#pin her against the kitchen counter or an office door and do her a solid shin yu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hisunshiine · 4 years ago

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𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭

♡ 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯 �� 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬

♡ 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴

♡ 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

♡ 𝘸𝘤: 3343

an: commissioned story

Walking up the stairs to your best friends’ apartment, you hang your cape over your shoulder, defeated. Waiting patiently as Namjoon unlocked the front door, Jungkook shuffled side to side, just as upset as you, the evidence written across his face. His signature bunny smile, nowhere to be found, was replaced with a pout fixed on his face as he followed you into the apartment while Namjoon struggled to get the key back out of the golden deadbolt lock.

The sound of shoes being slipped off filled the silence along with jangling keys and the low murmur of curses followed by a soft exclamation of joy as Namjoon shut the door.

“I’m sorry babe. I didn’t know it was cancelled. I didn’t check my email before we left...”

You tossed your purple cape over the couch and got comfy in your favorite spot. Tucked into the left corner of the couch, your sheer pantyhose legs crossed, you dropped your head onto the back rest of the couch and attempted to look at Namjoon still in the entryway. Dressed up as Thor, his arms flexed nicely as you watched him put his shoes on the rack by the door, grown out blond hair falling in his face.

“Joonie, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. I’m just sad we didn’t get to show off our hard work.” You gesture at your outfit, Raven from Teen Titans, and shrugged. Left in just the black long sleeved leotard and hosiery, you sigh.

“Poor Kookie here has been doing pushups and crunches for the past two weeks so that he could pull off a gladiator from 300.” You turned your gaze to Jungkook, perched on the barstool next to the kitchen counter, elbow braced on the table to hold his head up as he sulked. “Nice job by the way, you got a lot of looks when we were walking up to the convention center.”

He laughed, shameless as always when showing off his beautifully built frame.

“Hey, I think the woman with the baby stroller really enjoyed the view.”

“I would hope so, she damn near tripped over her own child breaking her neck to stare.”

You lean up as Namjoon makes his way over to the couch, your eyes following the way his well-built body moves in the ludicrously tight Thor outfit.

“What can we do to make it up to you? We rarely get a day off like this, all together.”

He was right. Adulting had made the time spent with your best friends almost nonexistent. Attempts to hang out, all three of you, rarely went off without a hitch; with Namjoon receiving calls from the office about accounts in progress, or Jungkook having to go in to work with the local sports team as their trainer during both on and off seasons, and you working your 9 to 5. It was stressful.

“Honestly, just spending time with you guys is all I need.”

Namjoon lifted your legs to sit next to you, placing them in his lap as Jungkook jumped up and grabbed a dusty, small box off the living room bookshelf. An old deck of Uno cards that you all used to stay up late and play in college is tossed onto the coffee table while Jungkook’s feet carried him to the kitchen, where he grabbed a few beers.

“For old time’s sake?”

——————

Uno had turned into Strip Uno quickly, once you all were a few beers deep. The opaque green glass bottles were set off to the side of the coffee table as the three of you sat around, tipsy and half naked, laughing at each other.

Jungkook had been the first one to lose an article of clothing, his Leonidas style crown tossed on the other side of the couch with Namjoon’s discarded cape. Namjoon followed suit with his costume shirt being next to disappear from his body. The males’ losing streak ended when you were the unlucky one to lose a large item, your black leotard. It wasn’t long before Jungkook, who had already been shirtless, had lost his roman gladiator skort, and Namjoon’s pants made it onto the clothing pile, leaving the three of you sitting comfortably in half-nakedness.

“God, I can’t believe we used to really trade girls back and forth, hyung.” Jungkook was laughing as he remembered some of their crazier antics, which you knew all about as their best friend. You’d even walked into some compromising situations once or twice, and saw exactly what each of them was working with below the belt.

“I can, man, we were insatiable. Fuck, we still are Kook, don’t act like just because we’re working now crazy shit still doesn’t happen.”

Namjoon’s eyes were low, the alcohol in his system making him feel nice.

“You’re right,” Jungkook giggled, face red from intoxication, “just way less often. It’s been what? 4 months or so? We need to throw a party or something.”

“You guys are just as bad as you were in college.” You say, leaning back into the couch behind you. None of you had moved from the floor where you had sat around the table to play Uno.

“Oh, right. I forgot that you were our ‘goody two shoes’ girl. Never did anything wrong...” Namjoon tried to roll his eyes, but the half-moon shape barely showed the whites of his eyes.

“That’s not true… I was just way better at being discreet. It wasn’t the campus’ business who I let between my legs.”

“We played ‘never have I ever’ so many times, though… You never did anything bad.” Jungkook pouted at you, thinking you were lying to him. In reality, you lied back then. It wasn’t anyone’s business and you weren’t going to expose others’ sex lives just for some drinking game.

“I did, I just didn’t put a finger down,” you laughed. “I still drank what I was supposed to, I just didn’t want to be questioned about my threesomes and shit.”

Namjoon couldn’t believe what he heard. You, his precious best female friend, had a threesome before. The air in the room shifts, the tension palpable in the room.

“No, not my YN. You’re the good one.” Namjoon stated jokingly, though you could sense he was still serious.

“I need the details, YN.” Jungkook stared at you, eyes steady as he pinned you with his gaze.

His look is full of desire, and you can see him move ever so slightly as if he was uncomfortable. Jungkook’s hand moves to cover his hardening cock, but not before you can see that it was exactly what was making him so uncomfortable in his boxer briefs.

“It was nothing wild, Koo. We were drunk, it was college, one of them, the girl, said that getting eaten out feels better by a woman, the other said no way and said he was the best ever to do it, so I volunteered to test out their theory and draw an end to the pissing contest.”

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered how much fun it was. The memory turned you on slightly; you can feel your arousal drip onto your thong.

“So who was better?”

“She was, definitely.”

Namjoon shakes his head and Jungkook leans back, incredulous. Both had leaned in towards you as you told the short story, falling on every word that you said.

“Pfft! No way, I could totally out-do the chick.”

“Same. He didn’t know what he was doing, clearly.”

You shifted your body to get more comfortable, sitting with your knees bent and spread open in an L shape as you leaned back against the seat of the couch. You may have been curvy, but you were comfortable around Jungkook and Namjoon as they had known you for so long and seen you in various stages of undress, sobriety, and moods.

“I mean, we can always test it out.” You gesture your arm out at the 2 of them, resting your forearm on the knee that is bent up to the sky.

It’s silent, deadly, as they stare at you. Jungkook’s eyes roam your body that is on display for him, instinctively licking his lips. Namjoon, who was still leaned towards you, gives a smirk that has you… excited.

“Baby, you couldn’t handle me.”

“Awe, Joonie, it’s cute that you think so.”

“I’d be better at it anyways.” Jungkook chimed in. That cocky confidence oozing over him as he mimics your pose, though leaning back on his palm, arm extended to share part of his weight.

“Mmm.. I don’t know Kookie, I think Namjoon has been at it a little longer than you, plus, no offense, but he has fuller lips...” You turn away from Jungkook’s pout toward Namjoon, who’s still got that damn smirk on his face.

He moved forward, practically stalking on his hands and knees as he brings himself into your personal space. You watch the way his chest and arms flex, mouth practically drooling at the sight.

“You've been sizing me up, baby?” His voice is low, deeper as he let his hunger for you show. His hand slides along your hip, fingers curling gently around you. “You think about how good it would feel, my tongue between your legs?”

He’s surprised that you didn’t pull away. When you reached up and grabbed a handful of his blond locks and tugged, you reveled in the low groan he let out, eyes fixated on his quivering Adam’s apple as the sinful sound reverberated throughout the apartment.

“Damn—” your eyes snapped to Jungkook, whose pupils had dilated as he watched the interaction between you and his hyung. His mouth hung open; he hadn’t realized he had verbalized his thoughts.

“Everything okay, bun?” you asked, using Jungkook’s pet name that you loved to use when teasing him.

He cleared his throat, his hand stroking gently at his clothed cock, trying to ease the ache.

“Yeah—please, continue.”

You realized he was addressing Namjoon when you felt his parted lips skim across your neck, soft and wet as his tongue joined. Latching on gently, you rolled your head back allowing him more access as you yourself were now the one affected, moaning breathily as his solid frame hovered over you, pressing you back into the couch. You tightened your grip on his hair, and he bit your neck a little harder in response.

Eyes fluttered closed, you felt a second set of hands on you, palms sliding along the pantyhose that still covered your legs.

“I know you’ve thought about this...” Jungkook’s lips moved along your tummy as he talked, small kisses along the waistband of your hosiery. “Can practically feel how badly you want this.”

His fingers dipped into your band and began to tug them down, freeing your thighs from their confines. You arched your back, unable to not react as he mouthed loudly at your clothed core, his tongue flicking against the cotton to trace the outline of your needy clit as he groaned with the inhale of your arousal.

Namjoon on the other hand was quieter, mouth busy sucking light bruises to your skin as his large hands palmed your ample breasts. As he kissed down your neck and collar bone, he pulled one mound from your bra, laving his tongue around your aroused nipple to pull sounds out of you.

So enthralled in the feel of Namjoon, you don’t notice that Jungkook has you stripped bare, not until he’s nudged your thighs apart and settled himself between, a trail of wet kisses along your inner thigh almost unnoticed due to the amount of pleasure you’re feeling—that is until his lips latched onto your clit, a combined sucking motion with a flicking tongue, made your free hand dive into his mess of dark strands, directing his ministrations.

“Fuck, Jungkook, d-don’t stop.”

Namjoon moved to be behind you, replacing the couch as your backing as Jungkook circled his arms around your thighs and pulled you down closer to his feasting mouth. Namjoon began to kiss at your neck, hands resumed their massaging of your chest, nipples rolling between his fingers as you held Jungkook’s head so you could roll your hips, fucking yourself on his tongue.

Feeling it build, the delightful coiling in your abdomen snaps when Jungkook enters you with a thrust of his two fingers and strokes roughly along your walls, brushing the rough patch of bundled nerves. You cry out, head thrown back onto Namjoon’s shoulder as you buck, hips rolling as you ride out your high on Jungkook’s face.

“Definitely think that I was better than that girl, huh, angel?”

You nod, never one to lie about how good or bad someone is sexually.

“You let me have the control to fuck your face, it was amazing.” You tell him, your chest rapidly moving as you attempted to regulate your breathing.

“My turn.”

You feel more than see Namjoon switch places with Jungkook, maneuvering your body to a more comfortable position. Jungkook’s cock, hard and erect, is now pressed between your back and his abs when you leaned back onto him.

“Oh, he left you such a mess, baby.” Namjoon licks a stripe along your swollen clit, lapping at the juices. You’re still sensitive, but he pushed your thighs apart so his large hands could hold you in place as he slowly teased at your folds until you felt yourself leaning into it, wanting more instead of squirming away.

“Right there Joonie—shit, that feels—oh!”

Namjoon’s thumb rubbed wet circles on your swollen nub as his tongue explored every inch of you, teasing and tasting. Jungkook held you tight in his embrace, preventing you from running now that you could feel your second orgasm building.

To make your judgement fair, Jungkook’s lips and hands touched your body where he could reach, knowing that Namjoon’s ministrations had added to your heightened senses when it had been him gracing the spot between your thighs.

Namjoon’s nose pressed against your clit as he open-mouth kissed your heat, devouring as much as he could of your release before you replaced what he had cleaned up. You could feel the growing orgasm spreading through your veins, the thrum of your beating heart loud in your ears until Namjoon inserted his fingers. The squelching sound as your walls sucked his first two fingers into you caused both men to groan, the vibrations of the one feasting leading you to arch your back into Jungkook’s chest. Toes curling, your mouth is open as you try and catch your breath, but Namjoon did the same move as Jungkook and you squirmed as it consumed you, a crackling of electricity taking over your senses.

Sitting up, Namjoon grinned over your shoulder, knowing that the move his younger roommate taught him all those years ago never fails.

“I would say that makes it 1 for Jungkook, 1 for Namjoon, as we now hold the title ‘better than the girl who rocked your world’, right JK? Our good girl is finally enjoying being bad.”

Namjoon’s chin and lips were slicked with your cum, and you nodded, still a little fucked out as you came down.

“Damn, I wonder what prize we should get?”

Lifting an eyebrow, you sat up off Jungkook's chest, propelling yourself forward until you were on your hands and knees, eye level with Namjoon’s obvious hard-on. Licking your lips, his eyes followed the movement. He watched your every move as you leaned down, opened your mouth slowly, and lowered your tongue to the fabric covering his erection. You hear Jungkook inhale at the view you provide, sopping cunt on display.

“Mmph.. shit, baby.” Namjoon’s cock twitches as your mouth, hot and wet, teases his most sensitive area, and when he lifts his hips slightly, chasing as you pull away, you decide to show him exactly how much you enjoy being bad.

Your hands have pulled his boxer briefs down and the bulbous tip has entered your mouth before he was able to see the glint in your eye. Taking him into your mouth fully, he let out a sound you never thought you’d hear from him, a loud moan higher than his usual tone and accompanied with movement from his hips as he thrust up. Spit from your mouth dripped down his shaft as you pulled back.

You heard Jungkook mutter a curse as your hips swayed seductively in his face, and you removed your lips off of Namjoon with a wet pop sound, replacing your mouth with your hand as you stroked his length. Turning your head to peek over your shoulder, you follow Jungkook’s gaze, smirking.

“Hey Bun, you gonna stare at it all night, or are you going to fill me up?”

You giggled as he scrambled up onto his knees, his hands tugging at his underwear to free himself from the restraining fabric. You grasp Namjoon’s thighs before you lower yourself again, the thrust of Jungkook entering you from behind pushing you farther onto Namjoon’s cock. The moan vibrates along his shaft, and Namjoon’s toes curl as you swallow around him, tongue tracing the thick vein.

“Fuck, you’re so wet...” Jungkook’s voice, melodious as he vocalizes with each thrust, causes you to clench involuntarily as he splits you. The burn from the stretch feels good, so good, and you push back onto him, fucking yourself as his hands hold onto your curves.

“Her mouth… Jungkook, her mouth is—” you hollow your cheeks as you vacillate up and down, and Namjoon can no longer form words. His hands cup your face as he watches you worship him, oblivious to the words of praise Jungkook is saying.

“YN, fuck baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight… You take my cock so well, better than I dreamed of.”

The spit that had gathered in your mouth dripped down and as you massaged Namjoon’s balls, the spit added to his pleasure. You felt them constrict in your hands, his cock twitching as your first warning.

“Baby, I—” you nod, knowing what he wants to say, and the action made him squeeze his whiskey colored eyes shut before he came, ropes of hot cum filling your mouth. Once he opened his eyes again, you made eye contact, pulling off of him and opening your mouth so Namjoon could see the translucent coating on your tongue before you swallowed it.

“Shit.”

His dilated pupils watched as you continued to use Jungkook to massage your g-spot, impaling yourself on him while you used a free hand to massage at your clit. Your third orgasm was a little harder to come by, not without a little help, so you told Jungkook what you needed.

“Choke me.”

You couldn’t see the way his doe eyes grew unimaginably wider as he maneuvered his right hand to grip your throat and apply just the right amount of pressure, allowing you to ascend towards climax. You fucked him harder, ass slapping against his thighs harshly. He released your throat, both hands firmly grasping your hips. A slap to your ass from Jungkook’s hand spurred your words.

“Cum in me Kookie, fill me like Joon did—”

“Ah, fuck, I’m cumm—”

When your walls fluttered, Jungkook groaned and immersed himself as deep into your dripping core as he could so he could fill you as you gushed your arousal around him, juices mingling as you collapsed onto the carpet, Jungkook’s softening dick slipping from inside you as he moved to lay next to you.

Panting, you rolled onto your back, head on Namjoon’s thigh as you waited for your breathing to settle. Jungkook was already smiling and looking none the worse for wear, physically. He moved to lay his head on your tummy, an arm thrown over your body while Namjoon’s hand smoothed the hair away from your face.

“I think that’s… 2 for me,” you say, “and 1 for each of you.”

Both men look at you in awe as you finish speaking, “...so what were you saying earlier about me being your ‘good girl’?”

♡

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helpinghanikan · 6 years ago

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Suspicion of the Mask

Matt Murdock x reader

Sum: It's dangerous for anyone to walk the city at night. Like many in your situation there was a savior. A savior with a familiar voice.

AN: This is pretty self-indulgent (Any warnings in the tags)

It only takes a second for the entire world to freeze. The couple walking a few feet ahead was suddenly too far away to scream to and the pressure under your right shoulder blade was the only thing organic in this world.

Alleyways were always a danger and a big no-no when walking home at night. Matt more then once talking about a client he had who was assaulted in one of the many alleys you’d pass. A non-direct way of begging you not to make the same decision, take the long way around on the sidewalk. But when work lets out late and your apartment is just so far away. A quick short cut was nothing to sneeze at, save maybe three to four minutes that could be spent in bed or the shower.

The couple ahead was supposed to be your little canary in the cage. Make sure the area was safe as you walk a respectful distance behind them through the darkness. When they turned that corner the organic press behind you finally spoke.

“Don’t scream, don’t say shit…” It was a male that hissed that behind you.

It’s hard to think of a time you had screamed louder.

It’s best not to think about what your attacker originally wanted. Now, with his victim already screaming, he had gone into panic mode. Hand against your head, fingers in your hair, side of your head slammed into the alley wall.

“STOP!” You scream as if he would listen to you.

At no point, between the first grab to being flat on your face, did you ever shut up. From screaming to death threats to profanity you bared your teeth and yelled. It’s a wonder what would have happened had you shut up after the first scream. That maybe that first scream could have been just enough to scare him away instead of making him panic. Instead he slams you against the wall three times before you finally stop.

In a more dramatic scene they’d say you had heard your nose crack. That the blood running down your lips was copper on in the back of your throat. Or that you had started crying when a third person had entered the fray just before it was too late.

This wasn’t that dramatic scene. No solid details could be pinned down, just trying to stay in the waking world instead of falling into the next.

The final slap comes when your name is spoken.

“It’s okay now,” the same voice says keeping you close. “You’re okay, I got you.”

An arm is cradling around the back of your neck. It’s hard to say what point this new guy had got his arms around you. Face turned into a chest that was just as thick as the concrete. He was likely trying to be comforting; but when you look through a hazy view into a red eyed man with actual horns it’s hard to feel comfortable.

“Go away,” Your hands press against that too solid chest. Hitting against padding, pressing into his neck. “get off, get off, get off!”

Everything you’ve heard about Dare Devil can be boiled down to either a god sent or a horror story. Had you lived on the words of Karen you might’ve been more grateful. She was one of his biggest cheerleaders, though. The entire situation was the equivalent of meeting your friend’s Pitt for the first time by it snapping while connected to a chain.

To his credit he does let you go. Scrambling away on hands and knees, purse still in your shaky grip, you escape down the alley.

Mr. Taxi man has been glances back at your every fourteen to sixteen seconds your entire ride home.

How did you look from his perspective? A battered girl pushing into the taxi’s back seat. Rattling off an address One eye was already swelling. Nose, absolutely broken and dripping on your shirt. Staring through the window to avoid making eye contact with him.

“Hospital is just a few blocks…” He offered, already proving to be more invasion then the average driver.

“Just take me home please.” You said hoping he’d take the hint.

He does, staying quiet, but continues looking back at you.

Your now cracked phone was in your hand. Little bits of glass rubbed out onto your thumb. Trying to avoid the caring man, staring into the dark void of cracked glass and potential companionship.

Having a small friend group of lawyers has its advantages, but it can also be annoying as hell. A simple fender bender and Foggy is throwing around numbers and ideas of a lawsuit, all talk quieting down when you explained the lady was probably around when dirt became a thing. Karen was another outlet, but she had subtly started to lose her chill. Calling her and you’d have an ambulance at your door and probably an interview with three different people including her.

The third member of your little ensemble contact stared from your phone screen. A picture taken when he was asleep; head resting on an upward palm. Suit jacket off, tie loosened. His glasses were resting on top of his head and mouth slightly opened. He had been snoring when you looked up at him. It was likely he hadn’t heard your phone click and didn’t know the picture was your profile for him.

“This is it, Sweetie.” Mr. Taxi says. Car pulling into park. “Unless…hospital is nearby.”

The hospital wasn’t nearby. He knew that and so did you, but something says he would have sped through the streets to help you.

“Thank you,” Money is passed between the seat towards him. Not bothering to check how much you gave other than it was more then needed.

Glass presses into your thumb when you hit the call button. You’re through the first ring and almost up the flight of stairs when Matt picks up.

“Hey, hi, how are you?”

Just at the sound of his voice had your dam had started cracking.

“I’m…I’m something. Are you busy right now?” Final step and there’s your door a few feet away.

“No, just playing with papers. Is something up?” He asks.

“Not really. Just…would you mind coming over? Please?” Any attempt at keeping him out of the loop before he arrives went out the window when your voice quivered just enough.

“I’ll be right there,” He hangs up before you can try and reassert yourself.

It’s a loft style apartment where the entire space was open with the “bedroom” separated by half-walls. Couch against the half-wall, desk against the other. Entering and you’re staring right at the kitchen area at the far corner. Bag and jacket tossed onto a counter that you can’t even pretend to know if they landed or not.

Your outward window showed a straight shot down a stretch of road. A view with nothing but dotted lights and a wave of blaring horns just outside the glass. Look hard enough and there are the silhouettes of the people inside: two shapes coming together as one in front of their window, another with a waving arm and a bent elbow towards their ears, a third was just leaning forward in the window staring at a similar view as yours.

So many people, and not one heard you scream.

Blood was mostly wiped from your mouth and under the nose, leaving a little smears like you had gotten too excited with the ketchup.

Matt must have dead sprinted from the office to make it to your door in under a half-an hour. It was actually pretty amusing to imagine him running down the street. Using the people he crashed and bumped into as some form of a map to get him there. Panting in his gray sweater, regular jeans and untied shoes. He had even left his cane and glasses at the office.

You only had a few seconds before those rough hands were on your face. Although an office worker they were rough and worn from those work outs with a boxing bag. Somehow his thumb managed to find the one, miniscule, bit of blood under your nose.

“That’s not good,” He says, way too calmly.

“No, it’s really-.”

Something between a pop and a crack sounded through the apartment. Hands you would usually seek comfort from are both holding the sides of your heads. Thumbs pressing on either side of your nose and quick, painful pressure from either side.

“JESUS FUCK! WHY?” You screamed pulling away holding your face.

This bastard was trying to turn you towards him. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I fixed it, I’m sorry.” He says, pulling you close to you.

“I fucking hate you.” Hands still to your face, entire body pressing into his. His arms are around your back, rubbing it gently with a soft ‘I know,’ and ‘no you don’t. That’s not possible,’.

It started with a single tear, and then another, and then you’re crying. Hands to your face now to keep the tears from flooding the earth. It becomes body wracking sobs that you wouldn’t have notice he had leaned forward against you. Hands under your buttocks and thighs, lifting you in the air, legs around him like a tired little kid being carried back to the car.

It took some weeks before Matt was completely comfortable in your apartment. Asking you to walk him around his first visit. Thinking back, it might have been some weird form of non-sexual foreplay to get you both closer to the bed without having to do the little “nice place you have” dance.

He had yet to spend the entire night, blaming the loud cars outside your window and the bedsheets, he knew enough to navigate. Setting you down on the couch, both hands on your knees and kneeling down like the knight he likes to pretend to be.

“What happened? Sweetie, please, what’s wrong?” It’s an ongoing theory that Matt learned all his pet names from married couples during church services. Men and women married longer then you’ve been alive who are either deep in love or waiting for the other to die. Depending on his mood. You now know the difference between ‘Sweetie’ and ‘sweetie’.

You told him the entire story from walking through the alley to your savior who you had yelled at. Mathew eventually taking your hands in his to keep them away from your mouth while you sobbed through the story.

“You really need to go to the police, hospital.” He says holding your hands.

“Mathew…”

“Just, at least a report. I can get Detective Mahoney here, you don’t even have to go in.”

“Matt, please, I can’t right now.” If his hands weren’t holding yours they would have been holding your face again. “Please, not tonight.”

“Okay, it’s okay, it’s okay now.” He says catching you when you weren’t even falling. “I’ll stay with you tonight, if you want.”

In a normal night you’d have made a joke. “Great, so I can save you when he comes back for me.” You’d have said. Instead you just nod into his shoulder, wiping your nose into his coat fabric.

“It’s okay now,”

He had whispered that to you throughout the entire night.

Days later and you can still hear it somewhere in the back of your brain. Supposedly two different voices becoming one. It’s impossible to tell who had said it when and where.

“You can hardly tell,” Karen says after a few seconds of silence.

�� Your face was a mosaic of green and brown lining one side of your face. The eye on the same side was just as swollen, almost closed. Worst had to be your nose; slightly twerked from breaking and fixing without proper medical care.

Gently your fingers touch over the injuries.

“It makes you look tough. In a ‘you should see the other guy’ sort of way.” Karen was doing her best to make light of the injuries. The bruising was too bad to completely ignore.

First time you saw the other guy was behind a two-way mirror. You hadn’t gotten a good look during the initial assault, but you heard the voice. Brought into a small room with only glass separating you from a man who had tried to bash your head into a wall. He was hidden somewhere in the line of men holding little numbers against their chests.

One by one the men stepped forward. “Don’t say shit,” each said with the same enthusiasm as asking for food. When number four took his turn your hand slammed a vice like grip around Detective Mahoney’s forearm. “Him, it’s number four.” You had said and was immediately escorted out.

The waitress stops by your table. Breadstick time.

“Was there anything weird about the way Daredevil worked with you?” You asked.

It was no secret that Karen had interactions with Daredevil. Mostly just a side comment when Foggy would try and shame her for her lack of chill. A few of her pieces involving it all was framed in the office.

“He’s intimidating. We only met at night and most of the time he was beating someone up while I was running away.” Karen says.

“Funny, he was beating someone up while I just laid there.” You said, a forced laugh coming from both of you. “His voice, though. It sounded weird.”

“Sounded like the typical white guy.”

“Well, yeah, but didn’t he sound familiar to you? In any way?”

“What are you talking about?” She asks.

“He sounded like Matt. He, he sounded just like Matt.” You bluntly said. The whole point of bribing Karen to come out with you for food.

“You got hit pretty hard,” She says. As though your face wasn’t proof enough of that. “He maybe sounded like him, but you were under serious stress. Next person you talked to was Matt and maybe that combined the two.”

“But he smelled like him,” You argued, watching your friend tear a bread stick apart.

The look Karen gave you would have been hilarious if you weren’t trying to get her to see your point. “And what does Matt smell like?” She asks instead.

“Sweat,” You say. “He always smells like sweat.”

Either the man had some sweat gland issue who he was running everywhere. More specifically he smelled slightly like salt. Like you could taste him on the tip of the tongue just by being too close.

You were of the lucky few who caught him before the sweat set in. Mere moments after a shower or in the middle of the night. Starting together in an embrace before he travels across to the other side of the bed. Curled up in an almost fetal position, his back towards you. In those moments he still had a trace smell of salt, but mostly of leather. Like the smells of the world was pounded into him through the years and became a permeant part of his being.

That’d be too long (and sappy) to explain, though.

“Oh my god, he does.” Karen laughs a little. Unaware that you had probably just ruined the next time she’s in the same room as Matt.

“So, you see my point?” You try to bring it back around.

“Yeah, Matt has gone this long without learning about deodorant.”

“No, that the other guy, that Daredevil, smells like Matt. That he sounds like, that he sounds and smells just like Matt.” Desperation to not sound crazy was starting to make you sound insane.

Karen leans forward and says your name calmly. She was going into Lawyer mode, a specific state to be feared by lawyers and their general law knowing co-workers can transform to. This specific she had used on their defendants known to ignore advice, assume they know better or (overall) are just too stupid to read between the lines.

“You are aware Matt is blind,” Karen rests her case.

Karen was your best bet at having a clear look into your theory. With everything Karen had been apart of, everything she’s ever discovered or seen, she’d be the closest you’d get to a clear opinion. And your theory was shot out of the sky like a duck on the first day of hunting season.

A few days in and your bruises started to turn into paler shades of green. Supposedly this meant they were healing. This didn’t stop you from flinching and hissing lowly when Matt got too close to the face.

You’ve taken refuge in his apartment for the time being. Sticking close to his side during the day, taking an Ambien at night for the expected sleep problems. He always kept you in mostly arm reaching distance in the day. Both of you thinking you can keep the other safe if the bastard showed his face again. The more likely scenario is you’d trip over each other trying to keep the other safe.

Matt’s side was to you now. Staring straight ahead as he moved his hands over cooking utensils. His sweat pants tucked into thick socks and wearing that hoodie. The same hoodie he wore that night.

“Where were you about a week ago? When that dick-bag tried to grab me.” You asked.

He pauses. “I think I was at the office when you called. Foggy was still there when I ran out.”

“Where were your glasses?”

He completely stops preparing the gourmet meal, tilting his head slightly where your voice was coming from. “What?”

“Your glasses. You always wear them when you’re out.” This was sounding worse the more you added. Might as well keep going. “And you weren’t wearing them when you got to my apartment.”

He left his station to walk towards where you were sitting. Your legs already pulled up to your chest.

“I can’t walk around without my glasses on?” He asks, sitting down on the other side of the couch. Already embarrassed you only shrugged.

He unintentionally let the silence sit. “Sweetie?” He asks.

“Sorry, I shrugged.” You said.

“Oh, okay. Is something wrong? Did something else happen?” He asks.

Your right leg stretches out towards him until your toes touched his legs. His hand slides down your foot and gently holds the ankle. Thumb rubbing over the knuckle on the side of the ankle.

“Nothing else happened, he didn’t do anything else to me. He didn’t get the chance.” Every close friend you came across after the attack gave you the same sad, knit eyebrows look and the silent question. “That devil guy stopped him.”

“I’m glad he did, I’m really glad he did.” Matt has the audacity to say.

“Where were you?” A stupid, stupid question.

“I told you, I was at the offi-.”

“No, where were you?” You’re crying now. Voice trying to compensate for the lump in your throat that’d turn into a full-on sob if you weren’t careful.

It was that stupid little kid part of your brain that had created that theory. That somehow Matt would have pushed through himself and save you just from…what? Force of will? Love?

Simply put you were one of thousands saved every day by a set of beyond belief people. It was unfair to expect yourself to be any more special then the other thousands. It was unfair to put Matt on the same level as that set. It was unfair to expect any of that.

His gently hold tightened briefly. Pulling your ankle towards him, pulling it between his side and the back of the couch. Your other leg coming to his other side. Your hands pressing under your backside to scoot closer as he did the same.

“I’m right here, I’m here.” He says, almost laying over you.

Your arms are around his neck, hiding those pathetic tears into his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He says. Keeping you from looking towards a specific wall.

#marvel #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #Daredevil #daredevil imaigne #Daredevil reader insert #reader insert #physical assault #no rape #self-indulgent #Karen is a good liar #karen page

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ladywinchester1967 · 6 years ago

Text

Shape of my Heart: Chapter 3

Pairing: Billionaire! Jensen Ackles x Allie (OFC)

Warnings: HERE BE THE SMUT, we got oral (female receiving,) fingering, unprotected sex (wrap your wacker IRL), domestic!Jensen, fluff, angst, feels.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy the 3rd chapter of this series!! This is a work of FICTION and not meant to disrespect Jensen or his family (they are lovely and amazing, we’ll pretend he is single for this.) I did read though this and any mistakes that may have escaped are mine. Pic are not!

Wanna catch up?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

In her head it was all sunshine and butterflies. Allie has been on two, coming up on three dates with Jensen and they were constantly calling and texting.

“Uh oh,” Trish said “I know that look.”

“What look?” Allie asked as she dug into her salad.

“That love struck look,” Trish said fondly “it’s cute on you, it really is.”

Allie rolled her eyes and said

“It’s not love, I’ve barely been on three dates with him.”

“But you REALLY like him right?” Trish asked

“Of course I do.” Allie told her “What’s NOT to like? He’s sweet, smart and sexy as hell.”

“Sexy huh?” Trish asked her eyebrows raising.

“GOD yes!” Allie told her.

“I've never heard you describe a guy as sexy that wasn't Sebastian Stan or Alexander Skarsgard.” Trish pointed out and Allie laughed.

“That's true,” she admitted “but I'm telling you, he is.”

“I believe you.” Trish said with a fond smile.

That night, Allie and Jensen were talking on FaceTime when he asked

“So what are your plans for this weekend?”

“Well, I was hoping to see you if you aren’t too busy for little old me.” She said with a pretend pouty face and he laughed.

“No need to pout baby, I always want to see you. How about you come over and I’ll make you dinner?” He suggested.

“You can cook? I didn’t know you could cook!” She exclaimed.

“I’m no chef but I’m up to scratch,” he said “so what do you say?”

“Sure, you want me to bring anything?” She asked.

“Yes, your appetite.” He told her.

“Good thing I always have that with me.” She chided him, making him laugh again.

That weekend, Jensen had messaged her his address and according to her map, it would take her around fifteen minutes to get there. She stopped at the store and grabbed a bottle of wine she knew he’d like and continued on. As she got closer to his house, she watched as the neighborhoods got nicer and nicer.

“Wow.” She said and double checked her phone to make sure it was taking her to the right place. Sure, he had mentioned he was in the technology business, but he’d never mentioned money, not even in passing. She raised an eyebrow as she turned into a neighborhood that wasn’t named and went down the road her map was taking her. She got to the second to last house on the right and pulled into the driveway, marveling at the house in front of her. It was an all white, brick house with white trim and a natural wooden front door. Suddenly feeling very self conscious and foolish, as if she had pulled up to the wrong house and this was all an elaborate April Fool’s joke, she got out of the car and walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Once Jensen appeared, he was smiling and gave her a hug and a kiss after he opened the door for her.

“Jesus, who lives here?” She asked

“I do.” He told her and glanced at the bottle of wine in her hand “I told you not to bring anything!” He exclaimed, but was nonetheless delighted.

“You do?” She asked as she marveled at the high ceilings and grey walls with white trim “You live here?”

“I pay the mortgage every month, so I would hope so.” He said with a shrug.

“It’s just,” She stammered “wow, really, really nice.”

“Thank you.” He said with a smile “Dinner isn’t quite ready yet, so we can chill that wine and I’ll give you the tour.”

“Sure.” She said with a huge smile. They walked past a set of stairs, through the living room and dining room and into a huge kitchen with a large island in the middle of it.

“Wow,” She said as she looked around, marveling at the granite counter tops, sleek modern appliances and solid hardwood floors. It smelled phenomenal, like an Italian restaurant “wow, this is a HELL of a kitchen.”

“I’m not usually in here much,” he admitted “but when I am, it’s not too bad.”

He got the wine from her hands and she asked

“What did you make again?”

“Chicken tortellini,” He said “with a white wine sauce.”

“YUM,” she said “that sounds amazing!”

He took her through the house, while holding her hand; showing her the gym, his office, the pool and his bedroom.

“What’re these other rooms?” She asked

“Guest rooms,” he said “Jared takes up residence every once in a while.”

“So you guys are best friends huh?” She asked.

“Yep,” Jensen said with a proud smile “we met in college and have been best friends ever since then. He’s kind of like my little brother.”

“Aw,” She said and squeezed Jensen’s hand “that’s sweet.”

Jensen gave her a grin and squeezed her hand back.

“You hungry?” He asked “I’m pretty sure dinner is ready by now.”

They made their way down to the kitchen where they served themselves and Jensen opened the bottle of wine she’d brought, pouring both of them a glass. She took a bite of the food and, much to her surprise, it was delicious. She told him so, which made him smile.

“Thank you,” He said “glad you like it.”

After dinner, they made their way into the living room where they sat and talked, just like they always did. The only difference this time was that he was able to reach out and hold her hand or touch her knee, which she enjoyed. She intertwined her fingers with his, letting her thumb run over the back of his hand.

“You have very small hands,” he commented and she laughed “seriously, you do!”

“Says the guy with bear paws he calls hands!” She exclaimed and he laughed “I’m a little girl, of course my hands are gonna be little!”

“And I’m a big guy.” he commented.

“Which means big gloves.” She shot back and he rolled his eyes.

“That was SO bad!” He said with a shake of his head, in spite of the fact that he was grinning broadly.

“You’re smiling so it’s not that bad.” She reminded him as their fingers laced together again.

“I’m smiling at how bad it was.” He told her as he pulled her close.

“You like it.” She told him as she slid right next to him.

“I SUPPOSE I do.” he said as he cupped her face in his free hand.

“You do,” she told him and grinned “I can tell.”

He nodded, leaned in and kissed her tenderly. She sighed into his mouth as they kissed again and again. She arched into him, pressing her body closer to his. He let his hand roll down her body, where it settled on her hip. He tugged her into his lap and she swung her leg over, straddling him as she placed her hands on his chest.

“You okay?” He asked as he tightly gripped her hips.

“I’m fine,” she practically moaned into his mouth “this is perfect.”

He pulled back and smiled before going back in and kissing her. She slid her hands to his shoulders and then up, where she cupped his face in her hands and she grinned as his beard scratched her palms. His hands slid down to her rear where he gripped her meaty ass.

“Fuck,” he moaned into her mouth “you have the hottest ass.”

“Mh, you mean that handsome?” She asked him.

“Every word.” He said as he gripped her ass again, making her moan into his mouth.

“Fuck, Jensen!” she cried, feeling his half hardened cock swell under her. She ran her fingers through his hair as they rocked against one another.

He pinned her on her back against the couch and kept grinding on her as she wrapped one of her legs around his waist. His lips moved from hers as he kissed down her jaw and to her throat where she let out a whine.

She let out his name in an almost breathy chant as he growled against her skin.

“Jensen please,” she begged “I want you so badly.”

He picked his head up, nodded and kissed her sweetly. Fueled by raw emotion and liquid courage, she quickly took her shirt off and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in a black bra. He grinned as his fingertips gently traced over the swell of her breasts before he attacked her collarbone with kisses. His beard delightfully scratched her skin as she tugged on the hem of his shirt and rid him of the offending article. He pressed his bare torso to hers and nipped her neck, making her cry out as he slipped the straps of her bra down and kissed her shoulders. She locked both of her legs around his waist and ran her hands up and down his strong back as he worked his way back up to her mouth where they heatedly kissed. She quickly took her bra off and set it aside as he moaned against her mouth. He slid his hand down her bare side and traced his fingertips along the waistband of her leggings. He pulled back and looked at her, as if asking for permission.

“You can touch me,” she told him “I want you to.”

He gave her a smile and pushed his hand down the front of her leggings where he found her soaking core waiting for him.

“Fuck sweetheart,” he moaned “all this for me?”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly “all for you.”

He pulled his hand out of her leggings and sat up. He tugged the garment off of her along with her panties and parted her legs. He ducked his head down and licked a thick stripe up her slit, making her whine loudly. He loved her taste and scent; sweet with a little bit of muskiness. His tongue made slow circles around her clit as she let her fingers slide through his thick, dark hair.

“Jensen,” she breathed “oh, fuck Jensen.”

He buried his face in between her legs, his tongue splitting her folds open and lapping over her entrance as she squirmed under him. Her hips rolled and she threw her head back against the pillows, raw pleasure coursing through her system as louder moans fell from her lips. He tightly gripped her thighs and sucked on her hard, making her back arch as she rocked her hips harder into his face.

“Jens, god!” she cried as a tingly sensation rolled up her back and the dam in her belly threatened to break. “I'm gonna, god, god, oh god!” she yelled but he didn't pull away, in fact, he pulled her closer and pushed his tongue inside of her, the strong muscle swirling as his teeth gently scraped over her clit, sending her over the edge. The dam broke as she let out a loud cry, squeezing her eyes shut as wave after wave came over her. Just as she was settling down, Jensen picked his head up, grinning as he licked her arousal from his lips.

“Damn baby,” he said as he kissed his way back up her body and then kissed her lips “you're so damn responsive, you taste like a fucking dream and you look like one when you come.”

“That was fucking intense.” she told him as they kissed.

“I could watch you come for hours.” he told her with a sweet smile as he pulled back.

“That would be a feat,” She told him “I'm not sure I can go that long.”

“Let's find out.” he said and he laid on his side, using his leg to open hers again as he let one hand wrap around her shoulder while the other made its way to her breasts where he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked on the over sensitive bud. She whined and then he switched to the other breast, doing the same thing as his flattened hand made its decent down her body. He swirled his tongue around her nipple as she let her fingernails dig into his shoulder and grip his hair tightly.

“Fuck me,” she begged “please fuck me.”

He didn't respond right away as he let go of her nipple with a light, wet pop. He fingers slid through her silken folds as she moaned, her hips thrusting up to meet his touch. He easily slid two fingers inside her as she whined , his thumb finding her clit and working it into short, slow circles as his fingers pushed and pulled in and out of her. She threw her head back again as he kissed and sucked on her neck.

“That's it baby,” he murmured against her skin “just like that, fuck, you're doing so well baby.”

“Jensen!” she cried “God, I want you inside me.”

“Let me watch you sweetie,” he said “then I'll fuck you.”

Maybe he hadn't been kidding when he said he could watch her come for hours, she thought. She bit her lip and moaned loudly as he kissed his way up to her lips and he moaned against her mouth, increasing the speed of his hand. Her moans got louder as her orgasm got closer and she rocked her hips to match his motions.

“You gonna come again for me baby?” he asked as he pulled back.

“Yes, yes!” she cried out in a tone that she barely recognized.

“Come,” he told her “come all over my hand baby.”

He hooked his fingers just so inside her and she was seeing stars. She let out a loud cry as her second orgasm crashed over her, making her body shake as he pulled his hand from between her legs and licked his fingers clean.

“God you're wet,” he said “you got another one for me?”

She nodded as he shifted positions, climbing off the couch and scooping her up into his arms. He carried her up the stairs to his room where he pushed the door shut with his foot and then gently laid her in the plush bed. He stripped out of his jeans and boxers before climbing on top of her. She parted her legs to accommodate him as he ran the head of his cock through her soaked folds, making her whine. He slid inside her and she gasped as he filled her, her walls deliciously burning as his thick length stretched her open. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders as he started to move, fucking her slowly and deeply. They kissed and he moaned against her lips.

“Fuck,” he cried “so fucking tight!”

“I want,” she begged “god, I want!”

“What do you want baby?” he asked between kisses “tell me.”

“Bend me over, please!” she cried.

“Roll over for me.” he told her.

She untangled her limbs from around his body and rolled over, arching her back as he growled.

“Showing off that sexy ass for me?” he asked as he gave her a light smack on her left ass cheek and she cried out.

“Fuck!”

She looked over her shoulder and watched as one of his eyebrows shot up.

“You like getting spanked?” he asked and she bit her lip, nodding. “Holy shit.” he said and plunged back into her, gripping her hips hard. He fucked her hard and slow as her moans built up into loud cries. He pushed her chest flat into the bed and then bent over her, his chest to her back.

“You want me to spank you some more pretty girl?” he asked as he bit the shell of her ear and she let out another loud cry.

“Please,” she begged “yes, please spank my ass some more!”

He pulled up and let his hand crack across her behind and she cried out again. He did the same thing to the other cheek and she gushed on his cock. He bit his own lip trying to hold out from drilling into her as he smacked her ass again. A stream of his name and curses fell from her mouth as her orgasm rose.

“I'm gonna, god!” she cried “Oh my god, I'm gonna come!”

Jensen let himself go; his skin smacking into hers as she clawed at the sheets above her head and screamed into the mattress, making him lose it just as she clenched around him for the final time. They stayed that way for a few seconds breathing hard before he pulled out of her and she whined at the loss.

“Come up here,” he told her and made his way between the sheets. She slowly crawled up to him and joined him, curling up into his arms, her head on his chest as her heart hammered. They lay there like that for a long while, catching their breath as their free hands laced together and he kissed the back of her hand. “You okay?” he rasped and she looked up at him, nodding.

“That was amazing.” she said with a sleepy smile.

“That's a happy face if I've ever seen one.” he said with a grin and kissed her.

After a few more minutes of cuddling, Jensen got up, putting his jeans and a fresh pair of boxers on, he then ventured downstairs to fetch the rest of their clothes and some water. When he returned, Allie was laying on her stomach, her arm stretched out over to his side of the bed. She tugged her bra and panties on and then accepted the water from him as he climbed back into bed. They both put their glasses to the side and resumed cuddling, her arm across his hips and their legs tangled together.

The next day, which was Sunday, Allie got together with Natalia and Trish at her apartment complex's pool and told them about her date with Jensen.

“So he had you over to his house?” Natalia asked “Sounds like things are getting serious.”

“We haven't talked about that.” Allie told her as she took a sip of her drink “We're just, I don't know. Seeing each other?”

“Well, if you don't ask him, you'll never know.” Trish said as she lathered more suntan lotion on to her legs.

“I mean I guess I should, but I don't know.” Allie said

“Look, if you're happy with how things are going, maybe you don't need a label, you know what I mean?” Natalia said.

“But I WANT the label,” Allie insisted “I have to know right? I mean is he my boyfriend or a guy I go on dates with and have mind blowing sex with?” Natalia nearly spit out her drink and asked

“I'm sorry, did you say mind blowing SEX?”

“She did!” Trish insisted “I heard it!”

“Mind blowing huh?” Natalia asked as Allie's cheeks flushed a deep crimson color and nodded.

“Yes,” she said “fucking mind blowing.”

“Yeah, I'd lock that shit DOWN if I were you.” Natalia said.

That night, Allie paced in her apartment, should she have the “where is this going?” conversation with him? She bit her lip as she changed into a simple summer dress and then headed over to Jensen's house.

When she arrived, Allie was greeted by Jensen, who wrapped her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

“Missed you today.” he said as he affectionately kissed her forehead.

“Sounds like a boyfriend to me.” she thought as she crossed the threshold and he closed the door behind her.

“Pizza sound okay to you?” Jensen asked as they walked into the living room.

“Pizza sounds phenomenal.” she told him.

“Okay, I'll order us some.” he said as he pulled his phone out.

“Wait, before you do that,” she said “I want to talk to you for a second.”

He looked up from his phone and cocked his head to the side.

“Everything okay?” he asked, looking concerned.

“No, I mean, everything IS fine, great actually.” she said “I just,” she paused, twisting her hands in her lap “I don't know how to word this exactly, so I'm just gonna say it.”

“Okay.” Jensen said, still looking concerned.

“It's just that, I like you. Like, really like you.” she told him with a smile “And I just want to know, like, where is this going?”

Jensen's throat went dry, he had a feeling this conversation was coming. He swallowed as best as he could and then sat down.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized “I didn't make you mad did I?”

“No,” he said as he shook his head “come sit.” he said and motioned for her to sit by him. She did and he said “I'm not sure how to say this either, but I'll be honest with you. That's okay right?”

“Absolutely.” she told him.

“I'm not ready for a commitment.” he told her.

Allie’s heart sank. She sighed and said

“I’m not asking for hearts and rainbows every day, I just need to know that I’m the only one you’re seeing.”

He nodded

“Yes, you are the only one,” he said “I’m just not sure if I’m ready for the boyfriend and girlfriend thing is all.”

“Can I ask why?” She asked him.

He wrung his hands and took a deep breath

“I was in a relationship,” he started “for six years and when that ended it was really hard on me. I’m finally in a place where I feel I could be someone’s boyfriend again, I’m just not one hundred percent sure, and I want to be before I risk hurting you.”

As much as his words stung, Allie could appreciate them, at least he was not leading her on.

“Okay,” She said “well that feels like a punch in the gut, but I appreciate your honesty.”

“Is that something you can work around?” He asked “At least for now?”

Allie felt torn, potentially give up this amazing man or just go with it and see it through?

“Is it fair to say that I don’t know?” She asked him.

He nodded.

“It is,” he said “I can’t blame you or be angry for you not being sure.”

“I’m willing to try,” she told him “I’m not sure how it’s gonna work, but I’ll try it.”

He gave her a wry smile and said

“I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever get there,” and reached for her hand, which she gave him “but if and when I do, I’d want it to be with you.”

She smiled and steeled away how she really felt. That raw and powerful emotion she felt for him would have to be put in the back of her mind behind a hard, iron door. She slowly shoved it where it belonged as he leaned in and kissed her. His lips were so warm and plush, his arms so strong and secure, she knew that even if the heartbreak was coming would come, she could at least be content for now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hope you guys liked that!!! As always, you kind feedback is so appreciated. All of my tag lists and boxes are open so if you want to to chat, say hi or get on any of the lists, please let me know. Hope all of you are having a good week and I’ll see you for the next chapter!!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @unholyqu33n @dacleverfox @emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict @purpleskiesandcherrypies @dean-winchesters-bacon @animerose96 @roonyxx @snffbeebee @ezilyamuzed @srsllydunnodoncare @latetothewinchesterparty @emilyshurley @atc74 @midnightsilverafterdark @adoptdontshoppets @biawol @spaceystacey123 @bella-ca @clo-heda @closetspngirl @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants @idreamofplaid @love-those-boys-in-flannel @flamencodiva @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog @sandlee44 @tumbler-tidbits @rainbowsinthestorm @deans-baby-momma @algud @maui137 @drakelover78 @keymology

Dean/ Jensen:

@spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @deanscarlett

#lady winchester writes #Jensen Ackles #supernatural #Single!Jensen #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles x ofc #jensen x ofc #Supernatural smut

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somekindofseizure · 6 years ago

Text

When the Ink Dries Part VIII

Chapter 19

Scully waited in the parlor room armchair wearing borrowed clothes, winding a chunk of overgrown split ends around her finger like late autumn weeds, the fur hem of Stella’s wool pencil skirt prickling her thighs. She picked at her nails until one cuticle bed split open and bled. Stella was still getting ready - had spent almost the entire day getting ready - for the fallen officers’ memorial event, but Scully’s impatience was levelled squarely at herself.

First thing this morning, Scully had promised herself she would get it over with. In retrospect, she could see that her plans were doomed the moment she sunk against the bathroom door jamb and set her eyes on Stella. Stella had been studying herself in the mirror, squinting, shoulder blades knitted together under her t-shirt, weight back on her heels. Holding herself as she held everyone - at a distance. Scully crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat in an effort to be acknowledged. Her secret was an accidental one, born as a simple piece of information, an unshaped piece of wet clay. Using nothing but time and cowardice, Scully had shaped that harmless blob into a weapon with a shortening fuse. She had never considered herself an artist, except in the field of avoidance.

“My first work event since I’ve been out of commission,” Stella said with a self-mocking smile. She looked down at a jar of cream and she swiped a glob across her forehead. Scully hesitated - she’d get to the secret in just a minute - and reached for Stella’s hand, caught two of her fingers. Stella’s shoulders swiveled and her hand swung with Scully’s like a trapeze act without a net, eyes flickering and then meeting her partner’s in the mirror. Traveling forty feet in an instant of eye contact.

“Will they find me… as I was before?” Stella asked, a forced comedic lilt to her voice that reminded Scully of when she had to resort to asking Mulder how some skirt made her butt look. She was embarrassed that she cared.

“A couple months older, maybe,” Scully teased, then re-capitulated. “Yes, they will. Better, even.”

The secret began to smolder the minute Scully decided to put it off until later, foolishly leaving it to eat the silence like a fire eats oxygen. Now it was hours-stronger, solid as cement, an extra story of the flat inserted between the two existing levels that they occupied.

Scully looked up from the armchair and felt her chin drop when she heard the typewriter click of Stella’s shoes on the staircase. Stella descended slowly, dangling pauses like pronouncements, each patent leather heel hovering over its next step like she expected it to rise up and meet her rather than the other way around. Blouse nipped at the sides pinned by seams to her body like a cloud to the sky. Blacks so deep the gold seemed to swim in it, whites so new they shaded her face pink. On her, a police uniform was a fantasy of authority and sex so pure that it seemed more like a costume than a mandate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scully said, forgetting both her secret and sucking of her bleeding nail a moment.

“Bring that finger over here and let me do that for you.”

If they’d had more time, it would have been a good idea, actually, a way of getting through it... Run her fingers over Stella’s body between sentences, feel her out like a bit of Braille on smooth, sure stone, fingers placed here and there along her pulse, her spine, her hips, and yes one in her mouth. Stella had an aptitude for nuance in physical contact that she lacked in conversation. Would it have been exploitative to talk to her that way? Or an act of kindness?

“That’s your real uniform?”

“I can’t tell if you’re judging or leering,” Stella said. “If it’s the latter, please make that clear and let’s skip the party.”

“You keep calling it that. Party.”

“Because it is a party, darling. We’re having alcohol and we put on high heels.”

“You partake of both those things every day.”

“You don’t.”

Scully smiled despite herself. Stella was square-shouldered in the foyer mirror now, one lazy eye on Scully in the reflection as she fastened the little black tie around her neck and tossed her hair. As she did so, the blonde picked up the shine of the embroidery on her collar, a crystal casting the sun for a rainbow.

“Are they all going to look like this? Your colleagues? Underlings?”

“Why?” Stella teased. “Looking for a replacement?”

“No, of course not.”

Had that come off as overly serious? Defensive? Later, in a childish game of what-if, woulda-coulda-shoulda, Scully would wonder how much sooner Stella would have read her, caught her out, had she not been in an unusual state of self-surveillance, so vigilant of her own vulnerability with the “party” that she could miss something to obvious.

“I have them tailored,” Stella said with a sheepish so-what of a smile.

She slow-stalked the kitchen like a jungle cat, stroked the cylinder of a water glass and placed long, inexplicable glances on various inanimate objects in the room, as though deciding whether to consume or spare each thing. Then she sipped her water, made tiger stripes on the rim with her lipstick. There was silence to fill here, but Scully’s mouth had gone dry.

Finally, Stella reached for her jacket and slipped into it as though she’d been recently painted and was trying not to smudge herself.

“How should I introduce you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“People are likely to assume we’re fucking no matter what I say.”

“Only you assume that about everyone.”

Stella grinned into her last gulp of water and murmured, letting it echo and bubble as she slurped, pausing to swallow in the middle of her phrase.

“This is for your benefit. I’m making sure you’re prepared. People will whisper.”

“I’ve been whispered about that way at work my whole life.”

“There are worse things to have whispered by colleagues.”

“I know. I’ve had those whispered too.”

Stella was unsatisfied. She didn’t want jokes, she wanted confirmation that this evening would come off without a hitch. It was not for Scully’s benefit, not really, and that was okay. Scully spoke as though by rote, repeating her lessons.

“I am prepared for them to assume we’re a couple.”

Stella circled her and collected a small clutch purse she’d left open on the barstool, nudged Scully’s jeweled earlobe with her nose. She tucked her phone into the bag, a bed of tissues and lip gloss, and then held it under her armpit as she put both arms around Scully’s waist. Her face now rested on Scully’s shoulder, the carefully-applied layer of cosmetics wafting like spring flowers sealed in wax, a semi-edible decoration atop a birthday cake. For a moment it seemed unlikely that anything else scheduled for this evening could hold as much weight as that shoulder did.

“I didn’t say couple. I said fucking.” Her jaw had dug itself a permanent residence in the posterior delta of Scully’s clavicle. Scully worried for a moment that the makeup would come off on the sweater, but it was Stella’s sweater after all. “Be a lamb and say it for me.”

“Fucking,” Scully murmured.

“Mm.”

Scully turned to face her. Her neck spasmed where Stella’s chin had left a dent.

“You look nice in my things,” Stella said.

Scully nodded, the guilt traveling like a heart attack up her arm from where Stella held her wrist. She’d always been shit at accepting compliments, so Stella didn’t notice.

“You look perfect,” she countered.

“Thank you,” Stella said with the quiet, simple grace Scully could never seem to muster.

Scully braced herself. She had Stella’s attention, the intimacy of a couple’s last moment alone before a party. She battled the sickening rush of temptation as she considered what to do with it, whether to speak or keep Stella close, to stay here on the safe side of things a little bit longer.

“Come, darling.”

She took Stella’s arm and followed her out.

It had been a long time since Scully had observed Stella in a professional setting and she was mesmerized during the ceremony by her focus. Hands and limbs kept to herself throughout the ceremony, occasionally lifting her chin, a sort of reverse nod of approval at something a speaker said or did. Scully wondered if Stella’s mind was wandering, if she let herself think of the fact that she could have been one of these names, if she felt guilty or lucky or strange for having narrowly escaped a place among these unfortunate honorees.

At the end, everyone was directed to the back of the room where tea lights sprouted on pale blue cloths tossed over coin-sized tables. The room let out a collective sigh of relief, moving en masse toward the promise of small talk and wine. Cocktail waiters emerged from swinging doors like crumple-vested spiders, drawing invisible webs around arbitrary clusters of people. The mourners took part at once, moving easily between grief and relief. Everyone knew their ghosts would be holding their coats for them at the door. It was a party, like Stella said.

And for Stella, it was turning out to be a pretty good one. Her posture was already soft with victory. She’d appeared here in one piece, as herself, had reclaimed her reputation as reliable and invincible. Scully’s ankles wobbled in her shoes as she thought of the car ride home, the living room where they’d step out of their shoes and wiggle sore toes, of how she’d begin to spoil a perfect night. She wondered how many drinks Stella would have in her by the time Scully finally said what she needed to say. One or two and it wouldn’t make a difference, three-plus meant a sloppier tongue and quicker wrists, the sum-total effect of which was generally more auspicious at the end of a night together.

Stella took two glasses of white from one of the passing trays and handed one to her date.

“Chardonnay,” she grumbled with the pout of an adult equally well-versed in self-abuse and self-care. “I spoke to them about this last year.”

Scully laughed.

“People are grieving for Christ’s sake,” Stella went on.

Scully sucked her stomach in on a deep breath and Stella noticed, misread it as self-consciousness. Scully let her, sins of omission multiplying like the empty plastic cups on the tables. Stella leaned in, put her lips against Scully’s ear and Scully wondered if there would be marks on her skin like the water glass, little bands of metallic pink across the cartilage.

“Do you want to go? We can go,” Stella prompted. She fiddled with the knot of the bow on Scully’s wrap sweater and freshened it in a shorter amount of time than it had taken Scully to do in the first place.

“No, no. I just… think I should have worn my own clothes,” Scully said because she needed something true to complain about. “Or borrowed a uniform.”

“No one would have known the difference, two thirds of these people are idiots.”

“They seem nice.”

“That’s the third I’m willing to talk to. You could have had mine. Uniform, I mean. I hate wearing it,” Stella said, righting herself beside Scully.

“You do? Even after all that nipping and tucking?”

Stella’s face darkened as it often did when her memory retraced certain steps. Scully felt obtuse for needing time to understand the tailoring – it was an act of control, not vanity.

“It reminds me of school.”

This was always how getting to know Stella had been, like picking up items on a scavenger hunt: school names here, siblings there. There had been times she was tempted to sit Stella down and ask questions for three hours, take notes and turn on a journalist’s tape recorder to get it all down. It had never much bothered her much; she’d told herself she knew all she needed to know. How to read Stella’s temperature from across the room, hear the switch flip from silent-at-peace to silent-in-turmoil with music blaring and a bar full of people. That Stella likes to be touched, but only by people she trusts, that she likes innocent-faced men and women with purpose, that she brushes her teeth in the shower and leaves cabinet doors slightly ajar, that she likes to dance but only when she asks, that she washes her face wearing a red polka dotted headband sometimes. She knew she could call her for any reason, at any time, and not be judged or turned away, and that when Stella didn’t answer a question, it meant Scully would find it out eventually, out of nowhere, in some other empty space between two moments, when Stella was finally ready to share it, and then Scully might wish she’d never asked it at all. But she didn’t know how Stella was going to react to what she had to tell her tonight, and that made her feel like all that knowledge was for nought.

They were moving now, Stella in front and Scully in tow, sailing the crowd shoulder to shoulder, Stella billowing in and out of conversations with impressive ease. Her fingers trailed behind when she walked, or at her side when she stopped, left an infrared wake for Scully to follow. Scully felt freer than she was used to feeling as someone’s date. And feeling good while she deceived Stella was unsettling. Stella’s trust was a limited fund, one she was using up with every moment she held her tongue.

Stella had stopped now, but the crowd continued to move, and Scully had the sensation of standing still on a boat. She felt her temperature rise and pushed up the sleeves of the sweater. Her forearms turned pink from the friction. She couldn’t do it anymore.

“Stella, I have to-”

Stella turned, pinched a crepey pastry off on hors d’oeuvre tray and supported it with a cocktail napkin on its way to Scully’s mouth. Scully lowered her eyes but obediently nibbled, licked the flakes off her lips.

“Stella-”

But she needed time to swallow and in that time...

“Oh. You remember Ferrington?”

Of course. The girl who had “door-stepped” Stella with the soup. She’d had to twist Stella’s arm into a thank-you phone call, but Dani hadn’t picked up anyway and the voicemail got it. Dani had a date tonight, presumably a girlfriend and Scully wondered whether Dani had assumed the same about her - presumably girlfriend.

“Hello again,” Dani said with a gracious first nod to Scully. “Dana, right?”

“Hi there. How are you?” Scully said, trying not to sound angry. None of her worries was Dani’s fault. “I don’t know if Stella told you but I loved your soup.”

Dani beamed and the conversation split, Stella taking on small-talk with the girlfriend and Scully entertaining Dani.

“Still here in town?” Dani asked.

“Yes, still here,” Scully said and tucked her hair behind her ear.

A warm hand on her lower back, one of Stella’s fingers segregating two lines of cashmere ribbon around her waist, a gesture of concern, of care, of – Scully put her hands to her cheeks to cool them - possession.

“Warm in here, is it?” Dani said to Scully, head cocked in empathy. Her face must be the color of an apple. “So, how long before you go back?”

“May only be a few more days,” Scully said under her breath, wiping her brow. She didn’t think Stella would hear and she didn’t want to lie - had not actively lied yet about it.

But of course, the room went silent the minute she mumbled it and her voice seemed so loud it was as though someone had inadvertently passed a microphone under her lips. Stella dropped her hand from Scully’s back, turned with such eerie cool that for a second Scully wondered if Stella had known all along, had eavesdropped on the phone call last week. She searched Stella’s face for some emotion - forgiveness or fury, anything other than the punishing granite wall of indifference suddenly being erected inches from her nose, limiting her view of all else.

Scully glanced at Dani, swallowed, squeezed her lips together before she spoke.

“I - I got a call from my work and I can’t extend the leave any longer so--”

“Always… hard to see a... friend go after a long visit,” Dani said, turning to Stella, unsure what exactly was going on but perceptive enough to know she should take Stella’s side.

“Mm. Excuse me, this wine is abominable,” Stella said. “I’m going to talk them into coughing up some liquor. Anyone?”

And Scully had no choice but to let her go.

Scully found Stella ten minutes later in a screen-porch-faded bathroom with chipping yellow paint. Familiar in the manner of a fever dream, more unwanted and disorienting for each recognizable reference point - a pallid iteration of the psych ward restroom in which Stella’s consolation had begun their friendship. Stella leaned on the sink with fighters’ fists, blister red with white spots at the bones, staring with chilling remove into the ceramic basin. Scully’s instinctive relief at not finding Stella in hysterics quickly transformed into the panic of finding this instead. She glanced uneasily at the walls, as though to make sure they wouldn’t close in on her.

“Stella -”

How many times had she said her name like that tonight, trying to get to more? So many it was starting to seem detached from Stella the person. A word became meaningless and foreign if you said it enough.

Stella held a hand up and caught her eye in the mirror a moment and then a toilet flushed. A waitress emerged from one of the stalls and embarrassed, fumbled through the hand-washing process. Stella’s stare was unforgiving and lasted the duration, and Scully waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to absorb the awkwardness with micro movements.

“Lock the door,” Stella said when they were finally alone.

“What if someone has to --”

“I said lock it.”

“I’m sorry,” Scully said as she flipped the bolt. It was heavy and hard to push, left a line in the middle of the pad of her finger. The irritation she was beginning to feel in reaction to Stella’s behavior was something of a relief. Anything to avoid the self-reproach she’d been bearing up under all day. “It’s not like I want to leave you. But I have to unless I’m going to, I don’t know, move here.”

Stella’s glare set into her like a machete, cleaved her right between the eyes.

“You think I care if you go? I care that you just made me look like an idiot.”

“You don’t care if I go?”

“Don’t be a cliché.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t want to stay but you don’t want me to let you go either.”

“I just… I didn’t know where this was going… and my life…”

“It’s not going anywhere,” Stella snapped.

Scully licked her lower lip and swallowed, trying not to cry.

“Well, that’s what I assumed.”

“I sound angry but I don’t mean to. I don’t like surprises.”

Observing Stella’s process of calming herself was one of the more disconcerting experiences Scully could summon to mind, on par with the mid-ride plateau of a rollercoaster, helpless between two loops, listening to the engine click and collect the momentum it needed to throw you off the next drop.

“I don’t want anything to go anywhere,” Stella said, gaze softening but not warming, falling like sleet into the sink. Scully followed it, gripped the drain with her eyes before it could swallow her.

“You haven’t been happy having me here?”

“That’s the present. You’re talking about the future.”

“You know, this is a version of the same conversation we had fifteen years ago after the first night we spent alone together,” Scully said.

“Maybe we’re fools for needing to have it again.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had it in the first place.”

Stella scoffed.

“Come on, Dana. What? And just been together?” She looked at Scully. “You wouldn’t have had any of your life with Mulder, your child.”

“I lost them anyway.”

One of Stella’s eyes flinched and she licked her bottom lip, swallowed whatever bit of gloss she’d picked up there. She turned back to the sink.

“Well, I guess I make for a decent consolation prize.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Scully said, “and you know it.” She hated the way her voice sounded, wounded and will-less.

“You speak to Mulder recently?” Stella asked and ran her tongue in front of her teeth.

“Yes. Why?”

Stella tossed off a look that landed like a punch in the chest.

“Don’t you dare,” Stella said and her voice rattled like a stick.

“Dare what?” Scully finally asked. But Stella didn’t answer because she knew Scully knew. Don’t you dare pretend he’s beside the point.

Cold air suddenly puffed from the vent overhead. Scully crossed her arms and shivered with the recognition that she was taking part in an overreaction. She had made many fights in her life worse this way, by trying to manufacture the end before it had lived its natural course, diminishing a drama before it had played out its denouement.

“Listen. I don’t know what you want from me,” she said. “What was my alternative here?”

“Bring it up sooner.”

“And then what? You would’ve said stay, quit your job, move to England, and we’ll go to a party next week? You’ve had this thing on your mind for days. It would’ve ruined it.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Scully took a step closer and Stella stepped back.

“Let’s talk about this later when we’re calm,” Scully said, reaching for her. Stella swatted her arms back out of reach.

“Let me be,” she said.

Scully looked at her feet as Stella edged past her, avoiding her like the pit of a natural disaster. The thought of staying in this bathroom one second longer than necessary was unbearable. The thought of not following Stella out made her feel lost and scared and alone in a foreign country in a way she had not felt switching trains on complicated tube lines, not felt getting lost on runs around ungridded alleyways of gory murderers.

She spent the hour rationalizing and emerged hungry and thirsty and calm, her tailbone sore from the plastic toilet bowl cover seat. This would blow over quickly. She and Stella had been through too much. There were advantages to spending most of your life arguing every day with someone you loved. You knew what to do with an hour alone in the bathroom. (Not that Mulder had ever given her an hour alone in her life.)

The lights had gone darker, the crowd had grown louder and there was music she didn’t recall noticing before. She searched the room for Stella’s golden head, eager to make things right. The bar came into view as the crowd parted and Scully stopped short, felt a few bodies stiffen and pile behind her. A couple drops of something cold splashed her calves. People doled apologies or sought them but she didn’t care.

There was Stella on a high stool with an arched back and a strategically crossed leg, talking to, or rather, listening to, or rather, pretending to listen to a male officer in his thirties. Bored and sloping as the moon, leaning on one elbow over the bar, forearm waving its half empty glass of Scotch like a loose clock hand. The shoe on her crossed foot clucked on and off her heel and she was absent behind the eyes, already living in an event to come within hours, the furthest future she was capable of embracing.

Scully threw a sharp glance down at the floor, then moved forward, thinking of the courage of crime scenes past. She tried to imagine the comfort of a flashlight in hand, a gun in its holster, a walkie promising backup.

Stella looked at her as though she were one of the cocktail waitresses carrying substandard table wine and she might as well have murdered her.

“Hi there,” the idiot man said, chipper, swingy, a lucky guy having a lucky night, and Scully allowed herself to hate him deeply and irrationally as she waited for Stella to introduce her. Nothing.

“I’m going to head back to the flat,” Scully said at last.

“I’ll be there eventually. Few more things I want to do here.”

He beamed with pride, the man did, in the periphery of Scully’s view; he was that thing she meant to do! But Stella ignored him for the time being, fixed Scully with a hunter’s stare, eyes empty as the viewfinder of a rifle, Scully filling in the space between the crosshairs, fur up on the back of her neck under a string of pearls. She felt Stella’s focus sharpen, watched her trigger finger wiggle around her glass. And Scully turned while she could still get out alive, bolted through the human foliage of widows and revelers toward the exit.

There was comfort in the predictability of it: Stella going home with some random man to escape reality. Scully managed mostly to put the details of it out of her mind and wondered instead what her role here was, what Stella would be expecting of her. This, she thought, was as apt a description of love as any – wanting to give another person exactly what they expected of you, even when they weren’t looking, even when you were furious with them.

She’d left her shoes in two different spots on the staircase, clothes in three distinct heaps. She’d hidden her phone from herself, hoped she’d had enough to drink on an empty stomach to fall for it, then cried and taken a shower and sipped wine from an open bottle. Not knowing what else to do, she’d resorted to tackling the contents of two junk drawers and a spice rack on the kitchen floor. She’d done this with Mulder sometimes too, reorganized his (overbearing, overwhelming) spaces in their home and office. It made her feel closer to him then, and to Stella now, trying to safe-crack her logic from the inside out, determine why one thing was on the same shelf as the next, or why condoms were in the kitchen at all (though not wonder too hard). It took a great deal of energy she would have otherwise used on self-pity to frame things the way Stella would, distinguish complex system from misplaced item; everything with Stella fell into one or the other of those categories.

It wasn’t until she heard the thick poplin-gabardine swish of uniform sleeves in the foyer that she realized that Stella might view the innards of cabinets splayed across the hard grey floor as a provocation. But it was too late to undo what she’d already undone, so she kept her eyes on the bottle of cardamom, weeded out a yellow potato chip clip, thought of Stella wiping her hands on a pair of overpriced sweatpants while closing a bag of kettle chips she’d stash in a corner behind the red wine.

She slumped a little deeper, expecting any minute to hear strident stilettos making their way to the fridge, to feel Stella’s triumphant glare on the back of her head. She braced herself for the smells, the sights, the evidence of spite-sex. It was Stella’s right to go home with whomever she wanted, with or without the impetus of a fight. Scully had never asked her for any sort of exclusivity. She was good at not asking people for what they couldn’t give, but bad at accepting the fact that they didn’t offer it up.

But there was something other than gloating triumph going on. Stella stood still under the arc that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. A truce had arrived, or at least, it was within Scully’s power to provide one. Scully picked up a plastic container of rainbow nonpareils and shook them weakly.

“What are these for?”

“Ice cream. Fairy bread.”

A smile ached across Scully’s teeth.

“Fairy bread? How am I supposed to keep arguing with you when you say stuff like that?”

“I’m sorry. It was rude to send you off that way,” Stella said. What she didn’t say was for fucking somebody else.

Scully put one hand on the floor and pressed herself up to stand. The eye makeup hadn’t budged, of course, and the lips were red from rubbing rather than taupe from painting, but the cheeks were splotchy, and the bottom rims of her eyes sagged until the red part showed, as though they’d been stretched beyond repair. She wondered where Stella could have cried. Surely not in the presence of that strange man. In his bathroom? The cab ride home? On some street corner between here and there, hiding in a shadow with her palms pressed into a row of brick? Her heart sizzled like an antacid dropped into a glass - sadness competing with jealousy and anger. Mulder had never tried or tested her in this particular way. The first time they’d had sex, or maybe sooner, she got his undying faithfulness in return. She’d only ever lost him to ideas, thoughts, to himself, never to another person.

The uniform skirt was wrinkled at the hips and the blouse sagged so that it was almost unrecognizable from this afternoon. Scully felt a twinge of sadness remembering how the day had started; stiff fabric and affectionate glances, innuendo in a foyer mirror.

“I didn’t expect you to be sorry,” Scully said.

“That’s two of us then.”

Scully rolled a row of unsharpened pencils that were waiting to be organized on the counter. They seemed so clean and useful absent the frustrated chewing marks she was accustomed to finding in her and Mulder’s office. Stella found other things to sink her teeth into.

“It’s your prerogative,” Scully said.

“I know that. But you’re standing there looking at me like that and it makes me want to die.”

Something in the phrase or in Stella’s voice resembled a distant generic concept of couplehood. This was how most people behaved. They belonged somewhere at a certain time of night, they were sorry when they weren’t in that place, other people who expected them in that place got jealous, everyone felt guilty. That was what a relationship was… wasn’t it? How could she have gotten to this point in her life and not known?

“Maybe we could go to therapy,” she said and almost laughed at herself. Somewhere she’d heard people talk like this. “You know, figure it out.”

Stella looked at her with something like gentle reproach. Or sympathy. Or pity. Or apology. Whatever it was, it was not cruelty.

“But you’ve come so far,” Scully said, turning her face away, giving in, letting it fold like a pile of shirts on her shoulder.

“Please don’t ask me to come any further.”

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

#wtid #myfic #stella and scully #stella and mulder #MSR fic

133 notes · View notes

nomorelonelydays · 7 years ago

Text

Vegas thing, part 9

(Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

(My hockey blog, my AO3)

Somewhere over the middle of the Atlantic, Zhenya sits in a darkened aircraft cabin, watching a movie mostly to try and quiet his mind. The other people around him are asleep, and he wants to be. His eyes feel gritty and his temples are throbbing, but he keeps watching uptight English people who do a lot of running around in long white dresses and staring longingly across rooms. He doesn’t remember much of it but one phrase lodges itself in his brain and keeps echoing over and over.

“I am half agony, half hope,” the male lead writes in a letter to the very sweet lady he should have been kissing two thirds of a movie ago.

Yes, Zhenya thinks. Exactly like that.

Walking into the terminal at McCarran International doesn’t feel real. Magnitogorsk to Moscow, Moscow to New York. New York to Las Vegas. Zhenya’s been traveling more than 30 hours, thanks to some nasty layovers. Reality feels like it’s warping and twisting out of shape. He pays attention to what’s happening around him in International Arrivals as he comes down the tunnel, though. He always does, and it’s always worth it.

Three women in saris hug each other, crying. With happiness he hopes. A gaggle of tow-headed children wave around a glittery sign proclaiming “WELcome HoME Uncle MIke!!!!” A young couple makes out in the middle of the terminal floor, the girl’s bags scattered around their feet where she dropped them. People crane their necks, searching for loved ones from far away as passengers trickle in from customs. It’s beautiful.

Zhenya gets frightfully maudlin when he’s this exhausted.

He pauses for a moment to rub his face, trying to wake up. He needs to figure out which fucking carousel his flight’s luggage is on, he needs to call a taxi or something, he needs—

“G!”

Zhenya turns, and there he is. Sid. Walking towards Zhenya still in his tight black T-shirt from work, little gold name badge still pinned to his chest. He looks as tired as Zhenya feels, face drawn and grey.

He’s still the best thing Zhenya’s ever seen, and he opens his arms.

They collide and just kind of, sag into each other. Zhenya wraps his arms tightly around Sid, and breathes in the smell of his hair— stale perfume and cigarette smoke from the casino, cheap shampoo underneath. And even that’s wonderful, too.

Sid’s got his arms locked tightly around Zhenya’s waist and Zhenya feels him take in a deep, shuddering breath that means he’s trying not to cry. Zhenya doesn’t fucking care, his own eyes are already wet. He’s so fucking tired, and Sid’s here in his arms, and just—

“Come on,” Sid says roughly, extricating himself, and taking Zhenya’s carry on bag from him. “Let’s go home.”

Zhenya can’t believe his ears. “I’m go home? With you?”

Sid looks suddenly uncertain. “Um, uh. I mean, I guess you’re probably gonna book a suite or something, sorry, where—”

“No! No, just happy. Want to be with you,” Zhenya blurts hurriedly.

Sid smiles, just a little. “My place, it isn’t much. But, if you want, I want to be with you, too.” He appears to gather himself, before reaching out and threading his fingers through Zhenya’s. Quickly, as if he’s worried Zhenya might not want him to. “Let’s go get your luggage.” And he starts off, tugging lightly at Zhenya to follow. Zhenya fervently hopes he isn’t dreaming.

Sid glances back, and must catch sight of the silly grin splitting Zhenya’s face. He grips their hands together even tighter. “Missed you, G.”

“Me too,” Zhenya manages. “Miss you most. Agony,” he adds, remembering the movie on the plane. Sid blushes and it’s good to see color on his pale face.

“Come on.” And Zhenya lets Sid take him where they need to go.

Zhenya doesn’t remember much of the drive to Sid’s apartment. It’s a blur of glittering lights sliding by the car windows. He gets a dim impression of a tiny shoebox of a place, with Legos all over the living room floor. He showers, because he feels unbelievably gross. The smell of the soap is exactly what he’s smelled on Sid’s skin before. He pauses in the hallway after, his entire body crying out for sleep, but, where? Sid comes in from the kitchen, arms folded nervously.

“There’s the couch,” Sid says. “But, also. My room.”

“Whatever you want, Sid,” Zhenya says gently. Sid’s shoulders slump.

“With me,” he says, and they look at each other for a moment, before Zhenya sways a little with exhaustion and Sid leads him back to his bedroom. Zhenya blacks out as soon as his head hits the pillows.

He wakes up disoriented, with no idea where he is. The heavy arm slung across his waist jogs his memory, though. Sid.

The room is pitch dark, no way to tell what time it is. He has no idea where his phone is, either. But he’s being aggressively spooned and he’s so elated by it that he grins into the darkness and buries his face happily into his pillow.

Due to their height difference, Sid has his face buried somewhere in the region of Zhenya’s shoulder blades, Zhenya lays as still as possible and tries to enjoy everything about this. The soft sounds of Sid’s breathing, the heavy solidity of him against Zhenya’s lankier body. The way his hold tightens a little when Zhenya shifts.

It scares the shit out of him when Sid snuffles a little and says, very clearly, “Sorry, alligators are illegal”, and then, a moment later, “match penalty.” He then resumes the deep, even breathing of sleep, and Zhenya lies there with his heart racing, warmly endeared and a tiny bit unsettled.

It’s less funny when, a few minutes later, Sid murmurs, “Avery. S’ok, bud. S’ok” and burrows even further into Zhenya, as though unconsciously seeking comfort. Zhenya lays his hand over Sid’s, and feels his heart ache.

Eventually, however, an almighty need to piss presents itself. Zhenya regretfully has to disentangle himself from Sid’s arms. He manages to find the bedroom door without crashing into anything, and carefully eases out into the hall.

When he makes it to the kitchen after, the clock on the microwave is blinking 4:48 am. It’s roughly a 12 hour time difference, no wonder he’s wide awake. He doesn’t want to rummage in Sid’s cupboards without asking, so luckily he finds a glass in a dish rack by the sink. He sips water from it slowly, leaning against the counter and gazing out of the little window above the sink at the strange, dingy orange glow of the sky. It never gets properly dark here, too many bright city lights, and it traps Vegas in a surreal false dawn all night.

His bags are by the door, so he digs out his phone, which is dead, and his charger. It bleeps a little hysterically with accumulated texts once the screen lights up. He stretches out as best he can on the smallish sofa and prepares to deal with them. First in importance are the ones from his mother, who is demanding to know if he’s arrived alive or not. He texts her that he’s fine, and that he’s staying with Sid. His phone rings almost immediately.

“Mama,” he whispers as soon as he picks up. “Do you have any idea what time it is here?”

“No, is it late?” she asks, not sounding very sorry.

“Try very, very early,” he replies. “And no, you can’t talk to Sid, he’s asleep.”

“Who says I wanted to talk to Sidney?” she sniffs. “Maybe I wanted to hear my son’s voice.”

“Mama,” Zhenya sighs.

That’s when Sid appears in the doorway, sleep-rumpled and blinking in the light of the lamp Zhenya had switched on.

“Shit!” Zhenya says, then, “No, not you Mama, just a minute.” He takes the phone away from his ear. “Sid. So sorry. I’m wake you up?”

“No, no worries. I don’t sleep so well these days, “ Sid says, and rubs at his eyes. FIX IT! FIX IT! Zhenya’s heart screams at him. If only he could.

“It’s my mama,” Zhenya explains. “Want to know I’m arrive safe.”

Sid smiles sweetly at that, “That’s great, G.”

“Sidney?” says his mother’s voice, tinny but loud enough to be heard without being on speaker. Zhenya rolls his eyes.

“You her favorite,” he tells Sid, who looks taken aback.

“Why?”

“I’m go home because of you,” Zhenya says. Sid flinches.

“Because I broke up with you.”

“No— well, little bit. But I’m go home because you make me want to be better person. Fix with family.”

“G,” Sid breathes, eyes wide. Zhenya reaches a hand out for him, and Sid comes to sit on the edge of the couch. Zhenya presses the button to put the phone on speaker.

“Mama? He can hear you.”

“Sidney,” his mother says warmly. “Darling. Thank you for being so good for my son.”

“Uh, hello Mrs. Malkin. It’s nice to meet you,” Sid replies stiffly. He’s got his hands folded in his lap like he’s a damn student in the principal’s office, and Zhenya needs to end this call so he can kiss him senseless. “What— what did she say?” Sid continues nervously.

“She say thank you.”

“I hope your little boy gets well soon. Let my Zhenya take care of you.”

“She say, hope Avery get better. Also, let me take care of you.”

Sid looks stunned, and then after he blinks a few times, Zhenya catches the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. “Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Malkin. Uh, spa— spasibo.” That’s too much, and Zhenya has to lean over to kiss his cheek.

“You’re so welcome, sweetheart. Zhenya, he sounds lovely.”

“He is,” Zhenya says. Then, to Sidney: “She say you welcome, say you sound most nice.” Even in the low lamplight, he can see Sidney’s blush. “Like I said, Mama, it’s heinously early.”

“Go!” She laughs. “Go be with your man. I want pictures. Or to Skype later. So does your father. Keep us posted on how Avery’s doing.”

“Fine, fine,” Zhenya says. “Take care, Mama. Love you.”

“Love you too, Zhenya.”

He ends the call, and hug-tackles Sid into the sofa immediately. Sid laughs, and between the kisses Zhenya’s raining all over his face and neck asks: “What— what did she— please, G. What did she call you? At the end there.”

Zhenya raises himself on his elbows to look down at Sid. “Zhenya. It’s short name. Like Sasha for Alexander. Family, good friends call.”

Sid frowns a little. “Zhen-ya. Zhenya. That’s really nice.”

Zhenya buries his face in Sid’s neck because he isn’t quite ready for Sid to see the expression he’s currently wearing. “Can call me. Sounds good.”

He feels Sid card his fingers through Zhenya’s hair. “Zhenya.” The single word comes out warm and meaningful. Zhenya kisses him again, hard, lingering. Cheek, lips, neck. Sid sighs in pleasure when Zhenya moves to the spot just below his ear.

Zhenya lays his head on Sid’s chest, and they’re still for a moment then, resting just like that. Sid’s hand tangled in Zhenya’s hair and Zhenya listening to the even beat of Sid’s heart beneath his thin sleep shirt.

“My mom— “ Sid says, and falters. “My parents. When Avery was born, they were so angry with me. I was so young, it was an accident. My decision to keep him instead of putting him up for adoption made them furious. But he’s my son. I wouldn’t give him up for the world. It just…was nice. Your mom. How sweet she was. How she mentioned Avery.”

“She’s best,” Zhenya says, keeping his tone light but roiling with righteous anger inside. “Sid best, too.“

“Charmer,” Sid scoffs, but he’s smiling, Zhenya can hear it in his voice. They lay there quietly for a bit longer.

“I need to leave to see Avery at seven. Come with me?” Sid says at last.

“Of course, Sid. Of course. We go together.”

#Vegas bunny au #not written by me #submission #AAAAAAAAAAAAAA MY HEART #sidgeno

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lpdwillwrite4coffee · 5 years ago

Text

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Serena stormed through the office door with enough force to splinter the frame. “You stupid fucking child,” she shouted.

Nicholas blinked at her over his glass of malt whiskey. “Pardon?”

Stilettos crunched over wood chips. “You sent one of your packs to Onyx.”

“Yes.” Nicholas lowered his tumbler and leaned back. “And why is that any concern of yours?”

Serena shook with rage. “You fucked it up,” she snarled. “You fucked everything up. You ruined it!”

“By doing my job?” Nicholas rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can see how that would be absolutely awful for you.”

“You don’t understand,” Serena muttered. She paced in long strides, fingers yanking her blonde hair at the scalp. “This was supposed to work. It had to work.”

Nicholas scowled. “What’s the matter with you? Are you having some kind of nervous breakdown?”

“You sent your pack into a club full of Hunters, Nicholas,” Serena yelled, whirling to face him. “Fifty of your strongest, gone.”

“What?”

She stopped, curling her lip at him. “Every Hunter from all five boroughs was there. You sent your people into a fucking death trap.”

“How do you know any of this?”

“Because I was there, you idiot!”

Whiskey splattered across the polished desk, soaking through papers, as Nicholas leapt from his chair. In a blur he had Serena by the throat, pinning her against the sharp edges of his bookshelf.

“Why were you there?” He growled inches from her face. “Did Alexander send you to keep tabs on me? On my people?”

Serena choked on saliva trapped at the back of her mouth. “No,” she wheezed.

“Don’t lie to me, kitten,” he mocked through gritted teeth.

Renewed fury coursed through her and Serena elbowed him in the face, knocking loose from his hold. She landed a solid kick to the center of his chest, sending him flying. Heavy oak cracked like cork board as he crashed into his desk, splitting it in half. Serena pounced, fisting a handful of his hair and twisting, blood spurting from the ripping head wound. Her other hand locked under his jaw, fingers like talons as she dug her nails into soft flesh. The scent of copper filled her nose and she bared her fangs.

“You narrow minded imbecile,” she hissed in his ear. “Don’t you understand? Alexander is going to kill me. Once his precious Caroline is sired, he’s going to turn me to ash.” Pulling back to lock her gaze on Nicholas’, she continued. “Tonight was my only chance to get back into his good graces, and your petty vendetta against a blood dealer took that from me. You selfish fuck.”

“This is because of O’Connor?” Nicholas mumbled through bloody lips.

The backs of her eyes stung. “Alexander thinks I’m worthless now. I’ve been sullied…”

Nicholas regarded her, expression unreadable. His blood started to dry under her fingernails. Finally, he spoke.

“What if I help you?” His voice dropped below a whisper.

Serena frowned. “Why would you want to help me?”

Something sparked in Nicholas’ eyes. “Because I don’t trust Alexander. I think he’s keeping secrets from us. Things that could destroy everything we’ve worked for.” He shifted forward, broken furniture moving beneath him. “I’ll help you get O’Connor, but it won’t be to appease the ruthless sensibilities of our Sire.”

Serena thought for a moment, studying his face. He was offering her a way out- a method of survival. Maybe even more than that.

“And what would I have to do in return?” She asked, her grip loosening a fraction.

Nicholas smiled sweetly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face. “What you’re best at,” he murmured. “Just pretend.”

His hand skipped to the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking her pale cheek.

“You aren’t sullied Serena,” he whispered. Pushing himself up, he inched closer, nosing into the space between them until their lips grazed with each breath. “You’re not his house cat,” Nicholas said, running his hand along her neck. “You’re a creature of insurmountable power. Don’t you want to show him what that power can do when it’s unleashed?”

She did.

“You help me, I’ll help you,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Quid pro quo.”

Nicholas grinned. “Then we have an accord.”

* * *

Nikki stared at a strip of exposed brick above the kitchen cabinets, memorizing the pockmarks and grooves. They’d made it home half an hour ago and she’d spent the time sitting in silence, barely hearing the conversation around her. At some point Lisa had given into exhaustion and gone upstairs. Boz had followed a few minutes later, mentioning a shower before trying his hand at some computer work. It all sounded like garbled syllables to Nikki.

Griffin stayed in the kitchen, downing glass after glass of water. He was waiting for something- for the right moment to speak, or for her to do the talking.

But the words were rough pebbles caught at the back of her throat. So Griffin kept waiting.

She felt him staring at her, and the sensation infuriated her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, voice gentle.

The pebbles turn to embers, scorching her windpipe. She only blinked.

“Nikki?” He set his glass down on the counter, taking a step forward. “Hey, is everything-?”

“I know who she is Griffin.” Nikki’s mouth tasted of soot. “I know about Serena.”

Griffin blanched. He stared at her in mute panic, lips apart. He wasn’t breathing.

Swallowing, Nikki continued. “She was at the club tonight. In the ladies’ room. She started talking to me, I recognized her voice, and that’s when… that’s when I saw she was wearing Kaelin’s shoes.” She paused to take a fortifying breath. “She introduced herself, and then said ‘tell our boy I said hello’. And when I went to get cleaned up after the fight, she’d written ‘Ask him about me’ on the bathroom mirror.”

Nikki watched as Griffin’s chest started to rise again. He leaned back, pressing his palms flat into the counter top, supporting his weight with weak arms.

When she was certain he wasn’t going to collapse, she said, “You told me you didn’t know her. I asked you… that day in my apartment. I asked if you knew who she was.” The ache from his betrayal cut into her words. “You lied to me.”

Griffin’s head hung from his neck, chin tucked and eyes closed. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I did.”

Anger snapped inside her like elastic. “So you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth?”

“No, that’s not…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you Nikki, it’s that…”

“What?” She interrupted. “It’s complicated? ‘Cause I’ve been dealing with complicated for the last three days, and I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job so far.”

His shoulders sagged. “I know you have. I know…” Blinking, he glanced up through his lashes. “Nikki, I didn’t tell you because… I haven’t told anybody about Serena.”

His gaze fell to the floor, lips trembling as he attempted to speak. It took several tries before his words were audible.

“A year ago, I was at my worst.” He swallowed. “I, uh, I was having trouble controlling my gift, and things… things were bad. Really bad.” He paused, biting the corner of his mouth. “Every night I would stare at my gun, and think… how easy it would be to just…” His voice cracked, and he trailed off. “But I couldn’t do it. I’d think about Boz, or Lisa, finding me and… I couldn’t do that to them.”

He jerked his head, trying to shake off the memories. Personal ghosts, clinging to his flesh, holding him hostage.

His demeanor shifted to bitter irritation. “I still wanted to die though. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Nothing reached me. I popped pills by the handful and snorted everything in sight just to feel something. And none of it worked.” A tight, cold grin curved his lips. “That didn’t mean I stopped trying though.”

Griffin shifted his weight, digging the heels of his palms into the edge of the counter. He wanted to look at Nikki, but the thought of seeing any kind of disdain in her expression gutted him. So he stared at a table leg and continued.

“I’d been on a week-long bender of coke and booze and pills the night I met Serena. I was so strung out, I was surprised I could stay upright on a bar stool, let alone talk to anybody. And then out of nowhere… she was right next to me, chatting away as if she didn’t know I was so high I was in the stratosphere, and… I liked her.” The admission burned his insides, causing his voice to go hoarse and his eyes to water.

“I knew what she was. I knew she was a Vampire, and I just… didn’t care. I figured, if she killed me, so what?” He shrugged. “It wasn’t like I was really living anyway.

“So I went home with her. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than emptiness.” He closed his eyes. Inhaled. “I knew it was wrong for a Hunter and a Vampire to be together… Not only that, but it was insulting to both parties. To other Vampires, she was slumming it, and as for me… She was a thing I’d sworn to kill. And instead I was keeping her bed warm. That kind of betrayal to my people? That would have cut deeper than anything imaginable.” Guilt pressed his shoulders down, hunching his back. “And I didn’t care.”

Griffin raked his fingers through his hair, resting his hand on the back of his neck. He didn’t wait too long before continuing, afraid if he stopped, he may never finish.

“When I was with her, I didn’t feel numb anymore. I felt… angry. I was mad all the time. I was mad at her for talking to me that night, mad at myself for going home with her, mad at the Underground for having rules and expectations.” He glared at the floor. “I hated everyone and everything, and most of all I hated myself, but I just couldn’t give her up… because, even though everything I felt was so awful, at least I felt.

“I used her, and she used me, and we stayed locked in a twisted codependency for seven months. But then something happened, something clicked. I thought, maybe I could fix myself. Maybe… I could do better. So I tried.” His right shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. “It was slow going. I had a lot of setbacks. But then one day I realized I was happy. I was sitting right there,” he said, gesturing to his spot at the kitchen table. “Having a cup of coffee and Boz made some joke and I laughed. And then I kept laughing ‘cause it finally hit me that I could feel more than just hatred again.”

A shy smile spread across his face and he blinked away tears.

“That night I went to see Serena. It was just like it’d always been; only as I was falling asleep I realized I cared about what I was doing. I cared about the people I was hurting by staying with her. So the next morning I broke it off with her.” He swallowed hard. “And a week later she tried to kill me.”

“The scar on your side,” Nikki whispered, voice trembling. “Was that…”

Griffin nodded. “Yeah. She stabbed me, and then let a pack of Newborns loose on me.” His thumb traced one of the long scars down his forearm. “Then she set the place on fire.”

“Oh my God.”

He smirked coldly at the floor. “Serena was always one for theatrics.”

“Lisa and Boz… they don’t know?”

“All they know is, I was stabbed and attacked by Vampires. They don’t know who did it. They don’t know… any of this.”

He heard her chair scrape against the hardwood, and the light taps of her footsteps. His heart kicked behind his ribs and he slammed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the disgust on her face. The disappointment, the hatred…

“Griffin?”

Her voice was soft, too soft, he didn’t deserve for her to be so-

Nikki’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “Griffin?”

His chest burned, lungs trying to expand but unable to take in air. Tears welled behind closed eyelids. His whole body shook. He was coming undone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.”

Nikki squeezed, giving silent reassurance. “Will you open your eyes? Please?” Her thumb pressed gently against his pulse point. “Griffin, look at me.”

He didn’t know how, but he found the strength to lift his eyelids. Nikki stared at him, not like a broken thing to be pitied, but like something that was still healing. Something to be treated with care. It was an overwhelming amount of compassion, so acutely focused on him, he ached from it.

“Nikki,” he started, choking on the apology clawing at his throat.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m not mad. Not anymore.”

He wanted to laugh. “How are you not mad?”

“Because… this hurt you too,” she said. “Your secret. You didn’t lie to me to be cruel. You did it… because you were scared.”

Griffin’s eyes fluttered closed again. He was still scared. There was no past tense.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…” He faltered, trying to inhale. “I should have put a bullet in her when I had the chance. I just… I couldn’t.” Blinking, he cautioned a glance at Nikki. “In a sick way, she kept me alive. I guess I thought I owed her.” He forced the words out and was exhausted by the effort.

“It’s okay,” Nikki whispered.

“It’s not.”

Her grip tightened, warmth seeping into his bones. “It is,” she said, voice firmer. “Griffin, you’re not responsible for her actions. What happened to Kaelin… it wasn’t your fault. I know I said it was, that night in the parking lot, but I was wrong. I should have never blamed you.”

He stared down at her, mesmerized. “How are you able to trust me, after all of this?”

“Because I’ve seen how hard you try.” Her eyes never left his. “I’ve seen you be the good man you think you aren’t.”

Griffin’s stomach trembled, nervous energy rushing through him. He was breathing in quick bursts, his mouth dry. He wanted to move closer, to lean down to her, but he was frozen.

Nikki inched forward, sliding her foot between his to slowly close the distance. Her hand grazed his elbow, then his bicep, leaving a trail of heat wherever she touched. When her palm rested in the crook of his neck, he shuddered, arching into her. He lowered his eyelids, tiny sparks skipping under his skin as she lifted onto her tiptoes and tugged him towards her.

What little breath he had in his lungs was stolen the moment her lips brushed his. She was tender, kissing him with devastating gentleness. Her warmth filtered through his cracks, finding the bruises he’d hid for so long, soothing their ache.

She angled him closer, deepening the kiss. She was proving his worth to him. It lit a fire in him, his blood thundering in his ears. Griffin wrapped his arms around her waist, hauling her up the length of his body. Her fingers sank into his hair, sending shivers down his back. He wanted- needed- to be closer.

Without warning he hooked his arms behind her knees, hoisting her up and spinning so she was sat on the counter. She gasped against his mouth, clutching his shoulders. Afraid of crowding her, Griffin kept some space between them, despite her knees digging into his waist, urging him forward.

She’d seen his ugliness, and wasn’t disgusted. She still wanted him.

The sum of his broken parts started to feel worth something again.

Griffin wanted to show her the depth of his love. Wanted her to know how much her acceptance meant to him. So he did, the only way he knew how. By pulling back.

Breaking the kiss, Griffin rested his forehead against hers, gasping in little breaths. Nikki still held him- one hand around his neck, the other pressed against his side. Her cheeks flushed pink and Griffin wanted to be the cause of that delicate hue for the rest of their lives.

Nikki smiled, brushing her nose against his. “That was…”

Griffin nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Allowing himself to run one hand down her back, tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair, he flattened his other hand against the cabinet above their heads. Nikki tipped forward, catching his lips in a briefer kiss that still made his heart thud behind his sternum.

Stroking his jaw, Nikki’s expression turned serious. Locking her gaze on his, she said, “Griffin, can you promise me something?”

Nodding, he mentally batted away the fear threatening to ice over the newfound warmth in his body.

“I trust you,” Nikki started. “But I can’t be kept in the dark anymore, about anything. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I just need you to promise… no more lies, okay?”

Ducking his head, Griffin brushed his lips over hers. “I promise,” he murmured, before pressing into the kiss and making it real. He swallowed and nodded again.

“I promise.”

* * *

Sleep was impossible. Griffin had decided that the second Nikki said goodnight, shutting her bedroom door. His bedroom door. Nikki was in his bed, nestled amongst his blankets and pillows. They’d start to smell like her, like both of them, together…

Griffin blinked down at the book in his lap. He hadn’t even finished the first chapter, his thoughts still clinging to the way his lips fit against hers.

“Geez,” he muttered. “Am I a sap, or what?”

But that didn’t stop the smile playing at the corners of his mouth from broadening.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him out of another daydream.

“Hello?”

“Griffin? It’s John.”

“Hey, John.” He kept his voice low and checked the clock hanging on the wall. “You’re calling kinda late aren’t you? Er, well, early I guess…” He forgot five am was technically morning.

He heard John sigh. “Forgive me. I wasn’t thinking, calling this early… I can call back later-”

“No, it’s alright,” he said. “I was up anyway. What’s going on?”

“I understand this is a bit inconvenient,” John started. “But would it be possible to meet?”

“Now?”

“As soon as possible, yes.”

Griffin frowned, unfolding himself from his leather armchair. “Uh, sure. I’ll wake Nikki-”

“Perhaps…” There was a noise of hesitation before John finished. “Maybe it would be best if it were just you and I.”

Griffin’s stomach lining turned to sandpaper. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ll do my best to explain in person. See you soon.”

The call ended with a click, and Griffin stared at his phone in bewilderment.

He thought about waking Nikki anyway, if only to explain where he was going, but after the night she’d had she needed rest. He’d tell her everything when he got back.

Over omelets and coffee, he thought, smiling as and headed downstairs, grabbing his coat off the rack.

#Children of Lilith #free novels for pandemic times #free fiction #my work #my writing #honestly this is one of my favorite chapters

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