyes look up to the ceiling as he answers, “then i’ll keep asking again and again until you say yes.”

“Talk about harassment!” she gasps in a playful way, hand on her heart. “Please tell me your last girlfriend didn’t witness the same thing as i am right now.”

He chuckles, pinching his bottom lip with his long fingers. Mind fills with the image of her gorgeous body moving like she did for him in the private room. “She went through far worse, you should be grateful” He jokes, hearing her laugh after. “So? What time?”

It may sound like it’s a bad idea for her to go out with him, knowing he’s the most dangerous and possibly most wanted man in New York. Yet, on the other hand, why not?

Go hard or go home, she guesses? Besides, it’d probably just be two strangers getting to know each other. What harm could it bring?

Perhaps she won’t be hearing the end of it from Violet.

She tilts her head as she thinks of a way to respond. “Just a friendly hang out right?” she asks, chewing on her meal. “I could use a friend.” she flirts

“If you wanna call it that, doll” he utters, shrugging his shoulders a bit. Playing along to whatever game she’s pulling. “I could use a friend too. . . been pretty lonely” he flirts back, wondering what her answer may be.

She tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She really does. But how? This man is way too fucking good with the way he speaks. As if he knows he’s gonna get her wrapped around his fingers soon.

y/n taps her fingers against the tiles, purposely keeping him waiting. “I’m free at 8. . . or 9 works too.” she bites her lip, playing with her food with the fork. She can’t find any desire to eat anymore, too busy playing around with the world’s dangerous mafia boss.

“9 it is then” he confirms. Walking out of his work room to go downstairs. “I’ll see you tonight, beautiful.”

“See you” she then hangs up on the phone and sets it down. Grabbing her coffee with both hands as she lifts it to her lips and takes a sip. Locking her eyes on the phone screen, trying to process what just happened.

Stomach swimming with excitement and nerves as she thinks about having another intimate moment with Harry later. She has no idea where he’s gonna take her later but she knows one thing for sure,

She’s not gonna wake up in her own bed in the morning.

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a/n: there you have it, part 2! :) don’t worry, the smut scene is coming up on the next chapter (hopefully). Enjoy reading my loves! 

[buzzcutlip]

The virus and quaranteening have made us do unthinkable things. Here I am, posting a very self-indulgent piece. I wrote it purely for my own entertainment, then I read @wyn-dixie ‘s posts, had a chat with her, and she’s actually helped me to not overthink fanfiction and to publish the story. It might brighten up someone’s day after all :) So here’s one for the lovely O! Please if you don’t like this sort of real person x reader stories, then don’t read it.

The Kiss Pedro P*scal x you

You tilt your head down to peer at Donkey; his coat tickles. You rub your nose sleepily. The late afternoon light is coming to the room through the cream-coloured curtains. The sofa is soft and the blanket is cocooning your body perfectly. You feel comfortable and groggy, ready to fall asleep again but fighting it.

When you look up, Pedro’s brown eyes are trained to your face. You don’t know what to do with that. He’s wearing a plan gray t-shirt with no logos and jersey shorts. And he'd gone out like that, you almost scoff. As usual, his overgrown hair is a mess. Pedro doesn’t deny to you anymore that he knows how to style it.

“He’s a good sleeping partner, isn’t he?” Pedro says, crouching down next to the sofa, getting into your immediate proximity. Before you have a chance to say something back, Donkey’s ears twitch and he lifts up his head.

Pedro lets out a quiet laugh, stroking his head that’s popping out from under the blanket. Donkey licks his hand lovingly, then jumps down to the floor in a second

Without the dog, the atmosphere changes to heavier right away.

“I bought some strawberries and apples,” Pedro says, glancing over his shoulder, probably to the kitchen area. You nod, not knowing what to reply. This is his apartment.

He shuffles on his feet awkwardly, and you can’t believe that a grown up man can get this self-conscious. You don’t know Pedro like this. Well, not really.

“I’m sorry for before.” The situation is ridiculous. Him, standing by the sofa, looking as a stranger at his own place. You, just having woken up from napping on his sofa. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” You keep the words carefully neutral. You are not lying. “I shouldn’t have left like that.” “You needed space.” “I should have said something.” “I whish you had,” you admit, looking down at the blanket, picking up at the loose strings coming off of it. You don’t want to cry, but you feel how heavy the moment is. You are not used to having these talks. Normally it’s all jokes and laughs. You are good friends. If sometimes you think of his hands on you in different ways than throwing you into the swimming pool or tickling you while watching a serious movie, then it’s your own problem. Pedro crouches down again, and you want to point out that Donkey is not here anymore, but this time he reaches for you, laying his hand softly on the crown of your head, his thumb resting on the top of your forehead. He strokes you gently, in the most intimate manner. Your breath hitches in your chest. You don’t do this either. You are affectionate but not like this; actions heavy with maybes and ifs. “I- ,”you breath out before cutting yourself off, not really knowing what you want to say. He’s still looking at you, and his lovely brown eyes are soft and searching. “Pedro,” you say, getting up on your elbow. There’s hair stuck to the side of your face, and before you have a chance to unstuck it from your cheek, he does it for you. Your eyes flutter shut of a moment, heart hammering. “What are you doing?” you whisper. This is not an accident, and you are not reading too much to Pedro’s actions. This is simply not how you behave around each other normally. With a bold move, you take his large hand into yours, squeezing his fingers that had been in your hair just seconds ago. You can hear Donkey drinking from his bowl in the kitchen, and faint noises from the street below. Otherwise it’s quiet; the time is still. To lighten up the situation, you reach and grip his stubbly chin lightly, huffing a nervous laugh. He parts his lips on a soft exhale, the air hitting your own face, and your eyes are forced to flick there. When you dare to glance up at Pedro, he’s looking at your own mouth. Face flushing instantly, you fight not to squirm with unease, completely lost for words. “Can I kiss you?” Pedro says, finally looking up from your lips and meeting your eyes. You bite your lip. Oh god. “Yes.” Pedro shuffles, kneeling up, while you fully sit up. The moves bring your faces much closer, and you can’t believe that you’ve lived up to this moment. One that you had been scared to ever dream about. But you have. More so since the night of the stupid “spin the bottle” game. Boldly, you lean in first, impatient to snap the tension that’s grown around you. You can smell his Loewe cologne and the familiar laundry detergent, as you place a very light kiss on his right cheek. It’s not so about the mouth on mouth action - it’s about the anticipation, the closeness, the way how the bond between you is breaking and being put together again in a slightly different way. Pedro lifts up your connected hands and kisses the top your knuckles, while you are watching him to do so. Then he laces your fingers together. That crease between his brows appears, as if linking your hands was some kind of a scientific equation; as if you were one. Your fingertips slide against each others, and you wonder if you will ever have the chance to map the veins and knuckles with your tongue. Pedro’s breating has grown deeper, you can tell from the way his chest expanses and deflates, brushing against your upper arm. You take in his broad shoulders and his long throat. It looks vulnerable this close up, the thin skin flushed and soft. The next kiss lands there, just to the left from his Adam’s apple. You linger there this time, putting off meeting his eyes again, having him look at you and see what’s showing on your face. You are not an actress with the ability to guard your expression. The skin of his neck is hot against your lips, and after two or three pecks, you open your mouth slightly to get more taste. Pedro inhales sharply, and you literally feel the sound that revibrates through his throat. He tilts his head and kisses your temple, your hairline. It’s sweet and innocent and perfect, being so close to Pedro is also intoxicating. Your touches grow bolder and you stroke his arms and lay a hand on his chest, his heart hammering under it. Pedro tucks your hair behind your ears, brushes his thumbs against your jaw and ear lobes. He stalls there, mouthing softly against the ear shell. Thousands of goosebumps break out everywhere on your body, the hairs on your arms erecting. You accidentally let out a helpless sound, and you can feel Pedro smile against your cheek in return. “Are we kissing yet?” he asks, voice innocent but laced with something darker. You hum, not daring to speak out loud. His mouth is so close. “I just-” you murmur, careful not to brush your lips against his cheek. It would be so easy. “I want to postpone the first kiss a bit,” you explain. “You know, there’s only one first kiss. And I’ve been waiting long enough. I want to stretch out the anticipation.” This was way too honest, you realise. On the other side - Pedro wants to kiss you too. There’s nothing to hide anymore, and you might as well take a full advantage of the situation. And stating the truth - that’s just very you. “Right,” Pedro nods. “I get it.” He is a good boy, not moving an inch, letting you take the lead and do as you please. You kiss the corner of his jaw and then closer to his chin, up his cheek on the point of his cheek bones. His stubble is rough against your lips but you don’t mind. Pedro lets out a content sigh and hangs his head low, letting you work. You tilt his face with a gentle hand to his jaw, turning it and repeating your motions. Kiss to the jaw, kiss to the cheek. One kiss to the corner of Pedro’s mouth and another one even closer. His hand is warm when he lays it to your bare forearm. That’s when you decide to press a single peck to his mouth. Then once more. A dry kiss. When you open your eyes and lean back, Pedro is looking at you. “Good?” you check with a little smile, and he smiles back. You both lean in this time, trading a few longer, close-mouthed kisses. You concentrate on the texture of Pedro’s lips under yours. They are a bit chapped and very very warm, burning against yours. Cupping his face, you run the tips of your fingers through his beard. Just the fact that you CAN is - liberating. His skin smells different from his clothes, that you are used to. More like him; like flesh and sweat and moisturizer. “Will you let me taste you?” It’s Pedro who speaks up now. His words catch you by a surprise. Used to his sweet moderation, this is unexpected, making your cheeks heat up. After a short nod, Pedro palms your cheek and brings your face close to his. This time you part your lips when your mouths meet, catching the corner of Pedro’s bottom lip between yours. It takes only a few seconds before you coordinate your moves. You touch your tongue to Pedro’s instinctivelly, as soon as you feel it against your top lip. The tiny point of a connection sends a powerful spark through your body. You can’t contain the sharp intake of breath as you kiss carefully, your free hand slipping in Pedro’s soft curls. Your other hand is still holding his, palms sweaty. The taste of him is intoxicating. Better than anything else. As the kiss deepens, you pull him on the sofa by his shoulders. Chuckling, Pedro goes willingly and you catch his eyes in the process. His neck is flushed, matching the colour of your cheeks, his lips already look swollen. Or you want them to be. You accommodate his narrow hips between your thighs, the woolen blanket creating an additional barrier between your groins. Pedro leans down and kisses under your jaw. “Sweet,” he murmurs.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

heartbeats and tangled sheets

Summary: It’s your birthday, and three men you’ve been seeing provide various gifts.

a/n: This is a birthday fic (belated as fuck) for @illneverrecover​ because I LOVE YOU BITCH I AIN’T NEVER GONNA STOP LOVING YOU BITCH

Warnings: not as much smut as one would think, oral (both m. and f. receiving), some exhibitionism and video sex, public sex, it got soft I’m SORRY JACKIE

Word Count: 2770

12:16AM, December 16th

It's late and you're in bed scrolling through your phone, hoping from a text from a certain someone that you shouldn't be waiting for. 

You shouldn't be waiting for anyone, you think, and you lock your phone with a heavy sigh and throw it down on the bed before hearing a ding and scrambling to pick it up again.

You up?

You roll your eyes but you're grinning ear to ear like an idiot. You are an idiot, but only for Kim Taehyung.

Before you can answer, his contact picture pops up on your screen, a picture you'd taken of him making a peace sign, which was basically every picture, the dork.

Your heart speeds up and you huff out a breath, irritated by how much just him calling affects you.

I shouldn't answer right away, you think, but you're already sliding to answer.

"What if I was sleeping?" You snark in greeting.

"Then I would have woken you up," he drawls, and his voice sounds gravelly, like he's tired or maybe been drinking.

It makes your heart flutter again.

"Jerk," you say, but there's no bite to it.

“Happy birthday,” he murmurs, and your heart, surely there's a physical problem. It shouldn't skip so many beats.

“Thanks, but you’re a little late, it’s after midnight.”

“Shit.” He chuckles low in his throat. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it.”

“Oh yeah? How?” Your skin is already tingling. He is able to affect you so quickly and it stresses you out.

“Hmm.” 

You wait for a long moment but then hear the beep of the phone hanging up and your mouth drops open. Did he just fucking hang up on you?

There’s five minutes of you being shocked and wondering if the call dropped and you should call back and then your phone starts buzzing again, a video call instead. It takes you a moment to answer, fumbling with your phone and grateful you hadn’t yet removed your makeup.

It’s dark at first, and you squint a little, until you see his arm, reaching over to turn on the desk light.

Taehyung smiles, big and boxy and open and there goes your heart flipping around again.

“There you are.”

“Here I am,” you quip, and he laughs and then shifts, and the camera takes a moment to catch up but then you can see he’s in bed, under a white sheet. You can see the broadness of his chest, his collarbones, the line of his neck. He must have the phone propped up on a nightstand or something, because you have the most delicious view of his whole body, his face turned towards you as he lies flat on the bed.

“I didn’t exactly get you a present,” he continues, and the sheet shifts down to reveal the softness of his belly, the dusting of hair below his belly button, and then down further to reveal his cock, thick and heavy, slowly starting to plump.

Your mouth goes dry and you tilt the phone sideways to see better, shifting down in your bed. You’re wearing just a thin tanktop and panties to bed, and your nipples are already starting to harden.

You’ve been seeing a few guys in the past six months, and Taehyung is off and on, given his recent breakup. His sweet brown eyes were so soulful when he kissed your knuckles, told you that he wished he could give you more than stolen kisses and late night knocks on your door, and it isn’t as if you hadn’t heard that line before: I’m just not ready.

But Taehyung had looked so earnest, and you want to believe that when he is ready, you’ll be the first to know. For now, you’re content to keep things casual, since the sex is amazing and you enjoy his company.

“Are you really suggesting that your dick is a gift?” 

“Isn’t it?” He drawls, stroking the gift in question with two long fingers and his thumb, slow, showing off.

The words come out of your mouth before you can think differently.

"Fuck. You got me there."

Taehyung gives you that slow smirk, flicks his gaze down to your breasts and raises an eyebrow. 

"Hmm, my birthday but you want a show. Typical." You grin as you tug down your top, revealing your breasts and tugging at your nipples, excitement and pleasure pooling in your lower belly.

"Mmm," he agrees, never one to argue with you, unlike some other guys you've been seeing. You can think of one in particular.

It's always easy with Taehyung, always fun, and if your heart might long for more on occasion, it isn't too much. Not yet, anyway.

“My birthday is soon too, you know. What are you gonna get me?” He teases.

“My tits are a gift,” you murmur, bouncing them at the camera, and he doesn’t crack a smile, just watches them, tongue flicking out to wet his full lips, before his dark eyes flick back up to your face.

“Damn right, they are,” he says, agreeable as always, and groans low in his throat, bucking into his hand.

“Fuck,” you repeat. “Wish you were here.” You tilt backwards on the bed, your fingers itching to slip beneath your panties but you wait, watching his face. You love how he looks like this, eyes dark and half lidded, mouth parted, hair in his face, eyelashes brushing his cheekbones as he closes them only to open them again, pausing his strokes and panting.

He pouts a little. “Wish I was too.” His gaze moves downward to your waistband, where you’ve lit one of your hands, thumb under the elastic. “Show me.”

Your breath catches, that’s what you’d been waiting for, some kind of permission. 

You smile at the screen, holding your phone up and wishing you’d known to do this on your laptop. “Gonna be hard to see in the dark.”

“Turn on the lights,” he commands, just this edge of pleading to it, and God, that’s what you love about him. Well, one of the things.

You do as he says, turning on your desk lamp and moving the phone down to slide the crotch of them aside, his responding moan making your fingers itch to touch yourself, but like always, you wait until he tells you to, asks you to, in that low tone of his that’s commanding yet somehow still agreeable.

A contradiction, your lover, one of your favorites.

After that it’s all a blur of pleasure, his words and deep moans, the slide of your fingers, not long enough to be his, not quite enough but it gets you there, his name on your lips as he tells you how beautiful you look, how much he wishes he could taste you.

You think about if he were there he’d slip your fingers into his mouth, suck while looking into your eyes until you’re panting and wanting him again and you whimper as you finally bring the phone back up to your face.

The way he looks makes you shudder with an aftershock of your orgasm, his mouth parted and panting, come painting his belly.

“When are you back in town?” You gasp.

He smiles. “I’ll call you.”

You roll your eyes but you’re smiling back. He talks to you into the wee hours of the morning, sweet and soft after, face close to the camera.

Sometimes he calls, sometimes he doesn’t, but you’ll be waiting either way.

10:02PM, Dec 15th

Going out for your birthday is a tradition among you and your friends, and given how hard you’d all worked this past year, it’s a given that you’re all going all out.

There’s preparation in terms of travel, knowing few of you will be sober enough to drive, mini bottles of liquor to pregame on the way there, condoms thrown into purses and your phone chargers in case of overnights.

As a result of those mini bottles and the high energy of your friends, you’re tipsy and loose when you arrive at the club, and the flashing lights and hype music only serve to make you smile more, dirty dancing with your friends and making eyes at all the cute guys at the club.

You're taking a break from dancing, surely sweating off your makeup and sitting at the bar to order a water when you hear a familiar voice.

"Heard it was your birthday."

You don't turn but you feel the corner of your mouth turn up. "That it is."

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Out with the girls. No boys allowed.”

You hear him step closer behind you. “It’s your birthday. You can do whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally.

"How old are you now, noona?"

You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice, how he's moved closer behind you. You can smell his cologne, the leather polish he uses on his shoes.

"Shut up, Seonghwa," you mutter, and that does nothing to dissuade him, he puts his hands on your waist, rests his chin on your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

"Wanna sit on my face to shut me up, noona?"

It doesn't come to that, because you're in a club and you somehow hardly ever make it to a bed with Seonghwa, always too riled up, his hands all over you at a bar, a club, the backseat of an Uber.

He's young and eager and mouthy and above all else, hot, so you can't say you complain.

You hate/love the way your name sounds on his lips, the way he always always adds noona in the sweetest croon.

It's infuriating how the sound of it makes you wet, his breath hot on your neck.

"You're so hot, noona, always so wet for me."

"Who says it's for you?" You snark.

He lifts his head, perfectly styled hair falling into his face from the humidity of the club, your ass against the bathroom stall door, his hands under your thighs, near constant smirk on his face.

"It is tonight," he murmurs, and you bite his lip bloody, striking like a snake, wriggling your hips under him.

He laughs into your mouth before he slides down to his knees, hooks your knees around his shoulders and buries his face beneath your skirt.

You were surprised, the first time, surprised because he was handsome and knew it, and usually guys like that weren’t great in bed, used their looks to get laid instead.

Seonghwa, on the other hand, prided himself in being good in bed, the best, he says, making you roll your eyes.

Sometimes he’s even sweet after, kissing along the side of your neck, along your collarbone, but usually it’s just snarky words, hard kisses, his long fingers hooked in your panties or that pretty dick of his in your mouth.

You hadn't even let him inside you yet, after two weeks of hooking up in clubs. It's more fun this way, you think. You love the way he looks when you're on your knees, his sharp jaw as his head tilts back, the way his hips twitch when you drag your manicured nails down his thighs.

He laps at your clit until your thighs are shaking around his head, his hands under your ass, kneading the flesh.

You cry out curses that are mostly drowned out by the music before he lowers you to the ground, licking his lips, that ever present smirk at the corners of that perfect mouth.

He’s got his hands on his belt and his mouth on your throat when you push against his chest, tottering only a little on your heels.

Seonghwa cocks his head, and you can’t help but giggle a little at his expression. Not many women tell him no, you’d imagine, not with that face.

“You’re not gonna leave me like this,” he pouts, gesturing down to the tent in his slacks.

“It’s my birthday,” you parrot. “I can do whatever I want.”

You feel him watching you when you head out of the bathroom and back into the club.

6:32AM, Dec 16th

There’s a banging on your door and sunlight is streaming through your window and you know if you roommates wake up there will be hell to pay so you grumble and roll out of bed.

You’d slept in your makeup from the night before so you wipe at your eyes before you jerk open the door.

When you see who it is you hiss out his name and jerk him inside.

“I swear to God if you’re drunk at my door at 6am ON MY BIRTHDAY-”

“It’s not your birthday,” he pants, seeming out of breath. “And I’m not drunk, I’m just tired, I flew the redeye but I had a layover and-”

You stare at him while he explains the whole ordeal and finally take his hand and lead him to your room so that your roommates won't wake up yelling.

He’s still babbling when you close your bedroom door.

It isn’t as if he doesn’t always talk a lot of shit, but usually it isn’t all sweet and apologetic like this, it’s usually sharp words from the both of you and sometimes dramatic arguments outside of clubs because to be honest, you drive each other crazy.

To be honest, neither of you seem to want to stop driving each other crazy.

You’ve been seeing Baekhyun off and on for a year now, ever since you’d moved for work, and even with both of you having crazy schedules you manage to see each other more than you see anyone else that you’ve gone out with.

You can’t deny that you’d looked out for him to call or at least text the day before.

“And my phone died and there weren’t any outlets-”

“Baek,” you say softly, and he finally closes his mouth. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” He sits down on the bed in a slump and you bounce.

“No, what, you think I was waiting for you to call?” You nudge his shoulder with yours.

“Yes,” he says, nudging you back, and you scoff.

“I went out with the girls. We had fun.”

“I wanted to spend your birthday with you,” he whines, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

He’s said things, sometimes, when you were arguing or sometimes pillow talk, panting against your skin, kissing a line down your spine, that made your heart skip, but never like this, never sober and in daylight and without so much as a hungry kiss.

It makes your heart skip, and when you’re sober and in daylight and without so much as a hungry kiss, it makes you a bit scared.

Baekhyun shakes his head against your shoulder. “No, not even a drop,” he mumbles. “Didn’t sleep though, except a little on the plane.”

“You didn’t even bring me anything?” You ask incredulously. “You flew what, 13 hours just to come and be a sap?”

He lifts his head and you turn to look at him.

He does look tired, his clothes rumpled, bags under his eyes, but he looks earnest, too, and your heart does a little flip in your chest.

“Yeah, I did. You know how I-” he stops, closes his mouth, flops down faceup on your bed.

“How you what?” You ask curiously, straddling his lap and looking down at him.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his mouth in this little pout. 

“It’s my birthday,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss that pout. “You have to tell me.”

He huffs out a breath, puts his hands on your hips, skating them up your body. He lands on your waist, flips you over and kisses you hard, like you’re used to, like you expect from him.

You mewl into his mouth but he pulls away, presses his forehead to yours.

“You know how I feel,” he says softly, and oh, your heart.

You’ll think about that later, though, think about why your heart speeds up not just when he tugs your breasts out of your tanktop or when his fingers slide beneath your panties, but when he brushes his nose along your neck, tells you how sorry he is that he missed your birthday. 

You’ll think about it later, for now you’ll enjoy your belated birthday present, which is how warm your chest feels after you’re both spent and he’s spooning behind you, kissing the back of your neck, how hard you laugh at this story he tells you about the airport and how he’d slid down the escalator.

You’ll think about it later, when you have time to be scared you might be in love.

[littlestarofthewest]

God your writing is incredible. Would you consider possibly writing male reader/deputy arthur, maybe featuring a pair of handcuffs or something of the sort?

Thank you for the praise, love! :) I actually squealed back when I first read this request because I have a thing for Arthur with his little star. I hope you don’t mind I made him sheriff instead of a deputy. I kept the handcuffs though :D

Title: Behind Bars | Word Count: 4444 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x male reader

Tags: handjob, blowjob, anal sex (what can I say, they’re going to town)

You always love coming to a new town. There's new people, new shops, and new opportunities, and all of it is just up for grabs if you know how to do it.

Tonight, it's too late to do much, so you decide to head for the saloon and get a feeling for the locals. After hitching your horse outside, you walk in as inconspicuous as possible. You only use one of the double doors, barely pushing it, your head drawn low but with most of your face still visible.

Over the years, you learned a thing or two about earning people's trust. Acting like a withered traveler who's only looking for work and a hot meal is often the best way to go. Just like you planned, a few eyes turn your way, but the people immediately lose interest.

You approach the bartender and ask for some drink and food before settling down in a corner. You determine that there might be even a few prospects for some naughty fun later on, once the decent guests go home, and the rest have some drinks in them.

After finishing your meal, you get yourself a beer, trying to decide which guy to hit on when the doors of the saloon open. The newcomer is tall, with broad shoulders, his hat covering his face. On his way to the bar, a few people nod or give him a small wave, so he must be one of the locals.

The stranger heads right for the bar, and as he leans on it, you get a nice look at his backside. His jeans sit tight in all the right places, and his shirt clings to him in a way that makes you think about scratching your nails down his whole back. 

Without even thinking about it, you make your way to the bar, flanking the stranger to get a better look at him. He pushed his hat up, and while he looks a little weathered, you can't deny that you find him attractive. He's got full lips and a sharp cut jaw that's covered with a nice stubble. You surely wouldn't mind rubbing your face against his while doing some other enjoyable things.

Somehow, the other guys you considered before seem out of the question now. You want this one. At first, you try to come up with a line that could start a conversation with him, but then the stranger does you a big favor. He moves away from the bar, coming your way, and you step in his path in precisely the right moment.

You both collide, and out of surprise, the stranger drops his bottle while you cling to the bar to keep upright. "I'm so sorry," you mumble, your eyes drawn to the shards on the floor, "I didn't see you there."

"It's alright," the stranger says in a calm, deep voice, "it's just a beer."

The game you're playing is always risky. Instead of some fun behind the saloon, it's easy to end up with a black eye. It seems you got extra lucky today.

"Let me buy you a new one," you say, looking at the stranger for the first time. "Please?"

"Sure, if you want to."

"Of course, it's my fault after all," you say while waving the bartender over. "Please, join me."

You order a new beer for the stranger, and he accepts it with a nod before leaning against the bar next to you. "You're not from here."

It's not a question, but you still feel like the stranger is fishing for more information.

"No, I just got into town," you say honestly, right before launching into your perfectly crafted lie. "The farm I've been working on for years got sold when the owner died. Since then, I've been traveling around, looking for work."

The stranger takes a big swig of his beer before stepping back and looking you up and down like a horse he'd like to buy at the stables. 

"I know most of the farmers around here. I could ask around if someone needs a hand."

"That would be great," you say with a smile, but it's hard to stay in the role of poor farmhand with the stranger's eyes still on you.

"What are you good at?" the stranger asks. "Gotta sell you somehow, after all."

You know that he's asking because of the work, but the way he looks at you implies so much more. Maybe it's time for you to go on the offensive.

"Lots of things, actually," you say, holding the stranger's gaze. "I'm most handy with a good tool, and I sure know how to ride."

A small smile plays around the stranger's lips, and he holds out his hand to you. "Arthur Callahan."

"Y/N," you say, holding his hand way longer than necessary. Arthur has a warm, firm handshake, and you wouldn't mind having those hands on you.

"Tell you what," Arthur says, "we meet back here tomorrow, and I'll let you know if somebody needs help."

"Thank you so much, that's great."

Arthur nods, taking another swig of his beer before eyeing you up and down again. "Now that business is out of the way, how about we move on to pleasure?"

A tingling feeling rushes all over your body. You had a feeling that Arthur wasn't the type to play around, but it's been a while since you've met someone who cut to the chase like that.

"Pleasure sounds great," you say. "What do you have in mind?"

"We could go out back, and you show me how good you really are with a tool."

You take a sip from your drink before walking past Arthur, your shoulder brushing against his. "Come on then."

By the steps behind you, you can tell that Arthur is following you immediately, and your heart beats faster. You've rarely gotten lucky so quickly, and Arthur surely is a treat compared to your usual partners.

Outside, you walk around the saloon, and Arthur's hand ends up warm on your back. You make it into the nearby trees before he turns you around and you don't waste time either, taking your first taste of Arthur's lips.

It's been a while since you had some fun, and you don't mind Arthur's hands roaming over your body. He's not shy to grab you wherever he wants, and you make good on your promise. Going down on your knees, you open Arthur's pants and pull out his cock, pleased with what you find.

Arthur leans back against the tree with a groan when you take your first taste, licking along his length. With your hand massaging his balls, you suck him into your mouth, your tongue teasing him with little twists. 

At first, Arthur lets you do the work, moaning quietly with his eyes closed, but you can sense his desperation. He puts his hand on the back of your head but makes a little circle with his thumb to reassure you that he won't push you.

Not that he has to. You know you're good with your mouth, and having a guy squirm and moan because of you, gets you harder than anything else. Arthur does a great job with that. Harsh breaths make their way out of him, and when you swallow him down all the way, his fingers scrape along your neck.

"Goddammit, boy," he groans, holding you in place while his hips buck.

His grip isn't so tight that you couldn't escape, but being put in your place like this has you moan around Arthur's cock, your own dick twitching in your pants. Arthur runs his fingers along your neck now, almost soothing, drawing back a little.

"Got something for you," he says, giving you a way to escape.

There have been guys where you picked that option, but right now, you want all of Arthur, so you push forward. You take him deep into your throat, and Arthur curses, his fingers clawing against your skin as he comes. You eagerly swallow, and Arthur leans back against the tree with a deep sigh.

"Alright," he says, looking down at you when you give him free, "you do know how to handle a tool."

"Told you," you say with a grin. 

Arthur puts himself away while you get to your feet, thinking that you're done, but suddenly Arthur pulls you into another kiss. He turns you both around, pushing you against the tree, and his hand finds its way to the bulge in your pants.

"I think I can find some work for you," he says with a grin, and you wish you could talk back, but his touch feels too good.

Arthur takes care of your pants, and seconds later, you're in his tight grip. He's even pushier than before, giving you barely an inch to move while stroking your cock. Usually, you're not much of a pushover, so it's even more intriguing how Arthur handles you.

He leans in close to bite and kiss along your neck, his hand always in motion. It surprises you that he actually takes the time after he already got off. You had a few guys who couldn't get away fast enough once they were done.

Arthur is the complete opposite. He takes his sweet time teasing you, and you feel like he enjoys watching you squirm as much as you do. You moan against his lips, loving that he kisses you at all, and soon, you claw your fingers into his shirt while you roll your hips to get more friction.

Finally, Arthur's done with the teasing. He strokes you with a clear goal in mind, and you don't care to hold back any longer. You let your arousal take over, drifting quickly to the point of no return until you have to lean back against the tree behind you when your hips stutter, and you come in Arthur's hand.

He leans in to kiss you, still carefully petting you until you come down from your high.

"You're pretty handy with a tool yourself," you say, and Arthur chuckles.

"See you tomorrow then," he says before giving you another quick kiss. You feel like he'll definitely have some work for you, one way or the other.

-------

After being with Arthur, you wouldn't have minded a good night's sleep, but a man has to eat, after all, so you find yourself at the back of a huge farmhouse a few hours later. You heard some guys at the saloon talking about the wealthy owners who once again left for the city to meet up with other rich people and congratulate each other on their wealth.

Judging by the house, there's a good chance there might be some money in it for you, maybe also some jewelry to fence. You're about to crack open the back door when something hard digs into your back. A gun.

"I'm sorry, darling," a familiar deep voice says. "I can't let you do this. Turn around."

You do as you're told and find Arthur pointing a gun at you. You're about to offer him a part of the loot when your eyes fall on a shiny little item at his chest. A sheriff's star.

"You in law enforcement?" you ask in surprise. "Who would have thought."

"I'm not surprised you're here," Arthur says. "I've rarely seen someone who had 'thief' written all over them like you did."

That surprises you even more. You've never met any police who suspected you right away. Usually, you pride yourself on looking innocent.

"Technically, I didn't steal anything," you say, making Arthur chuckle.

"Besides my patience," he grunts. "Are you coming along peacefully, or do I need to restrain you?"

You think back to earlier when Arthur held you against the tree, and his behavior makes even more sense. As sheriff, he must be used to giving orders and keeping people in check. You sure wouldn't mind being handled with the same authority now.

"I don't think I'll be going with you," you say, unable to hide a smile. "I guess you have to restrain me."

Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes, but then he pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "You better not try anything. I wouldn't want to shoot someone as skilled as you."

You hold out your arms to Arthur with a smile, letting him put on the handcuffs. He pulls you along and helps you up on your horse, holding on to your ass way longer than he'd have to without trying to hide it. With Arthur pulling along your horse, you make it back to the town, and he walks you into one of the jail cells.

Out of the handcuffs, you settle down on the hard bench in the cell while Arthur disappears into another room. Taking a deep breath, you consider your options. Arthur's not the type to be messed with, so talking yourself out of this won't work. 

The same goes for brute force. You're pretty good in a fight, but Arthur's a mountain of a man, holstering two weapons he's probably well versed in using. You can't see yourself overpowering him.

Not that you necessarily have to. Although Arthur has brought you in, you don't think that he's going to give you much trouble over a tiny robbery. He'll probably let you rot in the cell for a bit before giving you a stern talking to and sending you on your way. 

Arthur comes back with a bottle of whiskey and settles down on a creaky chair, putting his feet up on his desk. He takes a swig from the bottle before pulling down his hat over his face, crossing his arms, and ready to settle down for a nap.

You should probably do the same, but instead, you watch Arthur. He has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and your eyes follow the veins that run along Arthur's arms. You can't help but wonder what it would be like if he held you down or lifted you up.

The way he sits there is too inviting. You imagine walking over to him and pushing down his long legs so you could crawl on his lap and steal the hat before kissing him, not to mention taking a little ride.

With a sigh and tightening pants, you head to the end of your cell, leaning against the bars. "So, you just gonna sit there, huh?"

Arthur pushes up his hat, watching you for a moment. "Please tell me you're not one of the chatty ones who beg for a gag."

"I can be quite loud," you say with a smile, "and I am good at begging. Unless you keep me quiet. I like that, too."

"Just sit your ass down and take your punishment like a man," Arthur growls.

"Oh, I'd love to take it from you," you say, and when Arthur rolls his eyes, you grab the bars of the cell. "Come on, we both know you can't leave while you have a prisoner, and I'm not going to shut up until you make me. Might as well continue where we left off, have some fun."

Arthur's eyes travel over your body, and heat takes hold of you. You just took a shot in the dark, but he's actually considering your words. After a moment, he walks over to you, handing you the whiskey. You look at him while you drink, your lips tightly wrapped around the bottle. 

"Just to be clear, you're not getting out," Arthur says. "We can have some fun, but it's no payment for your release. I don't do that."

Of course, you wouldn't mind getting out of here, but you understand what he means. You're not interested in offering sexual favors for your freedom, either. 

"Just some fun," you say, handing back the bottle, "and then I'll sit here and repent."

Arthur's gaze clearly states that he doesn't believe in your penance, but he still nods. "Turn around."

You have no idea what he's going to do, but that's even more of a thrill. You do as he says and can hear him put the whiskey bottle back onto the desk. After that, there are more sounds, but you're not sure what Arthur's doing.

He comes back to you, always out of your field of vision, and you jump a little when he speaks close to your ear. "Put up your arms."

Again, you follow up immediately, and Arthur holds your hands against the bars of the cell before putting the handcuffs back on you. He hangs them up in a way that makes it impossible for you to bring your arms back down.

"Comfortable?" he asks, and you know he's giving you an out if you're not into that kind of thing.

You've never done something like this before, but then again, you've never met someone like Arthur. A tingling feeling washes in waves all over your body, and you're eager to see what else he has in store for you.

"I'm good," you say, much more confident than you feel.

Starting from your hands, Arthur explores your body. He opens up your shirt and runs his hands all over you with a firm touch. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and Arthur reaches around you to open your pants.

"Are you ready to do some penance?" he asks, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice sinking deep into your bones and setting you alight from inside.

"God, yes," you say, unable to play it cool. "Please punish me, sheriff."

Arthur leans his head against the back of yours for a moment as his hands push down your pants. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he groans in satisfaction.

You wish you weren't so eager, but you can't help but push back, the cold bars digging into your skin as a starch contrast to Arthur's warm hands. He lets go of you for a moment, before pushing your cheeks apart and his fingers find their way to your hole.

Arthur's coated his fingers with something oily and rubs circles into your skin while his other hand rests flat on your chest. You let yourself enjoy the touch, and Arthur soon pushes a finger into you, opening you up a little. When he's satisfied with how your muscles loosen up for him, he retreats his hands, and a few seconds later, his hot cock is pressing against your entrance.

"Relax, darling," he says, and you only notice now how tense you are, too eager for Arthur to take you.

You let out all the pent up air from your lungs, and Arthur pushes into you, making you moan. You always love to be claimed and spread open, and Arthur fills you up in the best of ways. He bottoms out, pressing himself against you as much as the bars of the cell allow it. 

He trails soft kisses over your neck and rolls his hips, giving you a first taste of what's to come. His hands are back on your body, touching every inch of your skin that he can reach except for your dick, and you have a feeling that's intentional. 

Arthur lets you move instead, waiting for you to show him how rough you want this to go. The problem is that you're way too thirsty for some action, and you move as far away as you can before slamming yourself back against him. Whenever his cock thrusts back into you, you let out eager gasps and moans, begging him to go harder.

"You sure want to redeem yourself," Arthur groans.

"Please, more," you say, reminding him that you're not above begging.

Arthur's hand travels up your chest, his fingers going around your throat. There's no pressure behind it, but the mere touch has you arch your back as much as possible, the muscles in your arms straining from being held up. 

Finally, Arthur moves with more purpose, grinding deep into you until you're completely ready to take all of him. Then he goes faster and harder, his fingers closing a little more around your throat. Your cock twitches, leaking with precome, and you're not sure how much more you can take before begging for release.

Arthur hits deep into your core, moaning, and grunting as he takes his own pleasure from using your body. Every sound of him hits you like a whip, wanting for you to do even better. You push back hard against the bars with a whine, and Arthur finally has some mercy on you.

He reaches around and grabs your dick tight, stroking you with purpose. Your whole body tenses again, pushing against all the restrictions, and Arthur bites along your neck before his lips come to rest against your ear again, his hot breath washing over you.

"You're gonna be a good boy for me now and come on my cock," he growls, his fingers closing even tighter both around your dick and your throat.

There's nothing you can do to hold back. As soon as Arthur thrusts into you again, you cry out, your orgasm shooting through you as if you've been struck by lightning. While your muscles tense around Arthur's cock, your dick pulses in his hand, your come trickling to the ground.

While you still catch your breath, Arthur pulls out of you, but his hand is still on your throat as he rubs his cock between your cheeks. You squeeze them tight to give him more friction, and with a few satisfied groans, Arthur follows you over the edge, painting your ass with his come.

He takes a moment to rest his head against you before letting go of you and reaching up to undo the handcuffs. You move your arms and rub your wrists to get some blood flow back while Arthur tucks himself away.

"That sure was fun," you say, and Arthur chuckles.

"I hope you don't get bruises from those bars," he says, peaking at your ass.

You can't help but grin. "So worth it."

Arthur shakes his head but smiles. He gets the bottle of whiskey again and a bandana from his desk so you can clean yourself up. When you're all dressed, he hands you the bottle, leaning against the bars.

"Can I trust that you behave yourself now?"

"God, yes," you say, and take a drink. "You wore me out, sheriff. I'm gonna sleep like a baby now."

Arthur laughs as he takes the bottle from you. "Good. See you tomorrow then."

He walks over into the other room, probably lying down, and you settle down on the small cot in your cell. It's anything but comfortable, but you're so tired, you're out like a light in seconds.

--------

"Rise and shine, darling," a deep voice says close to your ear, and you roll over, trying to make out your surroundings.

Arthur is standing in front of you, blocking the morning sun coming in through the window behind him.

"Morning," you mumble, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and sitting up.

"I fear I can't offer you breakfast, but you're free to go," Arthur says before heading out the door and sitting down at his desk.

You take your time getting up and are still stretching your body after following him outside. Arthur's eyes rest on you the whole time, and for the first time in your life, you actually want to stay in jail.

"Are you sure? I did try to rob that fancy place," you say. "Might be tempted to do it again."

A small smile plays around Arthur's lips. "We both know you're not that stupid."

"I might be," you say before walking over to Arthur's desk and leaning against it. Again, you're tempted to crawl into his lap right then and there. "Considering the following punishment."

Arthur studies you for a moment, then he gets up and puts a hand on your back. "Come with me."

You're intrigued, and even when Arthur leads you to the steps to the basement, you go with him without question. Downstairs is another cell, only dimly lit from the light above. When you approach, a man stumbles to the front.

"Are you alright? I heard horrible sounds yesterday," he exclaims, out of breath as if he's been running for miles. "Did he hurt you?"

Arthur can't hold in a chuckle, and when you look at the man in the cell, a weird suspicion arises in your mind.

"Sheriff Callahan?" you ask, and the man's eyes widen.

"Yes, that's me!"

"Come on," Arthur says, patting your back, and you both head back up the stairs, ignoring the sheriff.

"So, I guess you're not the real sheriff," you say, watching Arthur as he leans against his desk. "Care to explain?"

"My gang and I are working a few jobs around here, and since the sheriff was new in town, it seemed a good idea to replace him," Arthur says as if that's the most normal thing to do. "You're free to go, but I have to ask you to move on. We don't want any trouble that could bring some actual law out here."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Arthur shrugs. "You seem like a smart feller. I'm sure you'll know what's best for you to do."

Although Arthur acts all friendly, you know exactly what he's saying. If you dare to make trouble for them, he'll take measures to stop you. Coming from someone who's been holding the sheriff downstairs, you'd have to be pretty stupid not to heed his warning.

The thing is, Arthur's talk about a gang is interesting. You thought for a while that you'd be better off with some backup, and the idea of staying with Arthur is even more tempting.

"Any chance your gang could use another man?" you ask, bringing out your best smile.

Arthur raises a brow at you. "Depends if he's got something good to offer."

"I'm quite handy with a tool, and I can ride."

"I'm interested," Arthur says, his eyes trained at you as intense as yesterday.

You grab him by the collar, push him over to his chair, and finally crawl on top of him. "I could be your deputy, sheriff, and you could teach me a little something about the law. I think I need another lecture on those handcuffs."

Arthur puts a hand on your neck, drawing you in. "Tempting offer," he says before pulling you in for a kiss.

You feel sorry for the things Sheriff Callahan is going to hear now.

[1988hc]

"Shit babe, I just, I don't know if I can do the work tonight," TK says, face scrunching up as he withdraws from Nolan's mouth.

Nolan frowns. He just started getting into it, TK's dick pushing past his lips, hips working in tight little thrusts, just the way Nolan likes it. TK had even pulled on his hair a little.

TK thumbs at Nolan's mouth, wiping away a trace of spit. His dick is still hard and shiny with Nolan's spit, bobbing in the air. "Maybe some other day, eh babe?"

He sounds apologetic, like. Shit. Not like someone who got first star tonight. In fact, TK sounds downright exhausted.

"Sit down."

"What?" TK looks confused, even though Nolan knows he heard him perfectly well. The room is pretty quiet, not a whole lot of guys still left, the ones who are mostly quietly tending to their equipment, getting stretched out, G working on his foam roller over in the corner.

"I said, sit down," Nolan says, making sure to speak clearly. When TK just continues standing in front of him, staring at him dumbly, Nolan sighs, stands up, and pushes TK down by the shoulders onto the bench.

It's not something he usually does. In fact, it's nearly unheard of. Nolan is happy to play with whoever got first star honors that night, provided they put in the work. Nolan Patrick does not get on his knees for anybody.

He does now, dropping to the floor in front of Travis, shouldering between his legs none too gently when TK doesn't get with the program quickly enough.

"Patty, you don't have to..." TK starts weakly, but Nolan just glares at him.

"Shut up."

He's not interested in discussing this. Certainly doesn't want to examine the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought of TK turning down his celebratory blowjob.

"What the fuuuuuck?" Comes an incredulous voice from somewhere over Nolan's shoulder. "Why does Teeks get special treatment? He isn't even hurt! You didn't go down for me last month!"

Nolan turns around, staring at Farabee. The movement pulls a little on his hair, from where TK's fingers have strayed back into it, curled around a few strands. Nolan ignores the lurch in his stomach at that. "Maybe you didn't deserve it."

"I was first star!" Bee protests. "I couldn't fucking stand after that puck to the knee and all you did was shrug and told me to find someone else to do it then."

"You didn't get a Gordie Howe," Nolan shoots back, and just the thought of TK's goal in the first, his assist on Ghost's powerplay redirect and then the way he had planted one on DeBrusk in the third, wrestling him down to the ice, has Nolan's own pants growing a little tighter.

He turns back to TK, doesn't wait for anyone else to say anything, sliding TK's dick back into his mouth. TK's dick is like the most perfect dick on the team, the perfect girth to make Nolan work for it without giving him lock-jaw, uncut and curved just the tiniest bit to the left, and Nolan likes playing with his foreskin, likes pulling it up and sliding his tongue inside, lapping up the bursts of precome. TK's fingers tighten in his hair, TK letting out an appreciative moan, and Nolan sucks a little harder, works on taking him a little deeper.

"This is fucking favoritism," Bee whines, but it's quiet enough that Nolan feels justified in ignoring it, focusing instead on fitting TK's dick down his throat. It's easier, usually, when all he has to do is tip his head back and let TK push inside, when he can fist a hand in TK's sweats to pull him in, instead of having to bend down himself. He has to work, time his breathing, can feel a little spit dribble out and down TK's dick. It's messy, and uncomfortable, straining his neck, knees aching on the hard locker room floor, and Nolan remembers why he usually doesn't do this, why he never does this. He can't seem to find his rhythm, can't slide into that easy space where all he has to do is lie back and let the team take what they need from him, shutting off all his thoughts. Right now, his mind is whirring, trying to catalogue all the little sighs and shifts of TK's hips, trying to figure out how deep to go, how fast, how hard to suck.

"Nolan, Patty, babe," TK mutters, fingers carding through Nolan's hair, pushing it behind his ear. "Just focus on the head."

He's guiding Nolan up, high enough that his dick slips out of Nolan's mouth and Nolan's about to say something, to call this off, this was a bad idea after all when TK shushes him. It's something Nolan positively hates, getting told what to do, but TK sounds fond and soft when he does it, muttering "just let me" and then he's pushing the spongy head of his dick against Nolan's mouth, tracing it over Nolan's lips like the world's most sticky lipstick before nudging at the seam.

And Nolan parts his lips, just enough that TK can slip the tip of his dick inside, caught in the tight seal of Nolan's mouth. It's shallow enough that Nolan can swirl his tongue all around it, flick it against the little cluster of nerves on the underside of the head. TK draws in a sharp breath between his teeth at that, an appreciative hiss, pushing a bit deeper into Patty's mouth. He's got his hands placed firmly on either side of Nolan's head, holding him steady while his hips work in tiny little shifts, not thrusting so much as squirming inside Nolan's mouth and that--. Fuck. Nolan sucks a little harder, presses his tongue against the slit and earns a harsh "fuck, Pat, yeah, just like that. So good for me, babe, look at you, so fucking perfect for me."

Nolan can feel himself flushing, can feel the words drip like honey down his spine. He's sucking on TK's dick like a lollipop, running his tongue over and around, and TK keeps up a steady stream of curses and moans, giving Nolan the shallowest tender face-fuck of the universe, but Nolan doesn't care, not when he's boxed in by TK's legs and hands, his own hands flat on TK's thighs digging into the straining muscle, letting his thoughts scatter as another bright burst of precome blooms across his tongue.

It doesn't take TK long, neither of them has the patience tonight for anything but single-minded focus, and Nolan misses the way TK's dick usually feels pushing into his throat, cutting off his air supply. He doesn't know whether it's his whine, embarrassingly not as muffled as usual, or TK's just thinking about the same thing, but TK moves one hand down to Nolan's throat, stroking over his neck before settling low at the base of it, the dip between Nolan's collar bones framed perfectly between TK's thumb and his fingers, and then TK squeezes just a little and Nolan feels anchored enough that he could fly away.

He makes another sound, this one possibly even more pathetic then the last, but it mingles with TK's harsh breaths, and when TK starts chanting "fuck, fuck, almost there, god" Nolan sucks for all he's worth, flicking his tongue against TK's dick, rubbing it over the ridge of the head and then TK goes quiet, holding his breath and Nolan's mouth floods with the bitter taste of TK's release. He can taste him, can feel TK's dick twitch and squirt inside his mouth and Nolan swallows reflexively, his whole mouth coated with TK's come, an entirely different sensation from when they usually come down his throat, buried so deep that Nolan hardly tastes anything.

He's almost a little remorseful when TK finally hisses and pushes Nolan off from where he'd been suckling on TK's dick, lapping up the last spurts of come.

"Shit, babe, I think you sucked my brains out," TK laughs weakly, looking at Nolan with glazed-over eyes that grow even darker when Nolan smirks a little and licks his lips, smacking them together for extra effect.

There's a space where Nolan knows he should say something, chirp TK for the dumb look on his face, but he can't really think of anything, doesn't let himself think at all when he pushes up from his perch between TK's legs to capture TK's mouth in a kiss.

He doesn't do this either. The team can stick their dicks in Nolan all they want, but nobody gets to kiss Nolan on the mouth, and Nolan certainly never sticks his tongue where it doesn't belong. He doesn't have an explanation for why he does it now, TK's mouth soft and pliant beneath Nolan’s in surprise before he visibly rallies, one hand moving to the back of Nolan's neck.

The first swipe of tongue is a little tentative, just a wet meeting of mouths, but then TK lets out a little sigh and opens up and Nolan dives right in. It's everything the blowjob wasn't, a little rough, a little loud, both of them moaning, pushing too deep too fast, Nolan letting TK taste himself on Nolan's tongue, lick his taste right out of Nolan's mouth. It's slick and dirty in a way that TK's dick in his mouth never came close to, making the blowjob seem almost sweet in comparison. Nolan uses his hands on TK's thighs to push himself up, really get up in TK's face, pushing him deeper into his locker, getting pulled there by TK's hands, roaming over Nolan's back and arms in broad, possessive swipes. And Nolan, he, like. Maybe melts. A little. The kiss between them gentles, a bit, until it's TK nipping at Nolan's lips, teasing him, the soft scratch of his goatee tickling against Nolan's skin, both their mouths stretched in matching little grins.

Nolan will happily sit back and let anyone fuck his throat who gets first star of the night, but he always makes sure it’s them putting in the work. Nolan never, ever, goes on his knees for anybody, doesn’t kiss on the mouth, and he sure as fuck would never in a million years fall in love with a teammate.

Cause that would be just dumb.

…

Shit.

[aboveallarescuer]

How prophecies, dreams and magical intuition drive Dany’s story

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

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

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

The more absolute power she consolidated, the more she was lauded as a selfless hero. [...] Being hailed as a savior for so long has made her fall for that narrative more than anyone. She’s come to believe she is a goddess among men. So when she slides into doing the wrong thing, it becomes easy for her to justify why -- if she did it -- it must be right. [...] It’s almost impossible to imagine walking through fire and experiencing the intense worship she’s known without coming to think you have superhuman rights to decide the future of the world. (The Take)

~

The gods flipped a coin for Dany that can — and does — fall either way. But it tends to come up good when the people love her, and bad when the people don’t. She’s repeatedly saying I have a destiny. I will park my ass on the Iron Throne. Here’s how it’s going to work: You’re going to bend the knee, or you’re going to die. I’d prefer if you loved me. I’ll accept that you fear me. A bent knee or your death. (x)

~

She can and does dehumanize those who stand between her and her (perceived) destiny. (x)

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but the show can be all over the place and ... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

NOTE: I didn't include anything from ACOK Dany IV because she's receiving the prophecies rather than reacting to or acting based on them. I preferred to focus on how they influence her characterization and felt that that chapter wouldn't serve for that purpose. The dragon dreams on AGOT, however, are often interwoven with her reactions and the strength and confidence she usually derives from them, so I added them.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany called. “Where are you, Quaithe?”

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight. “Remember who you are, Daenerys,” the stars whispered in a woman’s voice. “The dragons know. Do you?”

~

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

~

She called until her voice was hoarse ... and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him. Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. “To go forward I must go back,” she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon’s neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone.

ADWD Daenerys IX

“Khrazz believes the hearts of brave men make him stronger,” said Hizdahr. Jhiqui murmured her approval. Dany had once eaten a stallion’s heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb. Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“The Yunkai’i grow weaker as well. The bloody flux has taken hold amongst the Tolosi, it is said, and spread across the river to the third Ghiscari legion.”

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare’s coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun’s son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles. “I cannot rely on plague to save me from my enemies.[”]

~

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves … “They call to me. Come.”

~

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

ADWD Daenerys VII

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? Something tickled at her memory. “Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?”

“A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear.”

The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? “Beware the perfumed seneschal.” That she remembered. “Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day.”

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

~

“I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys V

His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart.

~

“We must pray,” said the Green Grace. “The gods sent this man to us. He comes as a harbinger. He comes as a sign.”

“A sign of what?” asked Dany.

“A sign of wroth and ruin.”

She did not want to believe that. “He was one man. One sick man with an arrow in his leg. A horse brought him here, not a god.” A pale mare. Dany rose abruptly. “I thank you for your counsel and for all that you did for this poor man.”

~

“Your Worship, I beg you, take the noble Hizdahr for your king at once. He can speak with the Wise Masters, make a peace for us.”

“On what terms?” Beware the perfumed seneschal, Quaithe had said. The masked woman had foretold the coming of the pale mare, was she right about the noble Reznak too?

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow.”

He shall be the stallion that mounts the world. Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind. There would be no son for Loraq, no heir to unite dragon and harpy. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Only then would her womb quicken once again …

~

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

~

Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

ADWD Daenerys II

“...Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun’s son and the mummer’s dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.”

“Reznak? Why should I fear him?” Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. “If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?”

[...] “To show you the way.”

“I remember the way. I go north to go south, east to go west, back to go forward. And to touch the light I have to pass beneath the shadow.” She squeezed the water from her silvery hair. “I am half-sick of riddling. In Qarth I was a beggar, but here I am a queen. I command you—”

“Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are.”

“The blood of the dragon.” But my dragons are roaring in the darkness. “I remember the Undying. Child of three, they called me. Three mounts they promised me, three fires, and three treasons. One for blood and one for gold and one for …”

~

When Reznak and Skahaz appeared, she found herself looking at them askance, mindful of the three treasons. Beware the perfumed seneschal. She sniffed suspiciously at Reznak mo Reznak. I could command the Shavepate to arrest him and put him to the question. Would that forestall the prophecy? Or would some other betrayer take his place? Prophecies are treacherous, she reminded herself, and Reznak may be no more than he appears.

ADWD Daenerys I

There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Across the room, Grey Worm wore the plain uniform of the Unsullied, his spiked bronze cap beneath one arm. These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped ... and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei ... as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

~

“Daenerys,” he said, “I have loved you.”

And there it was. Three treasons will you know. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.

~

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

ASOS Daenerys V

“If you were grown,” she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, “I’d fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag.” But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

~

Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon? Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who’d said she had to take two husbands. Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it.

~

“Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! [...] Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe?

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. “They will not hurt me,” she told him. “They are my children, Jorah.” She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, Mother, Mother!”

ASOS Daenerys III

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a footfall on the deck above her head. And something else.

Someone was in the cabin with her.

“Irri? Jhiqui? Where are you?” Her handmaids did not respond. It was too black to see, but she could hear them breathing. “Jorah, is that you?”

“They sleep,” a woman said. “They all sleep.” The voice was very close. “Even dragons must sleep.”

She is standing over me. “Who’s there?” Dany peered into the darkness. She thought she could see a shadow, the faintest outline of a shape. “What do you want of me?”

“Remember. To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany sprung from the bed and threw open the door. Pale yellow lantern light flooded the cabin, and Irri and Jhiqui sat up sleepily. “Khaleesi?” murmured Jhiqui, rubbing her eyes. Viserion woke and opened his jaws, and a puff of flame brightened even the darkest corners. There was no sign of a woman in a red lacquer mask. “Khaleesi, are you unwell?” asked Jhiqui.

“A dream.” Dany shook her head. “I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep.” Yet try as she might, sleep would not come again.

ASOS Daenerys I

They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

~

“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace,” he conceded, “the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders.”

“Yes,” said Dany, “but my brothers are dead.”

“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

Dany found her thoughts returning to the Palace of Dust once more, as the tongue returns to a space left by a missing tooth. Child of three, they had called her, daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire. So many threes. Three fires, three mounts to ride, three treasons. “The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”

“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”

“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”

“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”

“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”

“Blue lips speak only lies, isn’t that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now.”

“Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “Yet the things I saw ...”
“A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood ... what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer’s dragon, you said. What is a mummer’s dragon, pray?”
“A cloth dragon on poles,” Dany explained. “Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight.”

Ser Jorah frowned.

Dany could not let it go. “His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”

Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”

“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”

“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”

“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”

“I went to the warlocks hoping for answers, but instead they’ve left me with a hundred new questions.”

~

“The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

ACOK Daenerys III

“No trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.”

[...] “And now?”

“And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?”

The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?”

~

“You must leave this city soon, Daenerys Targaryen, or you will never be permitted to leave it at all.”

Dany’s wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. “Where would you have me go?” she asked.

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. “Will the Asshai’i give me an army?” she demanded. “Will there be gold for me in Asshai? Will there be ships? What is there in Asshai that I will not find in Qarth?”

“Truth,” said the woman in the mask. And bowing, she faded back into the crowd.

~

The comet led me to Qarth for a reason. I had hoped to find my army here, but it seems that will not be. What else remains, I ask myself?” I am afraid, she realized, but I must be brave. “Come the morrow, you must go to Pyat Pree.”

ACOK Daenerys II

Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning. “Beware,” the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

“Of whom?”

“Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

When Quaithe too was gone, Ser Jorah said, “She speaks truly, my queen ... though I like her no more than the others.”

“I do not understand her.” Pyat and Xaro had showered Dany with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her dragons, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. And it disturbed her that she had never seen the woman’s face. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery.

~

As the handmaids toweled her dry and wrapped her in a sandsilk robe, Dany’s thoughts went to the three who had sought her out in the City of Bones. The Bleeding Star led me to Qarth for a purpose. Here I will find what I need, if I have the strength to take what is offered, and the wisdom to avoid the traps and snares. If the gods mean for me to conquer, they will provide, they will send me a sign, and if not ... if not ...

ACOK Daenerys I

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. “That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say.”

“The way the comet points is the way we must go,” Dany insisted ... though in truth, it was the only way open to her.

~

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless. The comet mocks my hopes, she thought, lifting her eyes to where it scored the sky. Have I crossed half the world and seen the birth of dragons only to die with them in this hard hot desert? She would not believe it.

~

“Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important. “Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk.”

~

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, her first, and perhaps he must be her last. The maegi Mirri Maz Duur had sworn she should never bear a living child, and what man would want a barren wife? And what man could hope to rival Drogo, who had died with his hair uncut and rode now through the night lands, the stars his khalasar?

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It is not enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”

“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that the godswife kept silent.

~

[“]Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”

“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”

“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”

“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”

“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”

“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.

~

The Dothraki were muttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.

~

“Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voice made them run.

Ser Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night lands. Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the Free Cities. Sell all three and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”

“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.

She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs.

~

As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” the godswife said hoarsely.

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”

~

“I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear.

~

Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward. The wood crackled, louder and louder.

[...] She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit. The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.

Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

AGOT Daenerys IX

Wings shadowed her fever dreams.


“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone.

“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. “Home,” she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Ser Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. “Rhaegar was the last dragon,” he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. “The last dragon,” he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Viserys stood before her, screaming. “The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.” The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. “I am the dragon and I will be crowned!” he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ... ”

The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ...”

She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin.

“... want to wake the dragon ...”

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. “Faster,” they cried, “faster, faster.” She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. “Faster!” the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew.

“... wake the dragon ...”

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

“... the dragon ...”

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. “The last dragon,” Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. “The last, the last.” Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

~

Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. “Help me,” she whispered, struggling to rise. “Bring me ...” Her voice was raw as a wound, and she could not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had been torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. “I want ...”

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed ... something ... someone ... what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to ...

They found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. [...]

“I must,” she tried to tell them, “I have to ...”

“ ... sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.

“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”

~

“Bring ... I want to hold ...”

“Yes?” the maegi asked. “What is it you wish, Khaleesi?”


“Bring me ... egg ... dragon’s egg ... please ... ” Her lashes turned to lead, and she was too weary to hold them up.

When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away.

~

My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.

She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet ... she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been.

~

Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,” she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What do you feel?”

“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”

“Heat?”

“No. Cold stone.”

~

“When will he be as he was?” Dany demanded.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” said Mirri Maz Duur. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.”

~

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human, Quaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo was fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo’s whip cracked, loud as thunder, the lash coiling around Haggo’s throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled backward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his arakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo’s head. The point caught between his eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. “No,” she wept, “no, please, stop it, it’s too high, the price is too high.” More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. “My baby,” she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo’s arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart.

[...] The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice was like a funeral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled.

~

“Take her to the maegi.”

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.

[...] No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers!

Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

AGOT Daenerys VI

She would not shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself ... and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight limned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king.

Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light the brazier.” “Khaleesi?” The knight looked at her strangely. “It is so hot. Are you certain?” She had never been so certain. “Yes. I ... I have a chill. Light the brazier.”

He bowed. “As you command.”

When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet ...

Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat.

She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon’s eggs. And that was all.

Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. A dragon was air and fire. Living flesh, not dead stone.

AGOT Daenerys V

“What does it mean?” she asked. “What is this stallion? Everyone was shouting it at me, but I don’t understand.”

“The stallion is the khal of khals promised in ancient prophecy, child. He will unite the Dothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth, or so it was promised. All the people of the world will be his herd.”

“Oh,” Dany said in a small voice.

AGOT Daenerys III

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. “Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, “what is wrong? Are you sick?”

“I was,” she answered, standing over the dragon’s eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers ... or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously.

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.

~

As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon’s eggs across the tent. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone.

Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. “The sun,” Dany whispered. “The sun warmed them as they rode.” [...] “Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

AGOT Daenerys II

There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid ...

... until the day of her wedding came at last.

[boonki]

Draco was not a dramatic man.

Sure, he’d given in to the stereotype over the years, laughing about it with his friends and letting them neatly label his erratic behaviors and eccentricities as such, and at times, had even leaned into it, getting away with actions and ideals because of this simple belief his friends had in him.

But the thing was, Draco was not, in fact, dramatic.

There was just a certain order to things. Things were meant to be the way they were meant to be. And as any civil and educated member of society, he trusted and upheld that those practices, ideologies, and traditions had meaning to them. That they gave way to a more poignant, established, and refined lifestyle.

Which was why, under no circumstances, he was making this man’s order.

“But,” the man practically sputtered, “I’m the customer.”

Draco hitched an eyebrow. “And I’m the owner, and I say absolutely not.”

The disbelief and uncertainty was almost comical, had it not been leading to his coffee shop’s financial decline. Well, not a fatal decline, given it was late into the evening and most of the seats were still occupied, surely assisted by the decline in weather and onset of exam week. But still, every dollar counted. To someone poorer than him, Draco speculated. But still, on principle.  

“But it’s what I want, and I’m paying you to do it.” The man pushed the money closer to Draco, as if bribery were going to suddenly peel away his sense of morality. He’d like to see this man try and break down Draco’s strict sense of self.

“You’re asking me to make you a latte with five shots of espresso and about half the bottle of vanilla to compensate. If you’re this desperate into your exams and are in need of a heart attack, I would recommend letting your marks come out and having things run their due course, no?”

Draco was impressed with this man’s persistence, if anything. His glasses hung crooked on his nose, drawing attention away from his rather startling green eyes, and Draco, though strongly disinclined to touching strangers, was fighting back the urge to smooth down his great tuft of hair. Instead, he feigned clearing a smudge off the face of the register.

“Fine.”

Draco looked up, quickly relaxing his face to veil the shock. His mouth pulled to the side, and he shifted his stance.

“So what’ll it be?”

“Just a latte then, I suppose.” The man, to his credit, didn’t look as frustrated as Draco was sure he felt.

Draco did end up putting an extra shot in, out of pity.

____

The night after, he was back.

“Okay, listen, I know it’s a bit unconventional, but I have not slept in weeks, and I need to pass this class. My friends like this place, so I can’t go elsewhere. Can I please have a five shot latte with extra vanilla syrup?” He was breathing a little harder than he should’ve been, impassioned by his short speech, his ragged flannel undulated with the rise and fall of the man’s sturdy-looking chest. Draco, although amused, was a hard man to crack.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Still no.”

The man pursed his lips, looking up at the sky. He turned on his heel, and back to his table, where his two friends, one a young woman with bushy hair and an air of efficiency, and the other looking hopelessly lost with his material, looked up at him, and then right at Draco. The young woman stood harshly, letting the legs of the chair scrape against the floor, drawing the attention of the nearby customers, and stalked over to the register.

She took a deep breath before talking. “Can I have a-”

Draco was doing his best not to smile. “No.”

She looked taken aback, eyebrows furrowing together. “But you haven’t even heard what I’m asking for.”

Draco gave her a level stare. “You’re going to ask for the drink that I won’t make your friend, and my answer is still no. It’s not even coffee at that point, just a stroke waiting to happen.”

“This has got to be illegal.” She stated, very matter-of-fact.

“If you can find the law, then I’ll follow it. Best of luck.” He countered.

She pursed her lips, letting out a sharp breath through her nose. “Fine. I will.”

He almost believed that she actually would, too.

____

The next time the man came, he came alone, and sat with his head buried in books for the better half of the night.

Draco was nearly intrigued. Why come here with no friends if he couldn’t even get his order?

The customers were fairly sparse tonight, and Draco was getting a bit tired of wiping down the same mugs and rinsing out the same milk pitchers. So, he decided to take a chance, deviate from himself for a bit. Just to see what would happen. Not because he wanted to. Naturally, he would never tell anyone about this, lest his reputation be completely ruined.

Five shots and half a bottle of vanilla it was, if that would allow him to sit across from this man and ask him what compels him to bring on his own early demise.

He made the drink, reeling with disgust the entire time, almost threw it out on two different occasions, but found himself placing it on the man’s table before Draco really had the time to figure out what he was going to say. He stood there, like a complete nitwit, while the man looked down at the cup and then back up at him.

“I’m Draco.” He said.

The man hesitated, uncertainty and confusion written clearly in the open mouth, cocked head, and wrinkled forehead. “Uh… Harry Potter.” He finally settled on.

Draco made a face he hoped came across as pleasant. “What are you studying for?”

Harry blinked at him, and then startled down to his textbooks, as if he forgot they were there. “Oh, uh, business.”

“Business, good.” Draco said, like a fucking idiot.

Harry nodded, just a small nod, and gave a flash of a smile that was really more polite than welcoming.

“Right. Well. Enjoy.”

Draco sauntered back to his counter, wanting to dissolve into the ground and melt right into hell. That was terrible. God, where did his wit go? He might as well close up shop and move locations.

Not that, under any circumstances, Draco was dramatic. This was a completely normal reaction to making a fucking buffoon of oneself in front of someone that might, objectively, be considered attractive.

____

“But  you made it last time!”

“No.”

“Then why did you make it in the first place?”

“You looked so pathetic, sitting there all alone. I was hoping the caffeine would make you do something worthwhile with yourself.”

Harry took a deep breath, the kind that is more a warning, a threat, than just a breath. “You know what? Fine. Okay. Just give me a regular vanilla latte then.”

Draco made his special drink, and said absolutely nothing of his own atrocities. God, who was he turning into?

“Here’s your latte.”

“Thanks for nothing.” Harry grumbled.

“Anytime, Potter.”

Draco watched the back of Harry as he walked away, watched his stupid sweater stretch over his broad shoulders. Maybe he should throw in some whip-cream next time.

___

“He fancies you, you know.” The bushy-haired friend was back, this time with a much more agreeable mood. She handed him her card, and he mindlessly swiped it through his machine.

Draco’s stomach muscles clenched. Why on earth would he do that?

“Why on earth would he do that?” He said, holding her card out between them.

She took it, and laughed. “I don’t know either, not to be rude," she added, after looking at his face, "but you should say something, I don’t think he will. He’ll just keep coming here and be miserable the whole time.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a personal problem.” It was an interesting development. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information.

He placed her coffee on the counter--"thank you"--and went back to wiping mugs, totally not purposefully avoiding looking over at his table, but rather… circumstantially always finding things to do that required the back wall.

Draco nearly-- nearly, because he’s fucking good at his job-- messed up the next drink that came through, and blamed it on the fact that he didn’t get much sleep the night before. Can insomnia cause a racing heart?

___

Draco was not a dramatic man.

He simply believed there was a way to do things properly, and that you couldn’t casually ask someone out over coffee at your own coffee shop. Things like this required dinner, maybe flowers, a candle or two, hair gel, and some confidence.

Which is how he found himself closing his shop early, turning the sign to Closed hours before he normally did, and waiting on his own front steps for nearly a fucking hour before the golden trio came trekking to his store, bags heavy and books in hand.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, as if it wasn’t obvious Draco was waiting for someone. Harry’s scarf was hanging askew on his neck, and Draco wanted to stand up and fix it for him.

“Waiting, obviously.” Draco said, looking him dead in the eye, expression perfectly neutral.

“For…” Harry dragged out the 'r', leaving the question mark behind, waiting for Draco to finish the sentence.

“Well, you.”

Harry’s bushy-haired friend’s eyes widened, and she tugged the red-headed boy’s arm fervently, who looked altogether baffled. “We, uh, I actually need to run to the library quick. Bye, Harry!” The red-head sputtered a rather futile protest before being swept away. Draco was secretly grateful for her rather poor excuse.

“Wait--” Harry started, turning his head in between Draco and the now-vacant spot where his friends had previously stood.

Draco stood up, suddenly conscious of the empty space between them where a counter usually occupied. “If you can make it one night without studying, would you like to go to dinner?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, just about reaching his daft mess of hair. He simply stood there, books in hand, scarf askew, breathing in the cold air as if Draco hadn’t said anything at all.

“Hello?” Draco tried again.

“Yes, I would… yes. Tonight?” Harry said.

“That was the plan.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. Where are we going?”

Draco smiled, just a turn up of one side of his mouth. “I know a place. You just can’t order anything stupid and ridiculous. And no coffee, god, you’re probably going to die of a heart attack.”

____

Draco was not a dramatic man, nor was he prone to making rushed decisions and leaping to conclusions.

He was methodical, careful, calculating, and did not take kindly to strangers invading his personal space. He valued his privacy, his sanctuary at home that was undisturbed by the outside world. He usually didn’t date, and would never consider adopting a pet. He liked being alone.

But he was pretty sure he was going to keep this man.

(And never, ever make him a five shot latte again, not if he wanted his boyfriend alive.)

[bluewhale52]

Little Black Book: The One You Hate (M)

Summary: There are a few names in your Little Black Book, and these seven hold a special place in your heart. Now that you are closing that chapter in your life, you reminisce the time and experience you have had with your seven favourite men, especially with Kim Seokjin, the one you hate.

Pairing: Seokjin x female reader

Rating: Explicit. NO MINORS ALLOWED.

Genre: nonidol!au, strangers to lovers, friends with benefit

WC: 3.9k

Warning: swearing, car blowjob, ass slapping, OC loves going down on Seokjin, sex against a window, sex between coworkers, love-hate relationship between OC and Seokjin (more on OC). I guess that’s about it....

A/N: Many, many, many thanks to @rainbhrts94​ for beta-ing this piece. I was experiencing a burnout and having a hard time putting all my thoughts together, and her reviews and suggestions totally helped getting this fic into its final form. Thank you!! 

Little Black Book Masterlist 

Kim Seokjin was the bane of your existence. 

The cocky, arrogant IP attorney from the New York office had everyone on your floor in an uproar for weeks. You had seen him making one of the conference rooms his home away from home, with a hoard of lawyers and secretaries going in and out at his beckoning. You were watching them with jealousy. Sure, you were a mere junior in the firm and therefore the lowest in the food chain (just slightly above the interns), but you really wanted to be part of the action. 

Then, somehow, during his  last few days in Seoul, you were picked to help him and his team. Your excitement soon turned sour, as you were constantly on coffee and photocopy duties. How could you prove your worth when you were too busy being worked as Kim Seokjin’s personal server? Why couldn’t he ask one of his groupies? There were plenty of secretaries and PAs throwing themselves at him; you bet one of them would be happy to do this... THIS menial job. It was truly beneath your job description, and you started to simply, truly hate the man.

If that was really the case though, how did you end up in his luxury rental car, bending over towards the driver seat, sucking his cock? How did your mouth end up around his shaft, while your saliva dripped down and coated your fingers around his base? Why were your panties getting wetter with every moan and groan that left his lips? Why did you wish he would just spank your ass instead of tugging your hair? Why, when he came, did you gobble up his seed so greedily and lick him clean? Why did you even feel the need to stick your tongue out to him to show him you had swallowed every single drop?

Seokjin exhaled sharply then looked over at you as he tucked himself back in. “You do this with every visiting attorney?” He leered at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Just the one that pisses me off.”

He chuckled. “I should piss you off more then.”

“Are you going to drive me home or what?”

Seokjin started his car. The engine purred, and you pressed your thighs closer together at the soft vibrations that went through the car. “I promised I’d buy you dinner first, didn’t I?”

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I had a meal already, thanks.”

Seokjin sniggered as he pulled out of the parking lot. He had offered to drive you home - “the least I can do after all your hard work this week” he had said- and while your little apartment was at the other end of the city from the five-star hotel he was staying, it was indeed the least he could do for you. So when you had settled in his car and buckled your seatbelt, after he had asked if he could buy you dinner, you- in your frustration, because you hated him and you just wanted to go home (god, was that too much to ask)- muttered under your breath on how you would rather suck his dick than have dinner with him. 

You had been taken aback when he broke into a brazen smile, challenging you to eat your own words, and damned if you were going to back down. Deep down, you had wanted to see if this perfect man with the perfect face and the perfect suits tailored around his perfect body (he had legs that went for miles, you hated to admit), also had the perfect dick. 

It turned out that he did, and his perfect dick was perfectly hard when you unzipped him. And so, that was how you went down on Kim Seokjin, giving him a near perfect blowjob, in his car, in the basement parking lot of your firm. (Near perfect because honestly, you could have done a lot more had you had more ample space to move.)

You stole a glance at Seokjin as he drove. His side profile was sharp and too good to be true. Flashes of lights only further highlighted his jaw and cheekbones. You looked away, pouting. 

“I’m flying back tomorrow evening.” He broke the silence. “You gonna miss me?”

You scoffed. “You wish. I’ll finally be able to do real work rather than making you coffee.”

He had the gall to laugh. “I’ll be back in two months. Don’t worry.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. How did you get into this? How could you possibly be so horny for him? Was it your dislike for him that made you like this? You should have known better than blowing him in his car just now. What if he started shooting his mouth off in the office? Or worse, in your personal promised land, THE New York office?

“Seokjin,” you started, “about what happened just now, I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.”

“Of course, I’m not Yuna.”

You tilted your head at the name. Yuna was one of the senior partners’ secretary. “What do you mean?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? She’s been telling everyone how good I was in bed.”

“You slept with her?” You couldn’t mask your surprise. “I didn’t hear anything about it. I must’ve been so out of loop with the rumor mills. Wait… Is that why you’ve been asking me to do all that shit? So you don’t have to deal with her?”

“Smart girl.” Seokjin made a turn, stopping just outside your apartment complex. He turned off the engine.

“And here I thought you liked my coffee. And how I photocopied your endless documents.” You said dryly. “Thanks for the ride.”

Seokjin stopped you before you exited his car. “Aren’t you going to invite me to your place?”

You chortled. “Why, you need a goodbye fuck?” You spat it out, but internally, you hoped your playing hard to get was not going to backfire. 

“Hmm,” Seokjin looked out of the car, eyeing your apartment building. “What kind of bedsheets do you have?”

“What do my bedsheets have to do with anything?”

“500 thread count? Or pure linen?” 

You opened the car door and got out. “Bye Seokjin.”

He got out too, walking you to the main entrance. “I’ll buy you some. For next time I’m here. Two months from now.”

You scanned your access card, but he stopped you from opening the door.

“Not gonna kiss me goodnight, sweetheart?”

You turned to him and leaned forward. But instead of kissing him, you stuck your tongue out and licked him, along his jaw, all the way to his ear. You did not miss the shiver that ran through his body when you closed your lips around his earlobe. Smiling smugly,  you opened the door, and as you were about to walk into your safe haven triumphantly, Seokjin slapped your ass. You stilled yourself, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. 

“See you in two months, sweetheart.” You heard him chuckle as the door closed behind you.

Kim Seokjin was truly the bane of your existence. 

~~~

He returned to Seoul in two months. You were not keeping track on your calendar, no of course not. You just knew because the commotion was back, as it always was when he stepped into the office. He picked you again to assist his team (Yuna gave you an evil eye for that), and at the end of the work day, when you were filing papers and folders, he slipped a small envelope into your hand. 

“Open it at your desk.” He said in a low whisper. 

You looked at the envelope quizzically before putting it into your pocket. “Is it your credit card? To buy pure linen bed sheets?” You whispered back. 

“Sweetheart, I already bought you a few sets from New York.”

You snorted. Later, when you were back at your desk, you took the envelope out and opened it. You found a note with a gold monogram of Seokjin’s initials at the top. You laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Under his insignia, was a series of digits you assumed to be his mobile number. You saved it in your phone. 

There was something else in the envelope, however. A piece of key card, with the logo of the five-star hotel on one side, and handwritten 4-digit number on the other.  Your eyes widened. Was this an invitation to his hotel room?

You peered out of your cubicle like a meerkat, trying to find where Seokjin was. Then you remembered foolishly you had his number. So you immediately texted him.

-- You [18:40] : Seokjin, WTF??? 

-- You [18:40] : also, nice stationery

-- You [18:40] : it’s me btw

-- Seokjin [18:41] : hurry the fuck up. I’ve been waiting for you in my car

You smiled. The time had finally come, you were going to fuck Kim Seokjin.

~~~

You had to admit, high quality bed sheets felt amazing. It hugged your naked body like soft clouds as Seokjin pounded into you relentlessly. His thrusts had caused your body to move, inch by inch, from one end of the bed to the other. You were not complaining though;  the way he rammed himself into you made your breasts bounce back and forth like a pendulum on a string, the feeling was so delicious.

You gripped the edge of the bed as you watched him over you. His usually perfect hair was messy now, his perfect face was void of the usual laser focus expression you normally saw at work and of the arrogant smirk he liked to give you. His broad shoulders and lean torso filled your vision- you had had fun stroking your hands over his pecs, abdomens and biceps. God, you hated how perfectly hot he was. 

You whined pathetically when he plunged his cock and pushed it as deep as he could into you. Seokjin dropped to his elbows, and you welcomed the new weight on top of your body. He stilled, letting his hardness rest inside you. You wrapped your legs around him and could not help but clench around his cock. He groaned against your chest at the sensations. 

“Do that again, sweetheart,” he nibbled and licked your collarbone, “squeeze my cock again.”

You did as he asked, tightening your walls around him before loosening again, repeating the movements and creating your own erotic Kegel exercise around his cock. You could feel Seokjin’s breath faltering on your neck, and before long, you were careening towards your peak.

“Seokjin,” you gasped, “close.”

He remained still, even at your warning. Choosing to work his lips on your neck and up to your ear instead. Finding a spot behind your ear, he licked and nipped at it, sending shudders all over your body and suddenly pushing you to your release. Seokjin held you down as your body shook, willing himself not to come, but the way your pussy walls massaged his cock, it did him in. 

You and Seokjin held each other tight as you both came. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his hips pressed harder against yours as he shot his seeds inside you. Finally groans and moans gave way to heavy breathing, and as your heart rate slowed down, sanity returned. 

You opened your eyes. “God, don’t do that EVER again.” You slapped his shoulder. “I’m super ticklish there.”

Seokjin hummed, and nipped at the spot again. You yelped, but in the process you also squeezed his flaccid cock, still sheathed fully in you. “Now I know what to do when you talk too much.” He mumbled. 

You tried to wriggle away from his mouth, but the more he teased your spot, the more you moaned, and the more your body became heated again. You were all ready for round two, but your stomach betrayed you, for it growled shamelessly. Seokjin’s eyes widened at the sound, and the two of you burst out laughing.

“OK, I’d better feed you before I fuck you against the window.” He pulled out of you, holding on to the spent condom on his dick. Walking to the bathroom, he gestured to the phone on the bedside table. “Whatever you order, order the same for me.” 

And that was how you spent your first night with Kim Seokjin. Fucked out of your brains and eating room service food in his luxurious hotel room. 

~~~

You gave Seokjin your Saturday nights whenever he was in town, which was only about three to four times a year.. You hated to admit it, but you enjoyed your time with him. It was obvious he liked your company too, and your arrangement worked out well. You both wanted sex with no strings attached. You enjoyed arguing with each other, although it felt like Seokjin lived solely to rile you up to get a reaction out of you. He said he was training you to hold your poker face better; after all, didn’t you want to be a successful attorney like him?

And that was the situation you found yourself in that evening. Seokjin kept prodding at you until your temper snapped, and you roughly pushed him to the chaise in his room. You quickly worked on his jeans and his boxers, pulling them down to his ankles, only to find his cock already hard and weeping with precum.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Making me angry turns you on so much, huh?” You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, lazily stroking it a few times before squeezing it gently at the base. Seokjin hissed, but his annoying smirk never went away. 

“You can’t shut up your opponents by going down on every one of them,” he teased, his hand reached out to touch your hair but you swatted it away with your free hand, “no matter how sexy you are when you’re angry.”

You scowled as your hand continued stroking him. Keeping your eyes on his, you closed your lips around the head of his cock, your tongue lapping up his precum. Seokjin sucked in a breath. 

“So what should I do then?” You asked before licking up and down his length. Seokjin threw his head back, enjoying the wetness of your tongue on his hot member. 

“Hmmm… “Seokjin moaned. “Learn to control your temper better, sweetheart. You know how our kind is…”

Seokjin took a deep breath. Your tongue was still busy on his cock. It drove you nuts how addicted you were to the taste of him. “... especially to female attorneys..” Seokjin continued.

“Excuse me?!” you sat up straight, but your hand was still around his member, unconsciously squeezing it a little harder than normal.

“Ouch!” Seokjin yelped. “What are you trying to do? Pull my dick off?”

You sniggered, your grip loosened slightly as you continued to stroke him. “Tell me,” he asked, “how did your last case go? You almost lost because the opposing attorney kept throwing jabs at your gender, am I right?”

Your cheeks reddened. “How did you know about that?” you pouted.

“I get regular updates on you, sweetheart, I like to know how my protege is doing.”

You eyed him skeptically. “Wow, I’m so honored.” Your tone was flat, but your hand started pumping his cock faster. You thought back to the moment you nearly lost your temper in court, and you buried the memory deep. You leaned in and started to take Seokjin’s length into your mouth when it suddenly dawned on you.

“Wait,” Seokjin’s cock popped out of your mouth. “Is that why I didn’t get the promotion? I won that case but I didn’t get my promotion because I was too emotional?”

Seokjin groaned, in desire and in frustration. He looked down at you, kneeled between his legs, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes angry, mouth in a pout, and his hardness in the mercy of your hand. He ran a hair through his hair. 

“Now that you recognise the problem, will you solve it?” 

You nodded.

“So can we please continue?” He asked. 

You nodded again before your mouth returned to his cock. You enveloped your lips around the head, sucking it gently and licking it until you heard him moan. You started taking more of him into your mouth, the muskiness of his scent filling your nose. His hands found your head and held it gently, his fingers carding your hair. 

You continued to lubricate him with your saliva, relaxing your mouth and your throat to take all of him in. You steadied your breathing as you sucked in your cheeks, and you slowly pulled out all the way to the tip, before filling your mouth again. “That’s good sweetheart, you know just how I like it.”

You stupidly beamed at his praise, and it encouraged you to pick up your pace, sucking him faster and harder. His breathing was getting heavier, and you massaged his balls, eager for him to cum in your mouth. “No, no,” he pulled your head, and you came up gasping for breath. “I want to be in you now.”

You and Seokjin undressed immediately, and Seokjin went to the bathroom to retrieve a condom. He rolled the rubber as you positioned yourself by the window. The window felt cold on your back, but your core was wet and hot.  Seokjin lifted you up effortlessly, and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck. 

Seokjin spat into his hand and rubbed his saliva over your cunt. Then the blunt head of his cock was at your entry, and he pushed it in, inch by inch until he was fully inside you. Adjusting his grip, ensuring he got you secured between him and the window, he started to move. Slowly at first, and once your juices were flowing and leaking, he went faster. 

You felt sweat developing on your back, making your body slippery against the glass. You dug your fingers into Seokjin’s shoulders, anchoring yourself up as he continued to pound into you. You turned your head to the side, catching the city skyline in the corner of your eye. 

“God, Seokjin,” you whined wantonly, “When I get that New York position, will you fuck me like this with the New York skyline in the background?”

Seokjin huffed, his hips not missing a beat. “Sweetheart, you’ll never get the New York position.”

You snapped your head back to look at Seokjin, he was still thrusting mercilessly into you. You pulled his hair. “What do you mean I will NEVER get the New York position?”

Seokjin’s smirk was back. He pulled out slowly then he rammed himself back into you hard, making you mewl. “It means…”

He took his time thrusting into you again.

“... you will…”

Another slow and hard thrust.

“... never get…”

He was hitting the sweet spot inside you.

“... the New York position.”

You cried out at his last thrust. “Because I’m too emotional?” you asked breathlessly.

“Because… “ his mouth was inching closer to the sensitive spot on your ear, “we’re closing that office.”

You gasped, at the news and at Seokjin’s sudden change of pace. He was fucking you fast again, pressing your body harder against the window. 

“Wait.. ah, Seokjin… “ you said between pants, “does that mean…”  

You could not finish your question because Seokin began nibbling and sucking your ear, sending your body rigid as the pressure on your cunt was waiting to explode.

“Yeah,” Seokjin panted. “I’ll be back in Seoul for good, sweetheart.”

You threw your head back against the window as Seokjin continued pistoning into you, pushing you towards and over your climax. You wailed in pleasure as the heat enveloped you. He did not let up at the slightest, his hips kept thrusting into you ruthlessly even as you began to sob from the oversensitivity.

Seokjin wrapped his arms around you tightly to move you, and you both collapsed on the bed, his cock still secure in you. He rolled to his back, bringing you on top of him. He slapped your ass. “Can you ride me?”

You pushed yourself up with your arms, your hair curtaining Seokjin’s face. You started to move your hips back and forth as you tried to get your breathing back. The sensitivity in your sex slowly turned into pleasure once again, and you quickened your pace. Seokjin moved his hands to your breasts, squeezing the flesh and flicking the nipples as they swung before him.

“Does… does this mean you’re gonna be my boss?” You asked between moans.

“Do you want me to be your boss?” Seokjin tugged your nipples, causing your back to arch.

“You’ll scold me everyday.”

“And I’ll fuck you every Saturday.” He thrusted up to meet your hips. “You like that?”

“Fuck no…” you felt the heat returning back to your core. “I’ll just hate you even more.”

Seokjin slapped your ass. “Just admit it, sweetheart, I’m your favorite among all your other fuck toys.”

You stammered as Seokjin thrusted up again, and he took the opportunity to pull you down onto his chest. Planting his heels on the bed, he held you down as he started thrusting his hips to plunge his cock into you, fast and hard. You closed your eyes tightly and felt tears slipping down your cheeks as you came closer to your climax.

“Come on sweetheart,” Seokjin whispered in your ears, “give me one more. Milk my cock.”

You cried out as your body jolted and shook. Seokjin kept holding you down, chasing his own release too. His thrusting became more messy, and he finally came too, swearing and groaning loudly.

You stayed still on top of Seokjin, your heart beating out of your chest, and so was his. You both lay on the bed, bodies sticky with sweat, waiting for the haze of your orgasms to pass.

“If you become my boss,” you whispered, “I want no special treatment.”

“Of course not, sweetheart. The only special treatment you get is I feed you after sex.”

You chuckled. “Speaking of…”

Seokjin rolled you over and pulled himself out. “Yeah yeah, order whatever you want.”

~~~

Today

Seokjin walks into your room. You barely glance up, used to him barging in whenever he likes.

“So, Yuna told me there’s a tall drink of water waiting for you in the lobby.” He plopped down on the little settee in your office. “So naturally I went to see. And you’d better get there before Yuna devours him.”

You glance at your watch. It’s ten minutes to 7pm. You smile softly, leave it to your boyfriend to arrive early. “He’s my boyfriend. I told you about him.”

Seokjin ahs. “So, that’s the man who took away my Saturday night fun.”

You glare at him as you tidy up your desk. “Yeah well, he feeds me AND reads me poetry after sex. So, sorry.”

Seokjin stands up as you ready yourself to leave. 

“Besides, now we play Maple Story every Saturday, surely that’s more fun?” You tease him. He chuckles and rubs his chin. He accompanies you walking down the hallway towards the lobby. 

Before you arrive at the glass door separating the inner office from the reception area, you turn to Seokjin and ask, “Do you want to meet him?”

Seokjin thinks for a moment. “Does he know about our history?”

“He knows MY history, but I never share any names with him.” you explain. “He only knows you as my asshole boss.”

“Now I am offended. I thought I was a nice boss!”

“Well, I rant about you too much maybe. But he doesn’t mind, because you know what happens when I get riled up.” You wink. 

Seokjin laughs. “What a lucky bastard. OK, come on, introduce your asshole boss to your boyfriend ”

Published 01022021

[babbushka]

Each Eye (3/8)

Kylo was the most feared boss in the entirety of New York City. They said that the crime families were no more, that they had disappeared with the end of an era. You knew it wasn’t true, you saw first hand. The families didn’t disappear, they simply went underground, adapted.

Lucky for you, your man, and your family, no one could ever get rid of crime. Not really.

Mob Boss!Kylo x Reader

Word count: 6.6k Warnings: N*FW, mostly fluff/domestic, mentions of violence/murder 

                                                  ---------------------

The next morning, you woke up with a smile on your face.

Yesterday had been stressful, but what was a little stress every now and then? It was late, much later than you expected – already nearing eight o’clock, and your husband was still snoring heavily next to you.

Your husband, you thought as your smile grew ever wider.

You stretched out as best you could, those arms of his tightening around you on instinct, still asleep and yet not wanting you anywhere else than right right right next to him. The two of you were facing one another, and he had wound his arms and legs around you in the middle of the night, after a full reheated dinner and a glass or two of wine.

You simply looked at him for a little while, admired him. 

God Kylo was so handsome, you couldn’t help but think. So incredibly, beautifully formed. From the slope of his nose to the plush fullness of his lips, even those thick eyebrows and big ears – all of it perfectly crafted. He mumbled to himself, low baritone in a register you couldn’t make out, hot breath on your face as he shifted against you, pressed his hard cock against your thigh.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes fondly, ever so in love, as you reached a hand up to trace the bridge of his nose again and again, back and forth, little strokes that had him snuffling awake.

“Honey,” You whispered, smooching the spot where his dimples were hidden by a morning scowl.

“Mhm?” Kylo asked, rolling you both over so you were propping your chin up on his chest, beaming up at him.

“Guess what day it is?” You grinned, and he smiled for you, quirked the shyest little smile that had you nearly giddy. 

He knew you loved to see him smile, was making more of an effort to do it for you, let himself do it for the both of you.

“I don’t have to guess.” He murmured, craning his neck to kiss you, loosening his hold just enough for you to shimmy down down down his body, settle yourself level with his cock.

“What are you doing all the way down there?” He asked with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“Giving you a good morning.” You said simply, running your fingers through his unruly pubic hair, teasing that cock of his with just the barest ghost of your fingers.

He licked his lips, and you chuckled just a little at how easy it was to rile him up, how easy it was to get him going.

You gave him more – more friction, more pressure, more speed as you jerked him off. He flushed beautifully, handsome handsome handsome, cock thick and curved and twitching, the most beautiful noises slipping out from between Kylo’s lips at the touch of it. 

But that wasn’t enough, both of you knew it wouldn’t be, and you had to get yourself to stop smiling so you could suck him off, hollowing your cheeks around his length.

“Shit,” He groaned, a hand coming down to tangle with your hair, press you closer to the base of his cock, get your nose right up against his skin so you could smell the musk of him. “(Y/N), shit, yes.” He grunted and groaned at the feeling of you around him.

Sucking this dick had taken so long, so much time, so much practice to get right, but once you had, it was a skill you were immensely proud of. Kylo’s cock was huge, unfairly long and too wide, nearly too wide to get down your throat.

But you were nothing if not a champ, and over the years of fucking you figured it out, figured out how to make him cry, how to reduce him down to a babbling mess when you wanted.

You didn’t want that right now, just wanted to make him feel real good, so you gave the best blowjob you could, his fist tight in your hair, breathing heavy up the mattress.

“Stop, please – I want to come in you.” He whined, and you pulled off of him real slow as you gripped the base of his shaft so he wouldn’t accidentally blow it, let him watch his cock slide out of your mouth, seemingly never-ending.

It was flushed so red, cut tip flared beautifully – handsome, just like the rest of him. It oozed and dripped pre-come for you, steady and sticky and absolutely delicious. You just had to lick a broad stripe up the shaft, just had to make him moan for you.

With one fluid motion, you climbed back up the bed, straddled his hips. His hands immediately grasped your waist, dug into the flesh there with white-knuckle tension, bruising tension, held you as you sunk down on his length with lots of breathy little moans that had his chest flushing red in bright splotches of arousal.

Normally you would have liked some preparation for this, for this monster he had, fingering or eating you out or something because he was just too much to handle on a normal day. Somehow you got him all in you, and you had to brace yourself on his chest, huffing and puffing like you won the marathon, like you just climbed a mountain – mounting this man.

“Fuck, god you’re so fucking big, you know that?” You moaned, rolling your hips, back and forth like the steady rhythm of crashing waves in the ocean.

His hands traveled up and up and up your body, pushing and pulling at your tits, wrapping around your neck and holding you there, caressing you, as you fucked yourself on his cock, clenching tight around him, making him stutter out a big groan that you felt in his chest from where your hands were steadying yourself.

“Yeah – good?” He was fully awake now, big brown eyes wide open and glittering honey golden with the sunshine streaming in.

“Real good honey oh fuck – Kylo!” You yelped with a laugh when he wrestled with you suddenly, wrangling you on your back so he could plow into you.

He huffed a short laugh out too, before he started sucking on your neck, pinching your nipples, making you come and come and come on his cock. 

You moaned and sighed and gasped for him, eyes shutting tight as your whole body went electric, went on fire.

Kylo’s hips stilled against you after another couple of minutes, and he came, and you pinched his nose playfully.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” You teased, meaning the switching of positions.

“But it’s our anniversary.” He tried, and you conceded, shook your head with fondness and kissed him for a little bit.

You kissed until your breathing had both evened out, until all the relaxation and bliss had started to wear off, until the cramps and the full bladder and itchy cooling sweat started to kick in.

He pulled out of you, made sure none of his come leaked, and let you finally for the first time that morning, stretch.

“What do you want to do today?” He asked, watching you with somehow still hungry eyes, eyes that scanned down your body, eyes that told you you’d really be in for it today.

You thought about what you wanted while he drank in the sight of you. You knew he had something planned for that evening, he always had something planned. Even on a regular day, not an anniversary, just because he wanted to, had something planned.

But that wouldn’t be until tonight. He gave you free control of the day, on days like this. And as the sun shone through the huge open windows of the bedroom, you remembered your thought from a while back.

“Can we go swimming, please?” You asked, resting your head on his calf where he had his ankles crossed on the mattress, “The sun is out for the first time all month.”

“Are you going to wear a bathing suit?” He asked, making you laugh.

“I don’t have to.” You waggled an eyebrow, and you swore you saw his cock twitch.

“Let’s go swimming.” He said, as if it were the greatest idea he had ever heard, making you laugh again.

                                                   ---------------------

The apartment never failed to impress you. When you and Kylo had begun looking for a place to call home, a permanent residence in the city right after you married one another, he had been pretty hands-off for the whole thing. He trusted you, he loved you, and frankly he didn’t give a shit where he lived, as long as it was with you, which meant you got free reign for everything from the amenities to the furnishings.

One of the reasons you picked the huge three-story penthouse, was because of the roof-top terrace and pool that was private access, just for you and him.

In the summer-time the pool was kept nice and cool, and in the autumn the heater was turned on so it could still be enjoyed before the frigid winters shut the party down. And oh what a party you did have, just the two of you, all the time.

You had a custom-built cabana made for lounging, fucking, eating, whatever else you two wanted to do, in addition to a full kitchen and an entertainment system. Usually you just asked your smart home devices to play music soft enough that only you could hear, but it had the power to drown out all the noise of the city if you wanted it that loud. The skyline around you was stunning, and whenever the two of you came out there at night, it often felt like you were on top of the world with all the lights on display.

Kylo had just tugged a clean pair of boxers on, and you remained naked – albeit wiped down and cleaned up for the day – as you re-dressed his broken knuckles before going up your private elevator to the roof.

The weather was perfect, one of the very rare days in the city where it wasn’t blisteringly hot or freezing cold, wasn’t rainy or cloudy, just a perfect blue sky and shining sun, a soft breeze rippling the water of the deep blue pool.

“Put lotion on me?” You asked eagerly, not wanting to burn.

“Sit on my lap.” Kylo nodded, settled himself down on one of the comfortable lounge chairs.

You went happily, handed him the spf and let his hands work their magic.

In moments like this, you could feel how much he worshipped you, could feel the adoration and care he pressed into your skin with each pass of his big hands. He rubbed and massaged your skin, patiently and evenly applying the sunscreen – always so patient, so thorough.

He was silent as he did it, only tapping your shoulder to tell you to turn around when he had covered every square inch of your back and arms. His brow pinched in concentration as he rubbed your front down, taking extra care with your face, huge fingers trying their best to be delicate. 

How ironic, you thought, this gentleness, this delicacy, from a man who could snap you right in two.

It thrilled you, made your heart soar that you had the love and trust of this man, your man.  

“Want me to get you?” You asked quietly, but he just blushed right to the tips of his ears.

“No.” He murmured, swirling lotion to your thighs, to your stomach. Intense concentration, trying to hide his erection.

He was unbelievable, you thought with a big, knowing grin.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” You asked, arching into his touch, making a show of it.

“Not yet, I want to watch you a little bit first.” He swallowed hard, finally finishing and leaning back against the chaise.

“Ohh are you gonna jerk off?” You raised an eyebrow, let your fingers walk down his chest.

“Maybe.” He blushed, and bingo.

You hauled him up off the chaise, dragged him to the edge of the pool.

The water glistened and shone in bright sparkles from the sun, and you desperately wanted to see him soaking wet and tanned, such a rare treat that you didn’t get to often enjoy. You loved the way the light glinted off of the star around his neck, loved the way it brought out his freckles and darkened his beauty spots, loved the way it warmed his hair and enriched the chocolatey brown color you thought so striking.

“Maybe maybe maybe, hmm. I thought I was more inspiring than just a maybe.” You pouted, looped your arms around his shoulders, went dangerously close to his lips, nipples brushing his chest ever so slightly.

He groaned and his hands found themselves removing your arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss and kiss and kiss your palms, your knuckles, press them against his face adoringly with a quiet, smoldering gaze.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re trouble?” He asked, voice so so so deep, always so deep.

“Once or twice.” You winked, “They didn’t live very long afterwards.”

“Oh yeah? What happened to them?” Kylo’s teeth grazed the meat of your palm, and you shuddered under his touch.

“A ferocious villain by the name of Kylo killed them.” You mused, making him smile against your hands, making him collect you up in his arms, give you a smooch. “Are you taking me anywhere tonight?”

“Maybe.” He said playfully, with a great big shy smile, and you tugged on his ear.

“You give me one more ‘maybe’ and I won’t let you come for a week.” You teased, making him plant big wet sloppy kisses to your neck and cheek.

“It’s a surprise.” He conceded, and you immediately lit up.

“Are we going out of the country?” You searched his eyes, and he knew, he knew he couldn’t lie to you, there’s no way he’d get away with it, so he just rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Not tonight, but soon.” He admitted, and you squealed. You’d been dying to get out of the country for a little while, dying to visit your favorite of the vacation houses Kylo owned.

“Give me a kiss?” Kylo asked, and you complied happily, eagerly, let yourself get swept up in his arms and twirled around for a moment or two – 

Before he dropped you, dumped you right in the pool with a big hearty laugh that had you too in love to even be mad about.

“I’m going to kill you!” You righted yourself, laughed at the sudden feeling of being airborne, the heated water kissing your skin, at his cheeky fucking grin as he settled himself back down in the cabana.

“You can’t, I’m all the way over here.” He said simply, making you smack the water so it would be sure to splash him, even all the way over there.

                                                   ---------------------

You swam leisurely, alternating between laps and just floating, letting the sun warm and kiss your skin. You could feel Kylo watching you, feel his eyes on you as you went back and forth. At one point he did jerk off, lazily stroking his cock to the sight of your soaking wet curves, hair clinging to you, your teasing smile goading him on.

He got antsy, being away from you for too long.

Even though you were barely ten feet away from him, he still felt the need to be closer. Always close, needed to keep an eye on you, a hand on you. After he came and cleaned himself up, he laid down right on the tile of the edge of the pool, laid down and let one hand dangle over the edge, conscious of the bandages. You swam right up, half hidden beneath the water, and gently clasped his hand in your own, pressed a wet kiss to his wrist.

You could be mean and yank him into the pool, but he looked so good just lying there, looked like some Adonis with all the muscles in his back and shoulders, strong and sturdy and on display for you. You both simply enjoyed one another’s presence, you floating on your back, and him laying on his stomach.

You wondered what you’d look like, should a plane or a helicopter or an astronaut pass you by. Would they see a mob boss and his wife, would they see the scars and marks that littered your bodies? Would they see the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders, the body count that trailed him wherever he went?

Or would they see two lovers, floating in time and space, content to hold hands on the edge of a pool?

You smiled at him, and he blinked slowly at you, some big great cat. If he could, he probably would be purring.

“I’m fucking starving, can we order in food?” You whispered, just reveling in the closeness, the softness with him.

“No.” He joked, deadpan, leaned over to kiss the saltwater right off your lips.

“What do you want, French?” You asked, and he nodded, gears turning in his head for a minute or two.

“The crepes that are stuffed with that filling I like.” He decided, and you laughed.

“The chicken portabella?” It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, and he knew that.

“Yeah.” He said, humming as he kissed you some more.

“Honey that’s dinner, I don’t think they’ll serve them this early.” You splashed a little bit of water onto him, just the smallest bit that you watched evaporate right off his sun-drenched skin.

“They will for me.” He said, quirking an eyebrow in that smug way of his.

“Alright then, you call them, big shot.” You shook your head fondly, letting go of his hand to push yourself out of the pool. “I’m going to rinse off.”

“Wait I’ll come with you.” Kylo said suddenly, quiet desperation always in the back of his throat.

You padded over to the cabana, plucked a soft fluffy towel from the rack and used it to dry off enough so that you wouldn’t be dripping all over the apartment.

“You didn’t get in the water.” You pointed out, rubbing your hair dry, all exposed for him, only for him to see.

“I know.” He said, and his eyes darkened with lust that you wouldn’t, couldn’t deny.

                                                   ---------------------

After a quickie in the shower that left you both breathless, and wrapping yourselves up in robes that were soft and luxurious, you and Kylo found yourselves with growling stomachs in the living room, laying on top of one another comfortably on the grand sectional.

Kylo was scrolling through his contacts until he finally found the man he was looking for, and dialed it, holding it up to one of his big ears.

“Slip? Hey can you please do me a favor and run down to that bistro we like for me real quick…?” Kylo asked, making you smile.

He always did that, phrased things like that, when he was talking to his own guys. Could you, would you, Please and thank yous, ever the gentleman, ever the most polite. He had manners, and even though these guys had sworn a blood oath to Kylo, even though they pledged their lives to him, would never refuse him, he still asked.

“Hi Slip!” You called happily into the receiver.

“The missus says hi – he says hi back – oh did you get the numbers from Lenny? Good, go take some cash down to his place since you’ll be over there. Ask the bistro to make us some breakfast, tell them who it’s for, they’ll remember the order. Thanks.” Kylo listened when Slip spoke, talked when it was his turn, nodding to himself as the wheels went around and around in his head.

He didn’t like talking on the phone, but he hated texting more – said his fingers were too big for the buttons. He tossed the phone just out of arm’s reach, and you wriggled out of his grasp for a minute, walking over to the massive dvd collection that was stored in the theater room next door.  

“Can we re-watch the video while we wait?” You asked, already rifling through the personal home video section.

“Sure thing honey.” He said, fondness in those soulful eyes of his as you returned, waving a plastic case in your hand with a great big smile.

 Your wedding had been, in a word, legendary.

It was the largest wedding any of the families had ever seen, ever attended, ever held. Combining two of the largest crime families in New York City was bound to be spectacular, just by the sheer amount of people that had to be invited, but your parents really spared no expense. Your union had been something that the families had been looking forward to for years and years, finally getting the chance to celebrate.

Absolutely everyone was invited – it wouldn’t do to leave someone out and offend them. All the families got invitations, all the friends of the families, all the friends of the friends. You started to get teary eyed, reliving the beauty of the moment, watching Kylo stand with such a straight back, such squared shoulders, fists clenched in front of him from nerves, ears sticking out from where he had combed his hair back, kippah pinned in place.

“Three whole years, can you believe it?” You asked, watching yourself walk down the aisle to the chuppah, a train so long and heavy that three people had to lift it, and you smiled wetly, resting your head on Kylo’s shoulder as you took your place next to him.  

“No.” Kylo murmured, his hand giving yours an affectionate squeeze, “Feels like a lot longer than that.”

You smiled, because you felt the same.

“It kinda has been, hasn’t it?” You asked, not taking your eyes away from Uncle Luke, as he read out the long passages on screen, “It has for me, anyway.”

The Organa family had always been very good friends the Serenno family. Since the time of Kylo’s grandfather – back when the family still held the Skywalker name – and your grandfather came to America in search for freedom, for life, for opportunity. But it wasn’t just for business they forged a friendship over, it was for company, for being two sides of the same coin, in a way.

Anakin and Serenno, often referred to as Vader and The Count, built themselves up from nothing, built the strongest, biggest, most untouchable Jewish crime families the city had ever seen. They had friends and enemies all over, but everyone knew them, and they knew everyone. That was still true today, you found.

By the time you were born, all those decades later, the families had only grown stronger together. Every birthday, wedding, holiday, Friday night, everyone got together. You only hung out with each other, only went on vacation with each other. Growing up, you thought that there weren’t any other people in all of New York aside from your family and the Skywalkers, the Organas.

Serenno had four children, all boys. Each of those boys had four children as well, and you were the youngest, making you the absolute princess of the family. You were also one of only two girls, you and Gwen. While you had opted out from being a part of any business deals, you were always around, because of course you were. 

Always observant, always watching. 

Even from a young age you could spot a liar like no one in your family could, so you were often a valuable asset to just being in the room with rats or cheats.

Kylo was a few years older than you, and he was also always around. Growing up, the two of you often found yourselves sitting next to each other at the kid’s table, laughing and talking and eating together, dancing together. He was your friend, had always been your friend – your best friend.

“I’ve loved you since the first time I ever met you.” He said, breaking you out of your thoughts, as you watched a younger version of your husband stomp on a glass, eliciting a big round of applause.

“You were five, and I was an infant.” You pointed out, making him scowl at you.

“Don’t be a brat, you know what I mean.” He tucked you closer to him, rested his head on top of yours.

Kylo first met you at your simchat bat, when you were literally just a newborn. He had been dragged by his parents to come meet you and pay respects to the family so he was incredibly grumpy, but you had absolutely no recollection of the event, all things considered. You knew there were photographs in the family archives somewhere, and one of these days you planned on embarrassing the hell out of Kylo by finding them.

But as it was, you were feeling extra lovey-dovey, and you batted your eyelashes up at him, smooching the beauty spot on the underside of his chin.

“When was the first time you thought about marrying me?” You asked again, and Kylo surprised you by answering right away.

“When you danced with me at my bar mitzvah.” He hummed, and the doorbell rang.

You waited on the couch for Kylo to go to the door, grab the breakfast from Slip and then close the door again, waiting for him to put everything on display for you, the crepes, the pastries, the coffee in those fancy biodegradable to-go cups.

“Remember how I was as tall as you then?” You teased, “And stronger? And smarter?”

Kylo rolled his eyes, cut into his chicken and mushroom crepe that absolutely must have been a bitch to make.

“Not my fault you had your growth spurt before I had mine. And you were in tall shoes.” Kylo muttered around a mouthful of breakfast, and you laughed brightly at how he was still sore about it, twenty-two years later.

“You tower over everyone now, I hardly think it matters much.” You pointed out, digging into your own breakfast with a ravenous excitement.

“When you danced with me I thought about how it was so much like dancing at a wedding, but I don’t think I even really knew what that meant then, why I wanted to protect you so much, why I wanted to hang out with you all the time.” He said quietly, and you listened, listened with every fiber of your being. 

Declarations like these did not come frequently from Kylo.  

“You’ve always been so smart, so capable. That day you beat the shit out of those gutter kids for calling you a...well, I don’t have to tell you what they called you. But that was the moment I knew you were different from everyone else, anyone else I had ever met.” He continued, “I wanted you to like me, desperately, wanted you to laugh at my jokes and think I was cool. I wanted you to love me like I loved you.”

“I grew up loving you.” You said, when it felt like he was done. “I don’t know what it feels like to not be in love with you – even before I knew what being in love really was. Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if you never left.”

 When the two of you grew up, you became closer than ever. Not quite dating, no feelings admitted yet, but the tension was undeniably there. Kylo, back before he had even been Kylo, back before Snoke and the shitshow and the fight and the murder – before all of it, he was some gangly kid with limbs too long, eyes too eager, eager to tell you about his day, eager to hear about yours on long walks and lunches.

But then Snoke did show up, and when Han went out on smuggling runs, Kylo would join Snoke on whatever adventures he offered, desperate to still be a part of something, to prove himself worthy to a family who had always feared him, always tried to prevent him from living to his full potential.

Kylo would bring you back something, from those trips with Snoke. He always brought you back something. It was a silent promise, something you could count on, something to make sure he’d return to you.

At first they were awkward gifts you didn’t know what to do with. Fresh pears and apples from out East that you would cook in every way you knew how, rocks and pebbles from rivers across the country that you lined up along your windowsill. Eventually he graduated to pieces of jewelry and fur coats, but you found those strange tokens were always your favorite, the smaller gestures just as valuable as the larger ones.

But then, more and more, Kylo got involved with things he maybe shouldn’t have. Smuggling stolen goods turned to smuggling drugs real quick, turned to weapons even quicker. He bulked up, became just as broad as he was tall, was used as an attack dog to kill and beat and maim those who went against Snoke, those who pissed him off.

You watched, watched as your best friend became something of a puppet, a toy to be manipulated and tossed aside. You watched as it tore his family apart, as they were split between wanting to help Kylo, and wanting to kill him. That’s when Kylo went away, had to go away, couldn’t handle dealing with those people any longer; a father who gave up on him, a mother and uncle who feared him, a sister who hated him.

He had no desire to change, no desire to return to the way things were. He was plotting, always plotting, and while it broke your heart to see him leave, you knew that when he came back he’d be stronger than he ever was, more powerful than he ever could have been.

He had gone away for years, gone without a trace.

Occasionally, you’d find a basket of pears on your front doorstep, and even though there was no note or card or hint or clue, you knew.

It wasn’t until that day after the fight, after the big murder, that you saw him again.

Moaning and groaning and bleeding out in a back alleyway, face split open and left for dead your best friend laid at your feet. You didn’t even cry, too shocked at the state of him, too terrified that he might kick the bucket at any minute, that you corralled him up into your arms and dragged him home, fixed him up, cleaned him up.

You smiled, thinking about how he confessed his feelings in a stupor, too out of his mind from pain and death and dying to hold back anymore.

And now here you were, years and years later, sitting on the couch eating crepes.

Wasn’t that something?

“It was the right decision.” Kylo said, making you nod. 

Because it had been, even if it was messy.

“I know, I just wish it hadn’t been such a painful one.” You replied, feeding him a fresh strawberry, making him chase it all the way to your lips. “Those years without you fucking sucked.”

He hummed against you, stole strawberry flavored kisses right from your hand, chuckled a little to himself.

“Yeah, they sucked for me too. What a load of bullshit that was.” He sighed, smiling against your lips – as the doorbell rang again.

You frowned, and Kylo immediately tensed, all playful atmosphere diminished.

You got up calmly – knowing that if it were someone here to kill either of you, they wouldn’t be so polite – wrapped your robe tight around your waist, and creeped over to the peephole, groaning to yourself when you saw the familiar blue uniforms.

You left them hanging, recognizing the officers and knowing that they wouldn’t go breaking the door down if left alone for a few minutes.

“Speaking of bullshit – pigs.” You rolled your eyes, pressing pause on the dvd player.

Kylo’s scowl returned, eyes darkening out of something altogether different from earlier, and he stood up too.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding?” Kylo groaned, making you shake your head empathetically.

“Nope, go put some pants on, I’ll deal with them.” You patted his exposed thigh from where his robe struggled to contain him, and he groaned again, not wanting to have to leave you.

You gave him a look and he sighed ever so dramatically, leaning down for one more kiss.

“Love you, be right back.” He grumbled, and you couldn’t help but pinch his ass as he walked past you.

 Once he was out of sight, you fixed your clothing and made sure none of your own skin was exposed, before going back to the front door and unlocking all the locks, swinging the door open with a calm smile on your face.

“Good morning officers, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?” You asked, nothing but the picture perfect definition of civil.

Officers Poe and Finn were on the other side of your door, and you had dealt with them long enough to know that they would jump at absolutely any opportunity to get you, your husband, or any of the family for that matter, thrown in jail.

So, you didn’t give them any reason to. Where they could take an inch and turn it into a mile, you barely spared a millimeter.

Being that as it was, you stepped aside and let them into the apartment.

“Please take your shoes off, if you’d be so kind.” You said, pointedly waiting.

Finn and Poe looked at one another, and did as they were told. They were smarter than to fuck around with you.

“Morning Mrs. Ren, we have a warrant to search the place.” Finn handed you a signed warrant and you let out a breezy laugh.

“Is that all?” You joked, purposefully being playful before letting them wander around the foyer.

Poe immediately went into the living room, started rifling through side tables and wall unit shelves, looking for whatever it was he wasn’t going to find.  

“You having a party?” Finn asked, following you into the kitchen.

Finn was referring to the huge amount of flowers and balloons and bottles of champagne that practically filled the space, all gifts from people wanting to offer their congratulations at another happy year. You shook your head, not unkindly, and brewed yourself a big pot of coffee from the percolator that you had set up last night.

“No, it’s my wedding anniversary today.” You said with something of a mild satisfaction at watching realization of how rude and intrusive he and Poe were being crossing Finn’s face. “Can I offer you something to drink, coffee, tea? Poe?” You called out to wherever the other officer had gone.

“No, no thank you. We’ll be brief, sorry to interrupt.” Finn quickly declined for the both of them, and you shrugged, more for yourself, you figured.

You were never one to be rude to the police, not to their faces anyway. It was much easier to play along and just call the attorney later to figure out who screwed up in the courts to let officers show up at their door. It wasn’t like they were going to find anything anyway, everything carefully hid and placed in places they would never suspect.

You and Kylo weren’t stupid, after all.

Speaking of the devil, you thought with a smile, Kylo reappeared in one of his fine suits, another one of the vintage ones he liked to lounge around in because they were broken in, soft, comfortable. You’d never know that just by looking at him though, in his entirely altogether too imposing state.  

No one ever caught Kylo in a state of undress, aside from you.

“Finn.” Kylo gave the officer a clipped greeting.

“Hey Kylo, just need to do a sweep of the place.” Finn said, offering him the same warrant he had offered you.

Kylo took a look at it, read the judge’s name, remembered it for later.

“What for this time?” Kylo asked, voice dry, irritated.

Finn couldn’t help but gulp, he had heard the stories, he had seen what Kylo could do, knew what he was capable of.

He could never prove it, but he knew.

“There was a murder, not too far from here. Now I know I’m not going to find any guns in here because you’re smarter than that, but, the DA wants it done anyway.” Finn explained, making Kylo’s scowl only deepen.

“What do you mean there was a murder, there’s always a murder. It’s New York City.” He pointed out, to which you nodded in agreement, poured a mug of straight black coffee for your husband before dumping too much sugar into your own.

“Yeah you know we’ve been working on that, actually?” Poe finally reappeared, dusting his hands off on his trousers, empty handed, as predicted.

Kylo took a sip of his coffee, gave Poe a hard look.

“All due respect Officer Dameron, you ain’t been doing a pretty good job.” He said.

“How’s your mother?” Poe sneered, and you immediately stepped between them, literally, before Kylo’s trigger-happy finger sent them into a world of trouble.

“Would you like the search the top floor? Lots of fun dressers and closets to rifle through up there.” You offered, bright and cheery, diffusing a situation that could turn too ugly too quickly.

Luckily, Finn caught the tension as well, and he steered his partner away from a showdown that would land everyone dead or in jail.

“Thank you very much Mrs. Ren. We’ll just head up there now and then get out of your hair!” Finn called as he more or less shoved Poe up the staircase.

 When they were gone, you turned to Kylo, gave his hand a squeeze. His jaw was clenched tight, and his eyes were dark, and he looked entirely too handsome with how angry he was.

“Hey, you’re okay.” You reassured him, rubbed your thumb in circles on the back of his hand where the bandages were clean and minimal, easy to hide with hands in his pockets like Kylo so frequently liked to do. “Poe’s an asshole.”

“M’sorry.” Kylo said through clenched teeth, but you shook your head.

“Don’t be.” You replied sincerely, a steadying anchor for him, always. “They’ll be gone in a bit and then we can get back to our day.”

He nodded, and you cupped his scarred cheek, leading him back to the couch in the living room to resume watching the wedding video.

Neither of you were really paying much attention to it, least of all Kylo. He was acutely listening to the footsteps of the officers on the third floor of the apartment, could hear them opening and closing doors.

It was only about twenty more minutes until they came back down the stairs, once again empty handed.

“We’re all done, Mrs. Ren.” Finn said cheerfully, and you smiled pleasantly back at him, getting off the couch to walk them out, much to Kylo’s annoyance.

“Alright, you boys take care now.” You said as they stepped back into their shoes at the front door.

“Happy anniversary ma’am, again, we’re sorry about this.” Finn blushed, truly apologetic.

“No don’t be, a job’s a job, right?” You laughed, easy breezy beautiful.

You closed the door behind them, and immediately sighed, tension dropping from your shoulders.

“I hate when they touch all your shit like that.” Kylo glowered, rage simmering and smoldering under his skin, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“It’s easier to just let them do it than fighting them, you know that.” You replied sweetly, returning to the couch where he was practically grabbing for you.

“I know, but I don’t fucking like it.” He grumbled, voice deep deep deep, so deep it vibrated into your mouth when he kissed you hard. “You know what I was thinking?”

“What’s that?” You asked, already knowing the answer, knowing from the way his grip on you was too tight, how he was wound up, how he needed to get that pent up aggression out.

He splayed a big hand right on your pussy, ground the heel of his palm against your cunt, licked and sucked at your neck.

“I was thinking maybe I could fuck you really really hard and get you knocked up so we can have a summer baby like we’ve been talking about.” He growled, and you hummed in agreement.

“Oh now that sounds like a very good idea.” You nodded, “Kylo – hey!”

You were laughing at the way he picked you up suddenly, the way he practically tossed you over his shoulder, the way he went up the stairs two at a time with you in his arms. He wasn’t laughing though, he wouldn’t be for a long while, but that was alright.

As long as it was replaced with moans instead.

                                                 ---------------------

Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the tag list, please just let me know :)  @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @the-wayward-rose @taylovren-types  magikevalynn  tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov  romancedeldiablo 

[dahvangogh]

and empty words are evil | Jason Todd

[ prologue | one | two | three ]

[ao3 link]

note: Another week, another new chapter. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten any comments yet (except one in tumblr) but I did get a few kudos and hits which made me incredibly happy. I hope I got the new characters' introduced in this chapter well... like I'm a bit scared that they sound OOC or not credible enough. What do you think? Leave a comment on AO3 or here, please!

Also, I apologize for any grammatical mistakes, I tried my best to correct it all but I might have missed some things (english is not my native language)

Take care, guys. xx

CHAPTER TWO

“Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”

― Allen Saunders

The art gallery this morning was emptier than a banker’s heart, which suits her best if she is being honest, with her current predicament and all. While she doesn't work at the art gallery per se, like showing the displayed artworks or buying imported ones, she does work at the back of the gallery in one of the many workshops. Hence, if the place is full or has a chatty crowd, the sound will still get to her and echo all over her workshop.

Thankfully, that isn't the case today.

Grace is sporting a hangover as big as the Empire State Building. Yesterday night, while checking pictures and maps of Black Mask’s warehouse surroundings, she had chugged down two expensive wine bottles as if they were water.

You reap what you sow, dumbass.

She didn’t even like wine, like at all.

Her boss Rose had gifted her the two bottles for her birthday very kindly and when yesterday night she had seen the bottles collect dust in her pantry, she had thought she either drunk them now or threw them to the nearest trash can.

A coughing, as if someone was throat cleaning, sounds from behind and startles her.

Grace stops her precise strokes with the cotton swab and throws it into a bowl with many others that have been used before. Then, as she turns around towards the workshop door, she lowers her face mask. Her boss, a beautiful mature woman sporting amazing pink hair up in a tight knot and matching it with multicolored eyeshadow, is standing at the threshold of the door, tapping away something on her phone.

“How is it going with the portrait?”

Her gaze is still on the phone.

“Great. Maximum two or three days outmost for me. Then Caesar can frame it again and we can return it to the owner.”

At that, her boss looks up at her and smiles as kindly as usual. Rose Whitehall was the type of boss many dreamed about having.

And Grace knew she was lucky to have her.

When she had come to Gotham City, the first day Grace had visited Gotham’s Art Palace and fallen completely in love. She had hunted down Rose Whiteman, resume in hand, and insisted for weeks to have her at least be an intern. Rose had taken her resume and scanned it from head to bottom, commenting on how lucky Grace had been to be doing her apprenticeship on Museum Island in Berlin. Then, she had agreed to take her as an intern for two months. If she was as good as it seemed from her resume, she would hire her.

And now here she is, working for Rose and getting paid every month doing what she loves most.

“The owner will be coming in fifteen minutes, Grace.” She says which instantly makes Grace gape at that, eyes wide in shock. Forget what I said, she is a fucking bitch… “Don’t worry! He just wants to see how the process of restoration is going.”

Thank God.

The raven-haired girl now raises one of her brows in question.

“It isn’t common, I know. But we needed to check some details for the Gotham Annual Gala Dinner he is hosting, the one where we will auction some artwork, and he asked if it was possible to see it.” Rose approaches her while explaining. Then, she stands beside her looking at the big white worktable where the painting is placed and being restored. “You see, this portrait is very important to him.”

Grace stares at the painted canvas too.

It is a huge family portrait, clearly of a wealthy family, and the members seem happy. The tall man has broad-shoulders, probably in his early thirties, and is wearing an expensive-looking suit with matching black tie. His combed dark hair contrasts quite a bit with his vibrant blue eyes. Besides the proud man stands a dashing woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with light brown hair up in a chignon and soft but plump pink lips. She is wearing a green strapless dress, those that you would only wear in formal events or at a Gala.

From the first moment Grace had seen the painting, the woman had taken her breath away, –despite how dirty and darkened the portrait is–. She still looked positively and extraordinarily beautiful. If Grace had ever seen her walking down the street, she would have immediately taken her small sketchpad out of her handbag and drawn her.

The painter clearly had done a remarkable job depicting them.

Though, as usual with any type of paints, the painting was forever condemned to be restored a few times and treated with preventive care until the owner decides to dispose of it.

Now, Grace follows with her eyesight the strong hand that the man has placed on a petite shoulder, and a smile immediately blooms on her face. It always happened these past days too. Whenever she looked at the third and last member of the painting she would inevitably smile.

A young boy.

He was probably six or seven years old when the portrait had been done. He looks like the spitting image of the older man, undoubtedly they were father and son, but has the same soft smile as the lovely woman.

“You have done a remarkable job, Grace.”

Her boss pats her on the shoulder, still looking at the couple depicted on the portrait.

“I never asked… do you know them? Personally, I mean… ”

Rose smiles sadly.

“My parents were friends with them, so I do remember meeting the family once or twice at dinner parties… sadly, the couple passed away due to very unfortunate circumstances.”

Grace now smiles saddened, trying not to imagine the sweet young boy crying in front of two stone gravels, utterly alone in the world.

A whistle-like sound, which Grace knows by now that it means a notification of Rose’s phone, echoes all over the workshop.

“And that must be him.”

Rose starts walking towards the door, the sound of her heels following her, but stops and then looks over her shoulder.

“Keep working on that! Now!”

And with a wink, she walks off towards the gallery section, disappearing from her sight.

“Aye, aye, captain!”

Grace pulls up her white face mask and rubs her gloved hands together, feeling a bit anxious about facing a client for the first time. She has never done so, an art restorer never meets her client unless she works at a museum –which means the museum is the owner, unless the piece was donated, that's another case altogether.

Though in this case... She did know that the restoration of this portrait was a special request to Rose, she said so, but now she understands why. The reason being that Rose knew the family sort of personally.

But she still never expected to meet the client.

She assesses that she mustn’t look that bad, thanking her morning-self for choosing an outfit that looks classy and professional on her.

Her hair is tied up with a ribbon in a high ponytail, very 60s with how her curls look, and her floral long skirt complements her white v-neck blouse. She had even gone as far as putting on some nude lipstick which looked great with her Bridget Bardot inspired eye look.

I hope my eye make up isn't ruined... Pandas don't look professional and efficient.

She sighs loudly.

Wait… Why in Hell am I worried about how I look? Pull yourself together!

She sighs again, which feels weird while wearing a face mask, and now picks up a new cotton swab, proceeding with socking it in a special liquid for cleaning. Before being interrupted, Grace was working on some details on the young boy’s suit and so now she goes back to working on that.

If everything goes according to her plan, she will finish today with the final touch-ups, and tomorrow she will varnish the whole thing.

Grace focuses on the section of the boy’s suit, who is placed at the bottom of the painting, and starts cleaning.

She has taken longer on this work because of how huge it was, plus she had two other more urgent works to do. Nevertheless, she feels confident that between today and tomorrow she can perfectly finish it.

Suddenly, the brunette sees a dark blurb move from the corner of her eye and so she stops her soft strokes to look beside her.

A child?

The young boy is attentively looking at her hand and analyzing its movements.

She raises an eyebrow in question.

The boy turns to look at her, his brows now furrowed and arms crossed, as if pissed that she has stopped doing her job.

They both stare at each other, no words spoken between them for a bit.

“You are surprisingly good for someone so young.” His child-like voice is a heavy contrast to how serious and formal his words are. “Though I assured father that I was more than capable of handling such an easy task.”

Grace blinks a few times, at first paying more attention to the pale scar at the tail of his right eyebrow that stands out against his tan skin, but then she registers what he has just said.

You little sh...

“Then your father was being smart, for such a delicate portrait deserves an experienced hand and....” She pulls her face mask down and smiles sweetly, all while looking down at him. “I highly doubt you would be up to that high standard.”

The boy, despite his sun-kissed skin, blushes notoriously. Yet, his brows are still furrowed, even more so now than before.

“I will have you know that… ”

He looks adorable, all angry while clenching his fists at his sides, and she can help but soften at the sight.

Grace quickly interrupts him.

“Though I’m sure that with proper study and practice, when you are older you might be able.”

He blinks a few times and then relaxes, though still sporting his adorable blush.

“Damian, don’t harass the lady while she is working.”

A deep and rich voice asks –probably to the boy, Damian is not her name– and both the kid and her turn their heads towards the threshold.

She holds a gasp.

Grace has just come across Bruce Wayne himself.

He is standing in the workshop threshold, all calm and poise. The man is surprisingly more handsome in real life than in the newspapers or tv. He is beautiful, yet I wouldn't paint him ever. Don't mistake her, he is handsome as hell. He looks extremely fit in his probably very expensive dark suit and as dashing as ever with his chiseled face, straight nose, and smiling soft lips. Yet something is amiss with him.

He doesn't look whole.

Too perfect.

“Father!”

She turns towards the young boy and sees it. The connection. They are identical, though Damian reaches her elbow, has a much darker complexion and his eyes are green instead of blue. Everything else is positively the same. As in the same well-kept haircut, long at the top and not too short at the sides –though the boy' is styled more child-friendly–, the same bone structure in the face and the same poise while standing.

Damian is a walking mini-Bruce.

The man walks towards them, still all calm and charm, and she can't help but search for any flaws. His blue eyes feel like they are analyzing her, which she quickly attributes to him being a worried father of finding alone his child with a total stranger, and so she tries to relax her and look non-threatening. After all, they were just talking.

“Bruce Wayne.” he introduces himself, offering his big hand. “Quite young for an art restorer, aren’t you?”

You just didn't...

She tries to smile and raises her hand, not shaking his but waving it.

“Grace Henderson, would shake your hand but I’m wearing protective gloves and they need to be as clean as possible,” she says nonchalantly, though she still wants to grunt out loud for his damn comment. “I’m 25 years old and was personally tasked to do this by Miss Whitehall, though I personally believe she knows what she is doing, you are more than free to go and request another restorer.”

She hears Damian laugh, but she holds Bruce's stare, not backing out.

He smiles charmingly, taking a step forward.

“I didn’t mean to… ”

Her smile enlarges.

“Yes, you did.” Grace waves her hand as if dismissing him. “I’m used to it, though. So no offense is taken.”

Liar... It stinks.

Bruce opens his mouth as if to reply with something, but then his eyes zoom on the portrait laying on the work table and he instantly closes it.

He stares at it, almost as if zooming out.

“Well... Now I can see why.” He smiles, not a charming one but a soft-looking one, his eyes shining a bit. “It looks just like the first time I saw it.”

Both Damian and her turn towards the portrait on the worktable.

She rubs her hands, a bit taken aback by the subtle compliment.

“It’s still not finished! I’m giving it the final touches now and tomorrow I will varnish it properly.”

She looks at him, expecting another smart comment, but he is still attentively looking at the canvas.

Oh my...

Grace holds the gasp in, realizing that the young boy in the portrait is none other than the man standing right beside her. Bruce Wayne, who had lost his parents tragically when he was a young boy, patron of the city and famous playboy. The sight of a young boy crying in front of two gray graves materializes in her mind again.

She gulps.

“Caesar who is a more experienced curator will frame it again and will also take care of the handling of the portrait until it is delivered safely to you.” She further explains, her voice shaking a bit. “It will be as good as new, I promise.”

The handsome man now turns to her and smiles kindly, placing a hand on her arm.

“Thank you for your hard work. Rose assured me that it was being handled by the best hands, but still… ” He moves his head to the side, presses his lips together for a moment and then smiles again. “I wanted to be sure.”

She nods reassuringly.

“I understand.”

Bruce takes his big hand off her arm and places his other atop Damian’s head.

“And again, I hope Damian wasn’t bothering you too much.”

The young boy huffs, crossing his arms and raising one of his eyebrows at his father’s words, either embarrassed or annoyed.

“Not at all.” She looks at both of them with a smirk on her lips. “He seemed to think the same as you.”

Bruce looks down at Damian, who raises his chin almost proudly while staring at the work table and the portrait.

“Though I believe that was just a misconception…” She lowers a bit her torso towards him and smiles truthfully at the young boy. “Right, Damian?”

Now the dark-haired boy turns to look at her, but just as suddenly as he does that, he blushes. Quickly, probably to hide it away, he turns his stare towards the workplace again while his hands move towards his back in a very regal pose.

Then he huffs.

Aw... Adorable.

Bruce looks at him, curiosity now shining in his blue eyes, and then laughs broadly. The man pats ruffles his son’s head.

“He is very much interested in the arts, Miss Henderson.”

Grace finally feels herself relax fully in their presence, her body completely viewing Bruce and Damian Wayne as nonthreatening.

He won't hurt me.

“I assumed as much.” She focuses on Damian, who is looking askance at her, and she smiles again. Grace sees a bit of her in him. “Well, if you ever want to talk about art... You will be more than welcome here.”

That seems to catch his attention. Damian now turns to look at her fully, curiosity shining in his green eyes, and raises his chin as if trying to seem taller.

“I might, though my schedule is usually very full.”

Bruce laughs again while Grace nods –trying very hard to hold a laugh in– at what Damian just said. He sounds like a tiny old man.

“Perfect. And with that settled… we will leave you to your work, miss Henderson.”

She nods again, turning towards Bruce.

“Pleasure to meet you both.”

He nods.

They both leisurely walk towards the exit of the workshop, but while Bruce doesn't look back, Damian looks over his shoulder at her.

Her smile is sweet, waving her hand to say goodbye.

“Bye, Damian.”

He answers with a humph, a pretty blush on his cheeks, and disappears from her sight together with his father.

– – –

The elevator of her apartment complex, one of the many skyscrapers in Gotham City, is probably slower than a snail. She leans back on the mirror, not wanting to see her reflection, and sighs loudly.

As if the elevator would notice her annoyance and decide to finally be quicker.

Her phone vibrates on her hand.

She unblocks it and laughs softly when she reads Harley’s message.

hey hey hey! tonight is the night, right?

I haven’t been this excited since x-mas.

Grace sends a reply as fast as lightning.

Chill, girl. I will be at your house around midnight or so.

A bubble with three periods appears, Harley writing an answer at the moment.

GREAT! I will make margaritas then, to celebrate, ya’ know?!

The dark-haired rolls her eyes, a smirk now plastered on her lips, and the doors of her elevator finally open on her floor. She sees the amazing views, even in the hallway, and her shoulders finally sink. Tonight Grace just wants to have a bubble bath and rewatch her favorite movie, Top Gun, while munching a few snacks.

She pouts while opening her apartment’s door.

But suddenly, when thinking about what she will actually do tonight, the butterflies appear and start flying like crazy in her stomach.

Grace’s mood changes.

She had really missed doing her thing and Harley’s offer was the perfect excuse to finally put on the suit and say goodbye to her boundaries.

Normal is overrated, girl.

The midnight-haired girl writes a quick reply while kicking her shoes off.

Can’t wait!

– – –

The night air is ice cold and furious, smacking on her cheeks nonstop and messing with the hair of her ponytail. Her domino mask is only protecting her eye area, so the other parts of her head are now being subjected to the icy harsh wind and she can’t do anything about it.

Perhaps I should invest in a full-face mask or a helmet…

Nevertheless, despite the cold, she had missed the feeling of her suit on her skin. It is a full-on one, completely black and its texture similar to shiny leather, with a thin Kevlar armor underneath it and a utility belt laying low around her hips. Her high heeled boots and pair of gloves are also the same material as her suit. Furthermore, to conceal her identity, not only does she wear her domino mask but she has also grown her hair to waist length, wearing it in a sleek high ponytail.

Her powers can do wonders.

Thank you, Sir meteorite. The powers you have given me will never cease to amaze me.

She sees a new white van coming, then parking in the big parking lot in front of the warehouse’s main door and four men get off from it.

Black Mask’s warehouse is at Miller Harbor, surrounded by many other storage facilities and storehouses, which makes it quite easy for her. The storage facility in front of the warehouse has four floors, the building a bit higher than other facilities around it, so she has the perfect view of the warehouse and surroundings.

She is sitting on the rooftop’ railing, childishly kicking her feet up and munching the leftovers of kebab, while observing a group of five Black Mask’s thugs unload the truck while two others guard the door.

Mr. Ahmed, I would marry you if I didn’t know you already had a wife; she can’t help but think about the sweet cook. Your kebabs are the reason why I still believe in humanity.

She finishes it and crumples the aluminum foil, making a ball out of it. Then throws it up in the air and waves her hand at it, making it disappear in thin air as if it had never even existed.

Where? It’s better if you don’t ask her.

“Time to play.”

She jumps off the railing and extends her arms, her body pose resembling a cross up in the air, and lets the restraint on her powers go. Grace knows that she won’t break her legs, also very sure that a soft green bluish glow surrounds her, and so she lands gracefully on the ground.

Her high-heeled black boots make its characteristic sound as she calmly walks towards the parking lot and the thugs.

All of these guys are big, as in they probably live in a gym by the day and work here by night type of big. They are all dressed in black, wearing bulletproof vests and military boots in said colors, some even wearing black beanies or gloves due to the cold of October.

However, both the four thugs keep unloading big boxes out of the truck’s onto the pavement and the pair at the main door don’t seem to even register her presence.

“Need a hand, boys?”

All of them look up towards her, two even pulling out handguns while the others pull out knives and where the heck did that guy put a baton off?

“Girl! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Where did she come from!?”

“Get lost or we will fuck you up!”

She laughs sweetly.

“Sorry, no can do.”

And she goes out to town.

Grace runs towards the one closest to her and jumps, her legs enclosing his thick neck, then pulls him towards the ground. She hears the loud sound his head makes when it hits the pavement, but without missing a bit she extends both her arms at her sides, palms up and glowing in her usual color. A wave of power flows through her hands and they fly across the parking lot.

Four down, two left.

“You!” One of the guys at the door says, running towards her with a shotgun in his hands.

She waves a hand, a motion of shooing away, and he collides against the main door.

One left.

Grace calmly walks towards the last one, who is shaking in fear or perhaps because of how cold it is, still guarding the main door despite his buddy being knocked out near it. His aura is shaking like jello. When she stands a few feet away from him, now trying not to laugh at the poor man trying to be brave, he directs the muzzle of his shotgun at her.

“Hello.”

“What… what are you!?”

The raven-haired merely smiles in answer and extends her left hand, the man floating at the speed of light towards her hand, like a magnet attracted to a metal piece.

Grace tightens her hold, now estrangling him while he still floats in the air.

“Where are the explosives?”

He croaks, opening his mouth like a fish a few times, emitting broken sounds.

The raven-haired scrunches her nose, then relaxes her hold on his neck just a bit, easing the flow of air to his lungs so he might talk more easily.

“Where is it?”

He opens and closes his mouth again and again, but no sound comes out from his thin and chapped lips.

“If I… If I tell you, he will kill me!” He cries out, his legs kicking the air uselessly, visibly shaking. “I can’t tell you! I can’t! He will kill me! He will kill my family!”

She grunts a bit, tightening her chokehold on his neck.

“Trust me… If you don’t tell me where it is right now, whatever I do to you will be ten times much worse than what he might do.” Her voice now raised an octave, pushing him through a burst of power to the hard metal doors. Next, she pushes him with each following word for emphasis.“So tell me. Now.”

His mouth keeps opening like a fish but still, no sound comes out of it.

“I see… ” she says, sighing dramatically.

Time to put on a good show.

She closes her eyes and tries to center her powers on only her vision, but her power is too unstable and takes much concentration than that. So she relaxes herself, takes a bit of time, and then the brightness of the glow that surrounds her whole body reaches sun-like-blaze levels. There. Next, while she bites her lips trying to focus much more, she visualizes what she wants to achieve. A few seconds pass and when she finally opens them, she has mastered the brightness and her eyes are now the only thing shinning.

As in shinning as bright as the sun.

But there it is, also that side of her powers that is too untameable or unstable to fully be mastered by her. Grace feels her hair float, almost like there is no gravity surrounding her, which she hadn't meant to do.

Nevertheless, it probably helps her look scary and powerful. So, she tights her choke on his neck.

“One last chance… ” her voice sounds modified, not human at all, which she hadn't meant to do either.

She sees him open his eyes –if it is even possible– much more open than before, sort of like a cartoon character would do. Grace now knows that she looks terrifying with her domino mask with glowing eyes, hair floating around, and a creepy voice.

“No! No! No!” he begs in a yell, still kicking his feet up, completely horrified. “Wait! Wait! Wait, please! I will tell… I will tell you!”

She relaxes a bit her hold.

“They are stored inside three wood boxes... and they have written fragile in red capital letters all over them.” he croaks, and Grace feels every word he says through the palm of her hand. “They are the only ones marked with those words, to differentiate them!”

She nods, registering the information.

“Thank you.”

And she smacks his head hard against the metallic door.

The raven-haired checks the auras of all the thugs scattered around her, to see if they are still unconscious or if there are more out there that she hasn't seen, but what she finds confuses her. There are seven more scattered inside and around the warehouse, but weirdly enough they feel like they are barely there.

Oh, oh. Not good.

This reminds her of the first time she killed someone. When she had her first run with the Serbian Mafia, one of the caporegimes had infuriated her so much that she had just killed him right then and there, on the spot. Despite instantly becoming a target for them. And the feeling… She had felt how the soldier’s aura slowly evaporated into nothingness. Similar to how the light of a bulb diminishes until it completely burns out.

Those auras sort of felt like that.

However, they could probably be saved if she called an ambulance or the police.

What do I do? Should I...?

She sighs, still debating about it, and while opening the door, searches for more auras. Trying to find either a perpetrator or another human being who would help them. However, there aren’t any on the warehouse or its premises.

Weird.

Grace scrunches her nose, overthinking for a few seconds until the thought of them working for Black Mask and probably having done bad things for him makes her decide to just leave their fate to luck.

Screw it.

The raven-haired girl lets her powers surround her, no longer focusing on her eyes, and starts walking inside confidently.

Whatever is inside, it should be scared of me.

The first thing she notices is how the lights are out, which she quickly remedies with a snap of her fingers, then how the whole warehouse is full of thousands of wooden boxes scattered around, though the pillars here and there obstruct her view a bit. The place reminds her of a hangar but without the airplanes and fighter planes.

She groans, cursing herself for not asking where exactly are the boxes placed, and so she starts walking around looking for something red.

No red.

A Subway's meal leftovers.

No red.

Is that a used condom? Ew. Also, no red.

No red.

No red.

A few minutes later, she ends up at the center of the warehouse. The three boxes are stacked up in pairs of two, so the odd one is pilled up with another one without a mark on it. She kneels in front of the regular box, now debating whether to take it with her too or to just do some heavy lifting and stack the odd one with the others, until she feels it.

So bright and warm.

Oh my…

Grace even gasps loudly.

An aura, five feet behind her, burning as bright and fiery as the blazing sun.

It could burn me alive if an aura was even tangible.

She had probably been too immersed in searching for the correct boxes that she hadn’t realized the moment the person had stepped in. Moreover, before going inside, she had checked if there was anyone else around and had come across no one on the premises. So, that person had probably entered when she was looking for her special cargo.

This is Black Mask's fault! Screw him for having his warehouse so disorganized! Didn't his mother ever teach him of keeping his things tidy?!

Grace tries to center herself, not wanting to appear scared or nervous. Then, rising up calmly from her kneeling position, she turns around and comments nonchalantly: “It is considered rude to stare at someone and not greet them.”

Red.

That’s what she first sees.

A man wearing a red helmet, no facial expression on it, with white slits in the form of eyes. He is standing five feet away from her, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar, his arms crossed against his ample chest and with his military tactical boots also crossed at the ankles.

Red?

She scans him while thinking of Gotham's vigilantes and criminals.

Red...

Red...

Red Robin? No, he isn't wearing that weird cape Lisa mentioned.

“Red Hood, I presume?”

He shrugs, all calm but fiery aura.

“In the flesh.”

His voice low and tinted with humor.

Red Hood looks like a brute, as in a big and quite muscular guy. He is wearing a brown leather jacket and underneath it, some sort of black-grey armored under-shirt with a red bat symbol Emblem in the middle of the pectoral area. His black-grey cargo pants are the same color as his undershirt, almost making it look like it's a whole bodysuit, plus also carrying two tactical holsters united in a utility black belt.

Damn, someone doesn’t skip leg day. Those are some big thighs.

His tighs are probably bigger than her head, though she tries not to stare too much.

She probably fails, but whatever.

“Thought you didn’t go around killing people anymore?” she tries to buy time, remembering what Lisa had told her about the vigilante.

She bobs her head to the left, assessing him.

Red Hood. Gun guy. Former Crime Lord, had painted Gotham City red until he had stopped killing and started using the same methods as Batman & Co. Still, too ruthless for my liking. You say his name and everyone shits their pants. A vigilante, but not one you want to meet, unlike Nightwing or Batgirl. From what I heard from one of the police guys at the clinic, he is good in a fight, quite at par with Batman.

He stands up from his position, and while he is looking calm and confident, she can clearly see the signs of him being ready for whatever she is about to do.

“Rough night. Bat can suck it.” his voice is low and clearly electronically modified. Then, he points at her with his black-gloved hand, like a child. “Now, time for you to introdu… ”

She holds her glowing left hand up, interrupting him midsentence.

Then, she runs towards him.

“And you talk about manners…” his annoying voice chastises her, which somehow irks her.

Grace knows she probably won't win against him like this, but he clearly has a big ego and his confidence can be used against him.

Men and their egos.

He effortlessly dodges her first punch, which she knew he would, and she throws another one towards his face. Red Hood merely captures her fist in his gloved hand, a tight hold that almost feels like he will break all her bones, and clucks humorously.

“You suck at fighting, so stick to magic.”

She wants to roll her eyes so badly.

They are pretty close, only a feet apart, and despite her high-heeled boots she still has to look up to see his masked face. It irks her even more, her height is something that has always bothered her.

“Oh… As you wish.”

She smiles prettily while shrugging her shoulders.

One of his feet steps back, his instinct probably screaming at him to pull back and so he tries to pull away, letting go of her fist, but it is already too late.

Got you.

Grace opens her fist up and he starts floating, a feet up in the air, his jacket opening a bit with how fast she elevated him. He has a green bluish glow around him, which is actually what is keeping him up, and she starts to smack the air.

His face turns left and right, clearly feeling her slaps, completely powerless to her ministrations.

“It’s fun, right?” she laughs, though she feels no joy or pleasure from what she is doing. “You should have shot me right when you saw me, Red.”

He grunts but gives no further reaction.

She stops slapping the air and his face stops moving, still motionless and floating in the air. She supposes he is looking at her, after all his red helmet is facing her.

“I heard so much about you.” She stares at those white slits, smiling sweetly at the man. “From what I heard, you painted Gotham City red for a few months. So many fear you… If only they saw you now. Completely powerless.”

The explosives, girl. Focus! she tries to focus on her “mission” and stops mocking him. Right, the explosives.

The raven-haired girl keeps her hand up, keeping him afloat, and turns to the side. She is still able to see him, but now can also clearly see the wooden boxes.

“Who are you?” he asks, humor no longer in his voice. He doesn’t seem scared, which sort of surprises her a bit. “What do you want with Black Mask? What are you doing in Gotham?”

“None of your business, Little Red Riding Hood.” she mocks him, scrunching her nose in annoyance. “Now shut it or I will gag you.”

She raises her other hand and with her open palm, draws an O near where the boxes are located, closing her eyes and furrowing her brows for further concentration. Grace pictures Harley’s house, not the inside of it, but the front door. Just the front door. She hears the wind howling and when she opens her eyes again, inside the perimeter of the O there is the view of Harley’s door.

Grace knows she has a few precious seconds before the portal closes –multitasking was never her forte– and so she quickly directs her palm’s towards the boxes, imagining them floating as if there was no gravity.

“His explosives?” Red Hood grumbles in a low whisper, probably a thought said out loud.

Suddenly, a surge of power in her characteristic color surrounds them and the boxes start floating as Red Hood currently is. Then, they start dancing through the air towards the portal until crossing it and gently settling in the doorstep.

Mission Accomplished.

She snaps her fingers and the portal closes, just as if she had just turned the TV off with a remote.

Now, let's get out of here.

Grace turns around and lowers her other hand. Red Hood slowly starts lowering towards the ground, still surrounded by her power and fully in her control.

The raven-haired girl purses her lips and then smiles, as if a great idea has just come to her.

“Now, would you please sit down like a good boy and let me leave unharmed?” she asks in a pleading mocking tone.

She can imagine him smirking under the helmet while huffing a laugh, despite being at her mercy, and she can feel danger oozing from him.

The man is clearly not scared of her.

And very confident in himself.

“No can do, sweetheart.” his raspy and modified voice almost shocks her.

She walks towards him with a pout on her lips, trying to appear confident when she actually isn’t feeling like that at all, and looks up at him. Grace hopes she looks sort of attractive, or at least cute enough to not make him kill her if she slips and lets him go.

“Pity.” she exaggerates her pout, totally mocking him. “I would have even invited you to a drink or something.”

Wait... why do I sound flirty?

He lowers his head a bit, which to say the least surprises her. He shouldn't be able to move at all, but he has just moved his head, and so she tries to not freak out in front of him. To keep calm and seem confident.

“Let me go.”

She laughs as if that comment is the funniest thing she has ever heard.

“As if I’m that stupid.” she pats his chest with her left hand, leaning into him. “You will turn me into a colander. So, no. Your guns stay where they are. Thank you.”

He lets out a laugh that rumbles through his chest, clearly amused. Grace can even feel it through her gloves and his armored under-shirt, and she tries not to laugh too.

“I could go slow… be gentle.”

She answers with a moan as if the mere idea excites her, and did he just take a small step forward?

He is starting to break through, shit. You should have mind-controlled him, idiot!

“As tempting as that sounds, I will have to pass on that… You see,” She pats his chest for emphasis one last time, nodding along to what she herself just said. Then, she shrugs her shoulders.“I’m an old-fashioned girl, so you would have to take me to dinner first. Perhaps even sweep me off my feet?”

The raven-haired girl turns around and when she is a few feet away, just where the wooden boxes were sitting before, she opens the portal again to Harley’s house. She crosses through it, her footsteps slow but surely, until she no longer is standing inside Black Mask's warehouse but in Harley's doorstep with the four boxes.

Grace proceeds to raise her left hand, as if throwing something over her shoulder, and she doesn't have to turn around to know that the walls close on the Red Hood.

Yet, she still turns around to see. She doesn't know why, but she views as the whole building crumbles in, no sight of Red Hood, who is probably dead or buried underneath all the rubble.

She doesn't feel good.

But she knew he wouldn't let her go, not before probably torturing her or giving her up to Batman or even to the police.

“Goodbye, Red.”

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Back to the usual weekend schedule... Thanks to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. It’s so encouraging to me. Im not sure exactly how many chapters this story will have but I think we’re about at the halfway point now. Hope you enjoy

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for all their support.

Chapter 11: An Ocular Advertisment

I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.

-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

When Claire arrived, the hospital coffee shop was already full. Visitors patiently (and some impatiently) awaiting the official ward visiting times were queueing at the counter as the baristas hurriedly prepared lattes and paninis.

Claire sighed as she looked around. Frantic waving from Geillis at a tucked away table caught her eye. She returned the wave and pointed to the queue. Geillis pointed at the table and beckoned Claire over. Relieved, Claire made her way to Geillis, negotiating the tables, people and bags in her way.

"I got ye a ham sandwich and a black coffee. Oh, and a chocolate brownie. Keep yer energy levels up.”

Claire settled in a chair and gave her friend a grateful smile. “Thanks, G, you’re a lifesaver. Are you not eating?”

Geillis sipped her cup of tea. “Och, I canna eat. Ma belly’s like a washing machine. I’m having the talk wi’ Dougal tonight. I canna put it off any longer. And I’m that nervous.”

Claire gave Geillis’s hand a comforting pat. “You know what you need to say. Be honest with him, G.”

“Aye, I ken. I’ve thought it through so many times in ma head. I have tae tell him. I dinna want a bairn, at least no’ at this moment and I canna promise that I will ever want one. If he sticks wi’ me thinking I’ll change ma mind, he may be verra disappointed. So the choice is wi' him.”

Geillis's eyes filled with tears as she fumbled in her bag looking for a tissue. Claire passed her a paper napkin and she roughly wiped her eyes before take a couple of deep breaths to control herself.

"Look at me, greetin' like a bairn. Tell me something funny, Claire, tae take ma mind off it. What devilish scheme is Geneva cooking up? Has her mother threatened tae have Jamie's bollocks in a bap?"

“Well, no schemes as far as I know and Jamie’s testicles remain attached to the rest of him but…”

Claire assumed an elaborate pseudo model pose, her chin resting lightly on her fingers, lips in an exaggerated pout and her eyelashes fluttering.

“...I have been asked to do some modelling.”

"Modelling?" Geillis snorted. "Oh, I'm sorry Claire. I dinna mean tae be rude but I dinna think the catwalks of Milan would be yer cup of tea. Unless, ye havena been asked tae do some… er… nude modelling have ye?"

"Ew, no, of course not."

"I could totally see that."

Claire gave her friend a hard stare.

"What I mean is…" Geillis tried to explain. "Ye are gorgeous, ye ken. There's many a man… or woman… who'd pay good money tae see photos like that. Anyway if it's no' that, what is it?"

"Jamie has asked if they can use my photo in a marketing campaign in Japan. Well, not all of me, just my eyes, the rest of my face would be hidden by a glass of whisky or a bottle. He's discussed it with the board. Now just waiting for my decision."

Geillis looked closely at Claire's eyes. “They are incredible, really like whisky. And I should ken, I've drunk enough. So, ye're going tae do it, are ye no'?"

“I’m not sure. Do you think I should? What if someone recognises me? And I usually look uncomfortable having my photo taken.”

“What if they do recognise ye? Besides, how many people do ye ken in Japan? Why not do it, Claire? Nothing to lose, except some inhibitions. Go fer it… and report back tae me.”

*************

Patient medical notes lay unopened on Claire’s desk awaiting her review. She sat quietly, thinking about what Geillis had said before reaching for her phone.

She quickly typed a message:

G, remember I’m here for you no matter what

And then a second:

Tell Ian and Jenny I’ll do it

She put her phone down and turned her attention to her patients.

*************

The photographer’s studio was in a converted Victorian warehouse. The interior was an urban architect’s dream -- all exposed brick and iron with clear glass walls partitioning the cavernous space.

The photographer and one of his assistants met the ‘whisky delegation’ (as Claire privately called them) of Jamie, Claire, Ian and Jenny in the foyer of the studio. Through the glass walls, Claire could see the bustle of assistants preparing for the shoot. Her stomach flipped over. She was sure Geneva would be perfectly at home in this environment, but to her it was totally alien.

Jamie glanced at Claire’s glass face and discreetly took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and gently squeezing for reassurance. She felt herself relax a little bit. Jenny looked across and smiled at her. A bit more tension seeped away.

After an initial exchange of introductions, Ian explained. “We have tae have a quick meeting wi’ the agency, Claire, so mebbe they could start getting ye ready and then we can join ye soon enough.”

The photographer, Simon, explained. “Yes, so Debbie here will take you through and start with the makeup.”

Jamie gave Claire’s hand a final squeeze as she was led away into the main studio area.

As she sat and waited for the make up artist, Claire looked around, watching the activity in the studio. Everybody seemed to know exactly what to do… unlike her. She twisted her chair and stared into the large, brightly lit mirror in front of her. A totally unmodel like reflection greeted her. The instruction had been to wear no make up and have freshly washed hair. A typical day for her then. She peered more closely at her reflection. Was that a spot on her chin? She breathed a sigh. Eyes only for the photo was definitely a good decision, she thought to herself.

The image of Geneva crossed her mind again. She would, no doubt, have been sitting here, giving orders, chatting freely with the assistants, as if in her own living room. Claire tried to suppress a smile. How jealous would Geneva be if… or when... she found out about this? Claire decided that she would make sure she did… petty, yes… satisfying, definitely.

Through the mirror, Claire could see Jamie, Ian and Jenny in the glass-walled meeting room. She spun her chair around for a better look. Jamie had his back to her and had taken his jacket off. His white shirt was stretched tight across his back and shoulders accentuating his well defined muscles, his curls rested against his collar. Even after more than a year, the sight of him could still take her breath away. Would the wanting him ever stop…

“So, hi there. I’m Ceri and I’ll be doing your makeup today.”

Claire was abruptly pulled out of her reverie by a young woman brandishing an enormous toolbox, which she placed on a trolley next to her. Whirling the seat around to face the mirror, Ceri stared at the reflection before consulting a sheet of paper.

“Right, then. Let’s get started.” Claire closed her eyes and tried to relax as Ceri clipped her hair back and began to stroke various wipes, potions and creams across her face. She actually found it no problem to relax with the murmur of activity in the background and Ceri keeping up a monologue that required no input from Claire.

Suddenly Ceri’s monologue came to an abrupt halt. Claire opened her eyes to find Ceri staring across the studio. She swivelled a little to try, and failed, to see what had fixated the makeup artist.

“Fuck me,” Ceri started then immediately stopped and reddened slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you with my language. But there’s a guy over there just my type… talking to Simon. Wow… tall… broad… bet he could throw a girl over his shoulder without even breaking into a sweat. The things I’d like to do to him.”

Claire smiled at Ceri’s reaction to this unknown man. She had her suspicions about his identity, but kept them to herself. She didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl and Ceri’s reactions were, after all, perfectly understandable. In fact they were exactly the same thoughts as she herself frequently had… fuck me… please...

“Wow,” Ceri repeated as she returned Claire’s chair to its original position and continued applying makeup. “Guys like him don’t come along very often. Hope he sticks around for a bit. I think I’d like to get to know him better.”

With just the odd exception when Ceri tidied up Claire’s eyebrows, making her wince as the tweezers pulled at tiny stray hairs, she easily found herself drifting back into a state of relaxation.

“Och no, I’m sorry, that willna do.”

Jenny’s disapproving tone made Claire quickly open her eyes.

With her hands on her hips, Jenny continued. “That makeup, around Claire’s eyes, it’s too much.”

Claire peered in the mirror in dismay. A palette of shimmering gold, brown and vivid orange was spread across each eyelid beneath darkened brows.

“And what is it wi’ the stripes on her forehead and nose?” Jenny placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“It’s contouring.” Ceri spoke nervously, the rising inflection making each sentence sound like a question seeking approval. “It’ll blend in. And the notes I was given just said focus on the eyes.”

“Ah, well, it’s no’ your fault.” Jenny reassured her. “We jes’ need tae wipe it off and try fer something subtle, ye ken?”

Ceri nodded and reached for the wipes as Jenny disappeared to talk with the photographer.

“Oh god, that gorgeous chap, he’s headed over here.” Ceri stood upright, pushed her chest out and watched, smiling broadly as Jamie approached.

Jamie smiled politely in return before giving Claire his full attention and kissing her fondly on the top of her head.

"Ye ken I've never seen ye wi' sae much slap on yer face. It doesna suit ye. "

"I'm sorry. I’m taking it off… I thought that was… " Ceri spoke nervously.

"Dinna fash. It'll wash off," Jamie said. "It's no' the look we are going fer."

"And," he continued, pointing at the hair straighteners. "What are these fer? We're no' havin' straight hair. We want the beauty and wildness of the highlands, the heather in the background, the untamed curls and the natural beauty of these eyes reflecting the amber of the whisky in the foreground. Ye ken?"

Ceri nodded as Jamie kissed Claire once more before heading to talk to the photographer again.

"Are you two an item then?" Ceri asked as she applied makeup remover to Claire's eyes. "Sorry for going on about him before. It's just, well, he is a bit gorgeous. You are lucky."

"Yes," Claire answered laughing. "We're getting married in a few months. And don't worry,  I know that feeling well."

Jamie watched from the side as Simon positioned Claire for the shoot. His assistants bustled around her, adjusting lights and moving light reflectors at the photographer’s instruction. He knew this was totally outside her comfort zone, but no one would ever have guessed as she moved and posed under Simon’s guidance. Even though only her eyes would be featured in the advertisement, it was clear that Simon was photographing her entire face. Jamie reminded himself to ask for copies of all the prints for his own personal use.

Suddenly, Claire turned and caught sight of Jamie. Imperceptible to other people, her face changed, the warmth in her eyes increased, their amber depths flashing a message to Jamie.

He grinned. He knew what was going through her mind. Exactly the same was going through his.

************

The curtains were slightly open allowing some light from the street to filter into the bedroom and illuminate the curves of Claire's body. A warm summer night, she had gone to bed naked and now the thin sheet lay wrinkled around her waist, exposing her chest and legs to Jamie's gaze.

She sighed contentedly and stretched her arms above her head. Her breasts rose with the sudden movement.

"That was lovely. You knew that was what I was thinking about this afternoon, didn't you?" She commented.

Jamie turned onto his side, leaning on one elbow. His free hand idly traced a pattern around her breasts.

"Aye, it was plain as day, Sassenach, written all over yer face." He smiled. "It was grand tae watch ye being photographed. Ye were like a real model."

Claire laughed. "Geillis found it so funny when I told her. She seemed to think I'd been asked to do some nude modelling."

"Now there's a thought…"

Jamie's hand ceased its motion. He swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost secretive.

"Would ye do that, then?" He paused before hurriedly continuing. "I dinna mean fer other people, jes' fer me. Ye ken what I mean?"

Claire was quiet for a minute.

"I havena offended ye, have I? I'm sorry if I have."

"I'm not offended. I just… er… don’t think of myself that way… as sexy.”

“Christ, Sassenach, do ye no’ realise ye’re the most beautiful woman in the world. And as fer sexy, well…”

His hand resumed its meandering path around Claire’s breasts, running his fingers lightly around her nipples. His breath was hot against her ear as he carried on talking.

“And tae have these photos of ye and ken that they’re jes’ fer me, only me… a secret treasure that only ye and I share. It makes me hard just thinking about it.”

Claire felt the truth of that statement pressing against her thigh.

Jamie had clearly given this idea some thought. “And tae see ye touch yerself --“

“Eh? And what about sauce for the gander?” Claire asked playfully.

“What? Ye mean in front of ye. I’m no’ sure I can do that, Sassenach.”

“Mmm, interesting. So it’s ok for me but not for you to return the favour. Well, if you’d rather we didn’t play that little game…” Claire let the sentence hang in the air.

“Alright, Sassenach, fair’s fair. I’ll buy a camera this week.”