#sorry about the ask earlier I don’t use tumbler often or at all
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I want two boyfriends, and I want my boyfriends to be boyfriends <3
Hello!! I wanted to say thank you so much for writing Faeful hearts, it always brightens up my day to see that it has updated :) I hope these silly doodles can brighten up your day back!! ::3
Oh! Right also have this doodle of chica!! I am very curious as to what her non sprite form looks like!! (Fun fact: I also drew Roxy but I didn’t like the drawing as much so- Chica is rambling to herself!! Born to gossip, forced to randomly squawk in a grey void)
#submission#this is my first time tagging#faeful hearts#aaa!! I love sun and moon sm#the world needs more fanfics of them..#did I do this post thing right?#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#please spill all your head cannons..#or just some fun facts about the cast#sorry about the ask earlier I don’t use tumbler often or at all#::3 no longer anonymous
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Overhead, the skies over Yondershire appeared a velvet cloak, smooth and soft, violet-black—the real blue-ribbon stuff of hometown poetry festivals.
Poetry is fine enough, Arlen thought, although he did like pretzels better. He chewed thoughtfully.
Night skies are also fine enough by their lonesome, especially in the Shire, especially in June. Nevertheless, how kind that someone, perhaps some celestial elf-maid, thought to spatter a million stars across the whole thing, and they even twinkled a little. It wasn’t an overt twinkle, Arlen observed, nothing too ostentatious but sort of like the way the Elbow’s Bend Inn studded their pretzels with those big crystals of salt.
They were simply better with the salt, but beyond taste and texture, there was some other quality to a coarse salted pretzel that he could not adequately describe. He continued to chew, lamenting his own lack of vocabulary: What kind of bard should have such profound difficulty describing his love for a pretzel?
While revelers milled around him and his company, the crickets purred wordlessly in the wildflowers. Suddenly seized by curiosity, Arlen looked up at the other elf who had joined them earlier, an apparent close friend of Hivallion’s whom he identified as “Gildor”, last name Something-or-other that Arlen forgot after his first ale. Their reunion was all laughing surprise and “How long has it been?” with a lot of very large numbers being bandied around and then a strange shift, smooth as the sky above, into what Arlen could only assume was their native tongue.
Arlen was never good with elven languages and he was even worse with large numbers. No no, he was better with pretzels, much better, or at least he thought he was.
“So,” he finally spoke up, now that he felt suitably merry. “Who is Hivallion, anyway?”
Gildor registered surprise, as the elf in question napped nearby, where some hens milled around a patch of black-eyed Susans, delivering the occasional curious peck.
“He is your tutor, is he not?” he replied, then smiled, as warm as the breeze circulating the garden, ruffing everyone’s hair. “Oh, I see. You want to hear the story from an old friend, eh? Well, I suppose you picked the right person to ask. I have known Hivallion since he was quite young—since I was quite young, really. We are roughly the same age, I would wager.”
“Are you really? What did he do, way back when? I mean, Did he ever do anything, uh, I dunno, adventurous...? Foolhardy?”
“Foolhardy!” Gildor laughed a little. In his hand, he balanced a half-full tumbler of scrumpy. “Well, foremost he was well known among us as a scholar, albeit one who spent most of his time out and about, if that should count as adventurous in your book. His field of interest primarily lied within our environment, especially its creatures, especially the small ones, especially those with wings. Oh, birds, butterflies, bees, bats, snails...”
Arlen stopped chewing momentarily. “Snails? Those don’t have wings.”
“No, my friend. No, not anymore, not anymore, sorry to say...”
Arlen eyed the elf’s tumbler; perhaps he too was feeling a bit too suitably merry. “Say, did he ever wear armor like that? Like yours? All shining, like the moonlight?” he asked, deftly changing the subject. “Did he ever go to battle?”
Gildor nodded. “Indeed. Well and often, though war never suited him. For certain occasions he would wear a jerkin of finely tooled calf, and over that, a breastplate of...” He took a drink as he reminisced. “...oh, it was some kind of metal scale like the belly of a fish, shining pale blue like—yes, like the moonlight, like a reflection of the full moon over the Belegaer.”
Ah. Now that was some poetry.
If only such wonderful words could somehow become applicable to the ineffability of pretzels...
“I wonder if he still has it?” said Arlen. “Reckon I’d like to see that. Maybe try it on m’self...”
“His mother likely keeps it, if Hivallion himself knows not where it is. Still, you should ask him about it. Whenever he wakes,” said Gildor, muttering as he offered his slumbering friend a spare glance. “Honestly, old as the blessed sun and he still can’t hold his drinks...”
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is that too much to ask? | tsukishima kei
— alexa, play: love somebody by lauv
I don't wanna be the one to say
That we gotta have a conversation
I don't wanna watch the tears roll down your face
Know, I hurt you, and I, I'm sorry
All I wanted was to love somebody
— synopsis: tsukishima avoids physical affection with you as often as he can, and you wonder what it is that you’re doing wrong in your relationship.
— genre: angst, happy endings, & the product of my writer’s block
— word count: 2.6k
You knew Tsukishima wasn’t the affectionate type--you knew that when you asked him out in your second year of high school. You knew that if you hugged him in front of his volleyball teammates, he’d stiffen and cringe away from your touch. It was natural for you to start reaching your arms out towards him before stopping yourself and resorting to a proud pat on the arm and a bright smile. It was to the point where even Hinata once commented that he’d never even see the two of you hug.
Now that the two of you were in university, and almost three years into your relationship, you started wondering what exactly it was about physical affection with you that Tsukishima hated so much. You started to experiment--slipping your hand into his when you walked back to your shared apartment together after his long volleyball practices, or tossing your arms around his neck in excitement after he wins a tough match. Each time, he’d react the same way. He would pull his hand from yours, or he’d put his hands on your shoulders and put some distance between the two of you.
At first, you believed it to be embarrassment. He didn’t like PDA--you could understand that. Even you had a limit to how much you could flaunt your relationship status in public. But even when the two of you were in the comfort of your apartment, you wondered why he never initiated any physical affection.
“Kei,” you whispered his name softly, and he looked up from his phone to meet your eyes. “Do you...not love me?”
He blinked, raising both brows in genuine surprise and slowly lowering his spoonful of cereal back into his bowl.
“...Are you dumb?”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes and tightening your grip on your keys.
“It’s whatever,” you murmured, pulling the front door open and not bothering to spare him a glance over your shoulder. “I’ll see you.”
You left quickly to not have to deal with the aftermath of your sudden question, the door shutting firmly behind you.
Was it selfish of you to want more proof of his love for you? Sure, there were small things. Things like how he always helped you study for your exams if he could, or how he’d make you a cup of coffee before you left because he knew you struggled with staying awake during your morning classes. You knew he loved you because of these things.
But there was always a small voice in the back of your head asking if he only did those things to drag your stagnant relationship on. For a year now, it felt as if every day was the same with him. Actions were repetitive, dates were infrequent and only occurred when you asked, and at times, each day with him felt like a clone of the previous. Which is why you started wanting to hold his hand, and melt into his warm embrace.
Your fingers tightened on your tumbler, holding the contents of your boyfriend’s love--the coffee he made you this morning.
Even at home, he would merely pet your head when you cuddled into his side on the couch. Kisses were rare unless you initiated, and he’d always tease you whenever you whined about wanting him to kiss you first. It’s not like you two never had sex either, so what was so wrong about your relationship that left you wanting more?
Your phone buzzed in your other hand, and you glanced at it briefly.
u ok?
You tucked your phone back into your pocket without replying. You never should’ve asked. Now you’ve disrupted the peace you had in your stagnant relationship.
Though, maybe it was okay to want more.
“Is it really a problem?” Kuroo sipped his drink through his straw, raising a brow in your direction. “You’ve been dating for three years. I’m more surprised that you didn’t bring this up to him earlier.”
Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the half empty tumbler, teeth gnawing anxiously at your lower lip.
“...I think I was too scared in the beginning,” you murmured.
“Mm,” your friend hummed softly in agreement. “You’ve changed. You were always affectionate before.”
You blinked, raising your gaze from the table between the two of you to meet Kuroo’s grin.
“How’d you know that? We just became friends in uni--”
“Tsukki told me,” he cut you off, and your fingers stopped tapping against your drink. “And it’s not like I don’t notice that you hug me more than you hug your boyfriend.”
“First of all, don’t say things that can be so easily misunderstood,” you tossed a crumpled up napkin at the former captain, and he quickly dodged it with a short laugh. “Second, what do you mean Kei told you? He said I used to be more--affectionate?”
This was news to you. You never thought that he would notice how you changed to make him feel more comfortable with your relationship.
It was true that towards the beginning of your relationship, you were always scared of upsetting him, so you did everything you could to change to his needs. You held back words you knew he wouldn’t want to hear, and only ever spoke up if something truly bothered you. It worked up until the end of your first year before you started opening up to him slowly. But something you could never seem to breach was Tsukishima’s habit of avoiding physical affection.
“You know how he is,” Kuroo waved his hand dismissively, “Your boyfriend’s terrible with emotions. I tell him all the time that I’m surprised you lasted so long--”
“Don’t talk badly about him like that,” you scolded your friend with a scowl, to which he snickered quietly.
“Well, you can’t deny it, can you? He sucks, but he has his good points. That’s why you’re still dating him, right?”
It was true that you couldn’t deny it. Tsukishima had many faults, and his lack of desire for physical affection was only one of them. Still, you were just as much at fault for not communicating with him out of fear that he’d leave you.
“He’s just scared, y’know,” Kuroo rested his chin in his upturned palm. “Just like you. Even after three years, he’s not used to affection. Why don’t you just talk to him instead of sulking about it to me? I feel like I might as well be the third person in your relationship with how often you two come to me about each other.”
You were quiet for a bit, swirling the now cold coffee around as you processed the thought of confronting the issues you’ve been burying for so long.
“...he’d never date you,” you finally murmured, turning your gaze out the window.
“Ah, and you would?”
You didn’t need to look up to see Kuroo’s smug smirk.
“You wish.”
But no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, there was some truth in Kuroo’s words. You had used him as a therapist far too many times, when your issues could easily be solved by confronting your fears and sitting down to talk with the man you lived with.
If only speaking to Tsukishima about your problems was as easy as it sounded.
By the time you finally gathered up the courage to even speak his name, your boyfriend was standing from the dinner table to grab your plates and heading towards the sink where his dishwashing responsibilities awaited him. The sight of his broad back seemed to glue your lips shut.
You couldn’t get the words out.
“Do you hate being touched by me?” was the first thing you wanted to ask.
“Is it wrong for me to ask for you to tell me you love me sometimes?” would probably be the second, paired with, “Can you just kiss me once in a while without complaining about it?”
It all felt so childish, even before the words left your lips. So instead, you sat frozen in your chair, gazing at your boyfriend’s back that you longed to embrace.
Slowly, you stood. Before your brain could tell you how stupid of an idea this was, your feet moved forward until you were standing just a step away from Tsukishima’s much taller form.
Your arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and you could feel the way he jolted in surprise as you rested your cheek against his warm back.
“I’m washing--”
“Do you hate me?”
Silence.
Well, that question didn’t come out as expected, though it’s not like you didn’t wonder that too.
“Don’t turn around,” you pleaded quietly over the running water. To someone else, you must’ve looked like a fool, clinging onto your boyfriend like your life depended on it while he soaped up your dirty dishes.
He granted your wish, and didn’t whirl around to pull away from your touch. Instead, he continued scrubbing at your dinner plates.
“You have until I finish washing the dishes to explain yourself,” he stated calmly, and your arms tightened around his waist. It was a demand.
“I heard...from Kuroo that you said I used to be more affectionate before we started dating,” you stammered out quickly, “If you knew that, then why do you get so stiff and push me away when I try to initiate physical affection even after we’ve been dating for three years? Do you hate being touched by me so much?”
The kitchen was quiet, now that your boyfriend was drying the dishes. His hand stopped moving robotically over the wet plates, and he slowly set them down on the counter instead. You could tell he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how. So you continued.
“I do know that you love me, Kei,” you murmured weakly, voice muffling against his shirt as you shifted to rest your forehead against his broad back instead. “I do. I know you’re always thinking of me, and I love that about you. But when you push me away, I can’t help but think that you’re just pretending to love me for the sake of convenience.”
“If I wanted convenience, I wouldn’t date you,” he mumbled under his breath, and the words stung to the point that your arms dropped from around the middle blocker’s waist.
No longer confined by your embrace, Tsukishima spun around and grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide with panic.
“Y/N wait--I didn’t mean it that--”
“You’re such an ass,” you averted your gaze from his, trying to blink away the tears that began to blur your vision.
“Listen--” his voice was frantic, but you didn’t let him continue. You were scared to hear what would come next if you did.
“I guess I was wrong, and the voice in my head is right,” you cut him off, voice trembling. “So I’ll just tell you everything that I held back since it’s all going to fall apart anyway.”
It took all your courage to turn your teary gaze back to his deceivingly sorrowful golden eyes.
“Is there something so disgusting about me that you don’t even want to hold me? Even after this many years?” you began, fully prepared to spill every one of your fears from the past three years. “Am I asking for too much when I ask you to kiss me every once in a while? Is it wrong for me to want you to just tell me you love me sometimes? Am I a bad person for thinking our relationship has become so boring because neither of us want to make the first step to try and change because we’re both scared of scaring each other away?”
You rubbed your arm against your eyes, trying to pretend like you weren’t sobbing into your sleeve. Though you’re sure you weren’t a very good actor, with the way you hiccuped and took shaky breaths between your questions.
“Did I make a mistake trying to change myself to fit your standards? Should I have never confessed to you back--”
Your voice was suddenly muffled into your boyfriend’s chest, and you gasped at the suddenness of his hug.
“Please don’t regret it,” he requested weakly, his voice trembling just as much as yours.
Those simple words were all it took for your sobs to come out freely, your shaky hands clawing upwards to grip onto Tsukishima’s t-shirt, clinging onto him as if he was the only thing keeping you grounded. It was a hug you’d been craving for ages--one he initiated. You hated that it took you throwing your heart at him for it to happen, but what were you to do?
He allowed you to cry as he continued.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he murmured into your hair. “There’s nothing wrong with what you want. I was...just scared, like you said.”
“Of what?” was what you wanted to ask. And like he read your mind, Tsukishima elaborated.
“The more I hug you, and the more kisses we share, the more I fall for you,” he whispered, as if fearful of the words he was admitting to you. “The deeper I fall, the more scared I get that you’ll leave me when you remember how bad of a boyfriend I am. I want to give you 100% of me, but at the same time, I’m too scared to do exactly that.”
Your cries were quieting down, and you took shaky breaths, inhaling his familiar scent each time. Just his embrace managed to soothe your frantic sobs.
“So I avoided anything that would make me fall too much in love with you, but it’s already too late,” he laughed bitterly, pulling back slightly so he could cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks staining your skin. Your lips pursed into a small pout, and he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “I already love you too much to let go of you, and you know it.”
“...you’re really, really not allowed to be cute right now,” you grumbled, and he laughed.
“Yeah, I could say the same to you,” he joked, leaning forward so his lips could brush over your forehead.
“...can you kiss me now?” you murmured shyly, and his grin morphed into a weak smile before his hands tilted your jaw up towards him. His lips met yours softly, and though this wasn’t your first kiss, it was the first time you’d felt this way with Tsukishima in three years.
When he pulled away, you were crying again.
“Stop crying,” he cursed, “If someone saw you right now, they’d think I was bullying you.”
You babbled something incoherent through your tears of joy, and your boyfriend’s expression softened in a way you hadn’t witnessed in what felt like years.
“You have to take responsibility, you know,” his palms cupped your jaw, pulling your teary gaze back up to his as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. “For making me fall so deeply in love with you again.”
You laughed, tears dripping down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around Tsukishima’s neck to pull him down into another love-filled kiss.
“Until when?” you grinned when you pulled away, his eyes closed as he sighed happily and rested his forehead against yours.
“Until I make up for the three years I put you through,” he mumbled, and you smiled softly as your lips grazed over his lightly. As you pulled back, he leaned forward and peppered kisses across your face.
“So, until forever?” you teased with a quiet giggle.
“Until forever,” he whispered, lips meeting yours once more.
#tsukishima kei#haikyuu!!#haikyuu#haikyuu angst#haikyuu imagines#tsukishima kei x reader#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima kei angst#tsukishima angst#tsukishima kei scenarios#tsukishima kei imagine#tsukishima kei imagines#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu drabbles
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R & R
Pairing: Billy Russo x F!Reader
Word count: 1,100
Warnings: (18+ adult blog) Sexual tension, some dub con owning to power imbalance, employer/employee dynamic, sexual harassment, verging on dark though nothing explicit here.
Summary: You finally have a moment to unwind on your hectic business trip. You are absorbed in the beautiful surroundings yet your boss seems only interested in you.
A/N: Written for @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer's Wednesday. I'm exploring writing for different fandoms and well Billy Russo has been on my mind quiet a bit. No tag list whilst it is a new character.
The water was warm and soothing as if you were swimming in a large luxurious bath. And luxurious it was - mosaic tiles, ornate arches, the pool been made to look like a Moroccan riad. The exclusive hotel would usually be beyond your reach, but this was on the company dime and you were determined to take advantage of the little downtime you'd been gifted.
You'd spent the last few weeks globetrotting with Anvil, checking on contracts and drumming up new business. It had been a whirlwind, a different country almost every day, barely aware of your location let alone time zone. Exhausted from nonstop work, jet lag, and the inability to truly rest. Not all of your accommodation had been like this - most much more rudimentary, nothing more than a tent in a war-torn land. Now on your way back home this was your final stop, where you needed to schmooze some big wigs and convince them that Anvil was the only choice.
As a personal secretary you had little to do with arrangements or scheduling for the trip - details were all very hush hush and need to know. You definitely not significant enough to be fully informed. In fact, you were surprised you were even invited along, simply there to type minutes, bring coffee. Certainly, just for show, there to hand your boss important papers when he asked, to walk a few paces behind him and generally to inflate his sense of importance. It's all about appearance, that's how to sell it - that's what Mr Russo said.
You had arrived earlier in the day, had full and exclusive access to the boutique hotel, the other guests were not due to arrive till the following evening giving you time to refresh and some much-needed R&R. Once you'd settled in and completed some essential tasks, you couldn't wait to dive into the empty pool - no one around to bother you, no one you needed to make happy.
You floated on your back gazing up beyond the skylights, vines draped from pink stuccoed walls, creating an oasis.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Your heart lurched, ungraciously slapping and spluttering as you tried to right yourself in the water.
"Sorry Mr Russo I didn't see... I er.. you said to relax..."
"I did," your employer's lip curling to a smirk. Despite the lack of work (and the heat), he was still wearing his suit - dark grey, expensive, a deep red tie, crisp white shirt. He always looked immaculate. It didn't matter how long he had travelled, hours he'd worked, he was always so well put together. Unbuttoning his jacket, he took a chair at the side of the pool, sipped clear liquid from the crystal tumbler, "Carry on. Don't mind me."
But you did, suddenly very self-conscious in his presence. His dark eyes never left you, you're trapped, unsure of what move to make - either option (continue to laze or extracting yourself from the water) would increase the scrutiny of his gaze.
Billy Russo often unnerved you, caused a cocktail of emotions to bubble within. His charm and smile disarming, very attractive but the intensity of his stare and knowledge of his capabilities made him dangerous. His shrewd business ambition wasn't off putting, it was to be expected if one were to do well in the industry, but it was his direct interactions with you. He always looked at you as if he was privy to something you were not, like he knew what was about to happen and you were firmly in the dark.
"Anything you need?"
He shook his head, "Not that I can think of. Please." Gave a little gesture to coaxed you to continue.
You obliged by completing a couple of laps of leisurely breaststroke, his eyes fixed sipping his drink. The emptiness of the room no longer soothing, instead it was a reminder of how alone you were with a very powerful man. The handful of colleagues who had accompanied you were nowhere to be seen, even if you knew where in the hotel they were what would it matter - very much Billy's men, answering only to him and his money. Out there his dominance and respect made you feel safe, protected against the ills of the world that could easily be revealed in this line of business but in here, this gorgeous but small, isolated hotel it was disconcerting. Maybe it wasn't any of that, maybe your mind twisting things, it wasn't uncommon to think about your boss beyond a professional compacity, back in New York you would often find yourself daydreaming in the office, fantasising over the handsome brunette. For no matter how imposing Billy Russo was, he was very beautiful.
Exposed and vulnerable, no longer relaxed or lost in the glamour, you decided to get out and find sanctuary in your room. It would be far more conspicuous for him to follow you there. Your towel was on the seat next to the one he had taken, leaving you no choice but to get close to him. You chose to use the steps rather than humiliate yourself with the ungainly climb out, your wet skin instantly goose fleshed, you kept head down, arm across body as you made your way towards your boss. He grabbed towel, handed it to you and though you didn't need to reach over, you did have to get very close and he took opportunity for a closer inspection. Billy’s eyes raked over your nearly naked form, the man with the perfect face, the perfect body eyeing yours. You took the fluffy towel, dabbed your face, unfolded it to wrap around you like a cape.
Billy's hand came to you, still holding his glass his finger extended, outstretched and grazed down your stomach finishing little above your bikini briefs. Billy's gaze followed the trail and lingered.
"Are you relaxed?" he smirked.
"Uh huh," you lied.
He dipped to lower his glass to the floor before sitting straighter and placing his now free hand to your hip.
"Maybe you could help me relax a little better?"
You swallowed a lump that had formed in your increasingly dry throat, "Mr Russo I..."
He laughed, "You look terrified. I just mean a drink. You'll have a drink with me, won’t you?" His charming smile and tone hinted at sincerity though his hand still at your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth, told a different tale.
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Three’s Company *Ransom Drysdale x Reader*
Summary: M!Reader’s girlfriend, Ella, wants a threesome. After discovering it’s going to be with another dude you set some ground rules, a clear rule being “no gay shit!”. Despite not being gay, yourself and Ransom find yourselves intently wanting Ella to be gone throughout the fucking.
Pairings: Male!Reader x Female Original Character/ Ransom Drysdale x Male!Reader / Ransom Drysdale x Female Original Character
Rating: [+18] Explicit
Warnings: Internal homophobia. Threesome shenanigans, female and male oral-giving and receiving. degrading talk. Swear words. Two men wanting to fuck one another, but they can’t cause of their internal homophobia.
Word Count: 2854
Note: There’s nothing against gays in this, lmao I am gay. It’s just mostly reader and ransom wanting to fuck but being like “we shouldn’t cause we’re straight! But I am going to look directly into his eyes as this girl sits on my dick!”
“When you said threesome I expected another female to be joining us,” you exasperated.
It was only a week ago when your girlfriend of eight months had propositioned you with the idea of a threesome. It had caught you off guard, nonetheless you agreed wholeheartedly. You weren’t a guy to shy away from sex adventures, you’ve seen and done plenty with women.
It’s what made Daniella, or Ella to you, so interested in you. You aren’t exactly in her social class, she comes from old money and has a trust fund, whereas you come from- well, no money and you work everyday of your life just to scrape by. You’ve often had the thought she’s only with you to rebel against her family, bringing you along to social gatherings to cause a fuss. It’s whatever. She’s beautiful and nice, so you’re willing to go along because, hey, you’re not alone then.
What caught you off guard was the third member she wanted, a male. You expected one of her high-class girlfriends, they’ve always had a keen interest in your relationship with Ella. Wondering why she’d be with you and for so long.
“Hell, no.” Ella grimaces like the thought of kissing another girl is repulsive, “I’d prefer to have another guy having their way with me.”
There’s a glint in her eyes, a playfulness. Her fluttering lashes normally work on you but not this time.
You’re apprehensive. The photo of the man in question serves him well; sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes and a wicked smirk, he oozes some sinful confidence that you severely lack. Who even is this guy? Where did she even meet him? Had this guy been the reason all along for the threesome to be brought up?
“Ransom Drysdale,” Ella smirks and flicks her eyes back to her phone, the picture still blindly on display. You almost snap the steering wheel off, deciding to focus on driving her Audi through the bustling New York streets. “He’s in New York right now, our families know one another and I’ve always wondered if the rumours are true about him.”
Great.
This guy has a reputation and she’s been thinking about it.
“I don’t know how I feel about another guy fucking you,” you somehow get out and the way she snaps her head to you, well this is going to be a big L in your books. “Or being with a guy in this setting, so what? I thought threesomes are where we all participate but I don’t wanna be with some guy like that.”
Ella snorts, she’s laughing at you. “How would a girl be any different?”
“I don’t know, Ella, it just would be different.”
“That’s so pathetic,” you roll your eyes and just stare at the road ahead, “You don’t have to do anything with him and anything I do with him you’ll be there. In fact, you can say right now if there’s anything you don’t want to happen. I just want two dicks, that’s all.”
There’s a beat of silence. “Besides Ransom isn’t gay, so he won’t even go near you like that.”
**
“This is so bizarre,” you muttered and shifted in your seat beside Ella. The restaurant was fancy, super expensive and elite. You had already downed half a glass of red wine-of which you expected cost more than the suit you were wearing. “Why are we getting dinner with him?”
Ella snickered and rolled her eyes. “Good manners, babe,” voice sweet as she looks at you.
You’d done some Googling on Drysdale when you got back to the hotel earlier. Whole family is filthy rich due to his grandfather, Harlan, famous murder-mystery writer. You haven’t read any of his books because books are commitments, more so than relationships.
Ransom’s name pops up in headlines every few weeks; new girls hanging off his arms or some outlandish story being featured on tabloids.
He’s not the type you’d personally hang out with, then again, Ella isn’t the usual company you keep.
“Sorry I’m late, Ellie.” You snap your head up as Ella stands up, embracing the well-dressed man. “Traffic was shit. You guys haven’t been here long, right?”
Yourself and Ella both speak at the same time. “No, of course not.”- “Twenty minutes, actually.”
You’re gifted a bitchy glare from Ella as you stand up, you’ve never been one to shy away from speaking up. Rich people aren’t an exception to your patience. This makes Ransom smirk at you though, clearly not offended or peeved off by your remark.
He shakes your hand firmly. “Ransom Drysdale, sure you’ve heard from me.”
“Y/N Y/L/N, honestly, only just learnt who you are today.” The three of you sit down and then you go silent, staring blankly at your glass of wine because what are the rules here?
Ella had told you she had asked Ransom. So, he knows why the three of you are here. But now what? You order food and eat, wine and dine, then fuck back at the hotel and that’s it. Of course, that’s it. There’s nothing else to do, but you can’t help but think there must be more steps. Some kind of conversation that needs to happen.
If there is a conversation that needs to happen, it doesn’t happen. Ella and Ransom are deep into conversation about ‘old times’. You sit just drinking and listening, usually how it is in your relationship. You never really have anything interesting to say to the wealthy, mostly because they wouldn’t listen anyway.
“So Y/N, what do you do?” Ransom’s voice is smooth and deep, his face is illuminated by the candles in the centre of the table. You raise an eyebrow at the causal question, “what? I think it’s better than me asking, why did you agree to let me fuck your girlfriend?”
You dryly chuckle and take another sip of wine, able to hold off on the question as your meals are placed before you. You contemplate and mull over his questions, either Ella hasn’t told him that you aren’t rich or he knows but wants to goad you into it anyway.
“Well, I work a lousy job as an accountant and I’m mostly paying off my student loans from university.” Better to be truthful than stupid in front of the rich. “Before you ask, no, I’m not using my degree at this job. I studied for five years to use it for nothing. I’m also agreeing because I’m no prude, done a few things and whilst I’d prefer you be another female, I can sort of see the appeal of two dicks.”
There’s a few seconds of just silence. Ella is volleying her eyes between you both. Ransom chews his steak slowly, eyes intently watching you and looking you over. It’s intense. You want him to stop, but you don’t look away.
A smirk spreads across his face and he nods. “We’re going to have fun tonight.”
**
“Splurged on the room then,” Ransom smirks as he unties his scarf, pulling it off of his neck and throwing it carelessly on the back of the armchair. “Must be nice to have the finer things,” he pats your shoulder roughly and gives you a knowing smile.
You shrugged, the nerves being knocked away from the liquid courage you guys have consumed. “Can’t complain about the nice rooms we stay in.” You walk over to the minibar and nod, Ransom gives a curt nod.
Ella scurries off towards the bedroom, a sultry smile of her ‘freshening up’ for the both of you.
“She’s told you the rules, right?” You asked and poured yourself another drink, Ransom let’s out a light chuckle as he sauntered over to you. You lift an eyebrow in question, “It’s just for… boundaries really, I’m sure you understand.”
The corner of Ransom’s mouth curls up, bringing the bourbon to his lips and taking a thoughtful sip, he’s standing close to you. Rubbing his shoulder against yours, he smells earthy and expensive, like spicy leather and musky mornings.
“I got your rules, don’t worry.” Placing the tumbler glass down. “More rules about us not doing stuff than me fucking your girl, though.”
You looked at him hesitantly and quickly looked away, downing your own drink hurriedly. Before you can defend yourself, not that you need to, Ella calls for you both. Standing in the bedroom doorway, hip leaning against the frame and her arms crossed.
Ella is dressed in nothing but simply lacy lingerie, that you know cost more than your rent. She looks beautiful, the lilac set matches her skin perfectly, hair is styled into a relaxed mused style- so you can play with it, you imagine.
“Are you boys coming to join me or not?”
That’s all the invitation you need before you’re walking around Ransom, placing your hands on her hips and pressing your lips to hers softly, she whimpers into your mouth before pulling away. Taking your hand and then extending her other towards Ransom, you chance a glance at the taller man.
His cock sure smirks makes you look away, taking Ella’s other hand and she pulls you both into the bedroom. The big, soft, luxurious bed would do fine at handling your three bodies.
You glance stiffly at the white sheets, well, now what? You know what to do when with just Ella but now you’re left in uncharted territory. Turning to look at the both of them once you’re stood in front of the bed, hands getting clammy for some reason.
“Well, undressed yourselves.” Ella smirks as she sits on the end of the bed with a bounce, crossing one leg over her other, leaning back on her elbows as she looks at them.
You start to unbutton your shirt, looking over at Ransom to see he was doing the same. You don’t take your eyes off of Ransom as you remove the shirt, letting the pale blue fabric to fall to the floor and then starting on your belt. Ransom begins to do the same, the clanging of his expensive Gucci belt is enough to numb your other senses.
You're both down to your boxers, both black Calvin Klines. Ella raises an amused eyebrow and allows her legs to fall open. Lifting a hand and crooking a finger in a come hither motion, you follow with little relcultance. Falling to her side and pressing open mouth kisses to her soft neck. One of your hands sneaking up and cupping one of her lacy breasts, squeezing the flesh harshly as you suck at her neck.
Ella let out a breathy moan, a sharp gasp escaping her at Ransom running his fingers over her clothed pussy. You help her sit up and unclasp her bra, allowing her perky breasts to slip free of the confines. Ransom slips the panties down her long legs before pushing her thighs apart, slotting himself between them.
For a brief moment you are captivated by him, watching as he languidly licked up her core and wrapped his plump, pink lips wrap around his clit. The moans Ella whines out are white noise, your brows furrow together and you wet your lips. You’re about to look away but Ransom looks up, capturing your eyes in with his deep blue ones. His left eye drops down into a playful wink.
You break out of his spell and look back at Ella, her eyes are screwed shut and her mouth is open wide, moans and groans leaving her wildly. You’re quick to attach your mouth to her nipples, already pebbled and peaked into hard nubs, lavishing her nipple with your tongue.
“God, your mouths,” she breathes harshly.
Time seems to meld as yourself and Ransom tease Ella with your tongues. You tease her nipples and softly bite on them as Ransom pushes two fingers into her and sucks on her clit. You both work in tandem, almost competitively, trying to see who can draw the most noises from her.
“You sure I’m not allowed to fuck this hole?” Ransom asked punctuating the question with a forceful thrust of his fingers.
His crude words make you shiver, a smirk pulling up on your mouth as your eyes narrow in delight. He’s asking permission, he certainly seems like the type to just take what he wants, save the consequence for whenever.
“You think you’ve earned it?” That question throws Ransom off, it even has Ella raising her eyebrows at you but you don’t spare her a glance. Your eyes bore into Ransom’s, unable to look away like the previous times.
Ransom grabs Ella’s ankle and flips her onto her stomach, tapping her hip and she raises them wordlessly, he gives you a questioning glare.
“She likes it hard and deep,” you sit up on your knees, a hand softly running through her hair and gripping it tightly, “don’t hold back, Ran. I won’t be,” you pull down your boxers with your other hand and free your straining cock.
You haven’t felt this hard in a while; you put it down to the fact this is new and exciting. You push the leaking tip into Ella’s waiting mouth, she hums approvingly around your girth. A low groan falls from your lips and you look up in time to see Ransom rid himself of his own underwear.
A large hand is wrapped around his own cock, rubbing it lazily and, for some reason, you can’t take your eyes off of his member. Seeing him naked has stolen your air away; his whole body is immaculate and strong, truly a vision.
You shake your head when Ella gags around your length, slowly pulling it out of her before looking up. Ransom had caught you staring at him, but instead of a disgusted look like you thought he’s wearing a curious look. An unreadable look.
As he pushes in his impressive length he gives you a look, his hands gripping Ella’s hips tightly. The warm caven of Ella’s mouth envelopes you again, you moan loudly but you’re unable to look away from Ransom and he seems to not be able to look away from you either.
“That’s it,” Ransom grunts as he starts to pound Ella from behind causing her body to jolt, pushing her further onto your cock.
The force of his thrusting hips and yours into her mouth, using Ella to reach your peaks. Finding a hard and rough rhythm together. A pushing and pulling rhythm. You’re both grunting and groaning, looking into one another's eyes intensely.
Ella’s whimpers and gagging sounds are numb to your ears, only focused on Ransom. His eyebrows are drawn together, jaw is clenched and his eyes are hard; dark and lust filled.
“You like that?” The question momentarily makes you stutter, Ransom locked on you but Ella hums in admission.
It wasn’t directed at her, though.
You nod once, careful to only groan loudly and not make it seem that it’s going to be Ransom that’ll make you cum.
“Of course, you do!” Ransom chuckles darkly, thrusting into Ella harder and grinding his cock deep into her, “fucking filthy. Dirty little whore for me, aren’t you?” Again Ella answers in whimpers and spit slicked sounds, but you have Ransom’s attention.
“Going to cum, I can feel it. Go ahead, fuckin’ cum for me.”
Your hips stutter deep in Ella’s throat, she gags but groans at the feeling. You cum down her tight throat, copious amounts of cum spurting out of you, a strained growl is yelled from you. Eyes being forced shut at the suddenness of your orgasm.
Ella greedily swallows every drop, licking your cock clean as you slowly drag it out of her mouth and fall back against the bed. Beads of sweat across your forehead and chest, Ella looks at you and smiles before whining again. Ransom keeps going ramming into her harder and faster, his eyes still scorned onto you.
You watch as Ella reaches her peak rather quickly after you, trembling under Ransom and whimpering, you sit up and cup her face in your hands. Kissing her softly before pulling away, looking up at Ransom who has his eyes shut before looking down at you.
“Cum inside of her.” You demand without hesitation and Ransom seems to take it.
His whole body becoming rigid and spasming, hips stilling inside of Ella as he cums deep within her walls. It’s a few silent seconds of heavy breathing. Till he pulls out and sinks back on his hunches, chest heaving and hair stuck to his forehead.
Despite the fact you both had such an intimate moment during this, you can’t bring yourself to look at him in the eye now. Knowing you orgasmed because of him, that you likely got hard because of him.
It’s weird. It’s odd. Ella stretches out on the bed, a low hum of approval to what just happened coming from her.
“Give me a few minutes and we can change positions and one of you can stick it in my ass.”
A deep part of you wished she’d fall asleep and it was just yourself and Ransom.
(Let me know what you think!!! So, yeah... I am writing a part 2 where Ransom and Male Reader get some alone time and get to... do some activities ;) but I wanted it to be like this whole weird sexual competitiveness between them with little moments of mxm - Rosalie)
#ransom thrombey#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x male reader#ransom drysdale x male!reader#ransom drysdale smut#ransom thrombey x reader#ransom drysdale one shot#chris evans x reader#chris evans smut
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12 Games: Shinichi and Ran Game #6 - Poker Face Rating: T Summary: Ran was trying to prove a point.
(Read here or in FFN / AO3! Link provided.)
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Ran was trying to prove a point.
She didn’t know what wracked her typically levelheaded self all of a sudden, but for the first time she was dead motivated to prove Sonoko wrong. On most days, Ran wouldn’t contradict her for anything, but right now she wanted to - really, really wanted to - because her friend wasn’t making any sense.
What did she mean she ‘wanted Shinichi to kiss her’? ‘So badly’?
“Excuse me. I am not desperate for a kiss, Sonoko,” huffed Ran, half lidded eyes directed at her friend who had then snatched the apple from her hand while she was busy processing the latter’s earlier statement.
“I didn’t say you are,” Sonoko replied wryly, “You’re not desperate. I know. But you want it. That kiss. There’s a difference.” She paused, taking a bite of the apple. “Ya woodr’t flail yourshelf in fron’o’ him for that shmack o’ the lipsh, but ya hope he wood.”
Shifting from her sitting position, Ran grimaced, hoping she didn’t understand what she just said, but she did. ‘You wouldn’t flail yourself in front of him for that smack on the lips, but you hope he would.’
Still, it didn’t make sense.
“And why would I want a kiss from him?”
Swallowing the food in her mouth, the light ginger-haired lady limply pointed her index finger at her with the hand that was holding the apple. “Because he’s your boyfriend and knowing him, he probably hasn’t made a move to kiss you yet. That’s why.”
Damn it! ...She’s right.
“...So?” She crossed her arms and pointed her chin up, doing a bad job at appearing snarky.
“Hah! So I’m right.”
“Sonoko!” She jabbed her lightly on the shoulder, though not denying what she’d said. “Don’t you know that not all people in a relationship desire physical intimacy?”
“Sure. But not you, Ran.” Back leaving the metal rails from where they sat on the school rooftop, Sonoko faced her with a piercing stare, the kind that made Ran swallow the piece of meat from her bento down with a big gulp. “Look me in the eye and tell me there’s no reason why you always look at Shinichi’s lips whenever he recites in class or whenever he takes a sip from your orange juice.”
A healthy shade of red was quick to spread on her cheeks. “H-Hey! I’m-...! That’s—”
Sonoko raised a smug eyebrow at her, confident that Ran wouldn’t have a believable counterargument to that. What other reason would she have if not because she’d been thinking about Shinichi’s lips? It’s annoying that she noticed. Even more annoying that she couldn’t deny it. Most annoying that shemight probably be right.
“—something I can do.” But she wouldn’t accept that so easily, would she?
“There’s no reason why I look at his lips whenever he speaks in class or drinks from my juice. Or a water bottle. Or when he eats. Or anything that involves his lips,” Ran recited, as if reading a script.
Sonoko stifled her snort, looking at her with visible skepticism. Ran met her stare with defiant eyes because no, she wouldn’t let her pesky friend get the upper hand this time. She would prove her wrong!
“You want to make a deal out of this?” taunted Sonoko.
Ran matched her arched eyebrow. “Hit me up.”
“Last the whole day without looking at Shinichi and thinking of wanting to kiss him,” Sonoko challenged. “I trust your honesty, Ran. If you fail, you treat me lunch tomorrow up ‘til next week. If you don’t, then the other way around. How’s that sound?”
Ran flared her nostrils, incredibly pumped from the very easy challenge the lady had imposed. “Better prepare your bills because I want my lunch at Ginza, Sonoko.”
They shook hands. “Same, missus, but I want mine home cooked on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday like your beloved husband. Deal?”
“Deal!”
“You’re going to thank me for this, O-ku-sa-ma ,” Sonoko fluttered her lashes menacingly just in time the rooftop door swung open, revealing a Shinichi holding three packets of melon bread on his left hand and a half finished one on the other.
“Yo! I got us some bread,” Shinichi enthused, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I took a while, I... had to take a call from Hattori on the way here.”
The first thing Ran noticed when he sat next to her were the glistening remnants of sugar on his lips from the bread he was eating.
“Can I have a drink Ran?” Before she could answer, Shinichi had already taken a swig from her tumbler, and Ran gawked owlishly at the movement of his throat as he gulped, and the press of the metal container on his thirsty mouth that was...thirsty...for...water.
Her mind blanked, thoughts almost bordering to the forbidden. Mentally slapping her sane self, Ran shifted her eyes from Shinichi’s lips to Sonoko’s face, narrowing them threateningly when she caught her haughty little snigger. Oh, the woman. The daggers Ran threw her could send her flying off the roof.
Calming her nerves, Ran inhaled a deep breath and blew out, slowly. ‘Half a day. Half a day is nothing. I can do this.’
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.
It significantly helped that for the rest of class, Shinichi looked at her direction less frequently than usual. Normally when he finished a great answer, Ran would give him a thumbs up from the seat diagonally behind him and he’d reciprocate with an accomplished grin but this time, he didn’t even spare her a look, head diving immediately to his notes when he sat down. Which was good honestly, because she didn’t want to share eye contact with him, not while the deal was in effect, but at the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder.
When the day ended, Ran was correct in thinking that Sonoko would rather not join them on their walk home, because. Flashing Ran a mischievous grin, Sonoko excused herself from the two, saying she’d go drop by the dojo for Makoto as promised. Ran wasn’t sure how true that statement was, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop her either because she remembered— she wanted to prove Sonoko wrong. She could do it. She could stick around Shinichi without obsessing on the strange, horrible, mostlikelytruebutnotreally thought of wanting to kiss him. Refusing to let her go would only cast doubts on her credibility. That she solemnly believed.
“Is there some secret running between you and Sonoko that I am not aware of?” Shinichi closed his shoe locker and fitted his sneakers with an alternate nudge of both tips to the floor.
“Hn?” Ran tried to sound nonchalant, to sound as if the deal hadn’t been wearing her off. When he didn’t say anything, she gave him a cute half smile - with eyes that crinkled close because she wanted little eye contact with Shinichi - and then linked her arm around his. “Nah. She’s just being her usual self, that’s all.”
Shinichi merely scrunched his eyebrows, not anymore pressing for further details. She didn’t pay much attention to his forearm that stiffened when she grabbed hold of it.
“‘Kay. Let’s go.” They passed by the gate and began their walk home.
There was a particular route in their walk that Ran always enjoyed passing. It was along the straight, sun-drenched pavement that overlooked Sumida River. Freelance artists by the riverbank would leisurely capture the scenic view from their sketchpads complete with the boats and bridges, and from a fair distance on the grassier portion children would often play tag or soccer. Further unseen were the echoes of sometimes obnoxious, sometimes friendly barks of dogs being walked by their owners. For Ran, the whole scenery felt so alive and natural, so peaceful, like a breath of fresh air from the typical urban Tokyo landscape.
They crossed paths with a middle-aged jogger, his energetic Shiba Inu trailing behind. Tail wagging excitedly, the dog pounced on Shinichi in the friendliest manner. Shinichi knelt, hugged the fluffy ball of sunshine in his arms, and it barked and licked his cheeks with so much joy. Both its owner and Ran couldn’t help but laugh at the cute sight of their immediate bond.
For a brief second, Ran had forgotten about her fetters for the day, relaxing as she admired an ever innocent, childlike Shinichi. When the man and his dog finally jogged away, a soccer ball flew to their direction and Shinichi, as figured, let the ball bounce around and on his knees before kicking it back to the waiting and amused children at the foot of the path by the riverbank. “Nii-chan, thank you!” They shouted in unison and he could only but salute with a satisfied grin on his face.
Stripped out of murders and mysteries, Shinichi remained a kid at heart.
Ran wanted to pinch his cheeks for being so adorable.
She softened her eyes and released a silent, mincing giggle. ‘See that, Sonoko? I can look at him without urging myself to kiss him! Pinch his cheeks maybe, but not kiss him!’
Ran was proud of herself. So far, so good. Lady Luck was on her side.
They continued their walk until they reached the streets with many food trucks and stalls that opened late afternoon onwards.
Nakamise Shopping Street was where Shinichi often bought food for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast. Stopping in front of a dango stall, they were cordially greeted by the concessionaire and were presented with different flavors to choose from. Shinichi requested a stick of Anko dango.
“You’re going to have dango for dinner?” Ran asked, surprised.
“Bread for lunch got me hungry. I only need a little fill before my next meal.” Shinichi handed his payment and received the stick in exchange.
“ Mou, I told you to buy a decent meal for lunch, didn’t I? Just because it’s Thursday today, doesn’t mean you have to wait for tomorrow just so I can make you your bento. That’s simply lazy thinking, Shini...ch...”
Words mired down her throat as her eyes fixated on the way he languidly nibbled on one sticky ball of dumpling. Warm steam emerged from where he bit, teeth stretching the gooey texture of mochi before he cut it with a light tug of head. She watched the movement of his mandibles grinding the dumpling in his mouth, blowing occasionally to exhaust heat.
“Shtill hot,” he commented, munching, then he swallowed, preparing himself for another mouthful, “but very savory.”
Very savory. Yes.
In her mind palace, Ran desperately clung to the seam of Lady Luck’s gown, the Queen dragging the former along the floor whilst making her way out the front door.
“Oh, how rude of me.” Pausing midway his next bite, he tipped the half consumed stick in front of her mouth, coaxing her to try. “Want a taste?”
Ran momentarily forgot how to speak, eyes still glued to his upper lip that had been partly coated with red bean paste. Worse was he had to swipe it with his tongue after offering her a taste . As if the damned guy knew about the deal and was doing that for the win.
“N-no I uh, want...um—” she scanned around in panic, desperate to lock herself with Lady Luck away from the intruding thought that had threatened to hold her mind hostage to her ultimate defeat, “—takoyaki! I’ll buy takoyaki instead!”
She marched to the direction of the adjacent stall, arms swinging unnaturally to the wonderment of the detective who had remained cool the entire time before she stormed away. He must be thinking how weird she was, Ran thought. But she couldn’t blame him. There’s no way he’d know. If she were to blame anyone, it had to be Sonoko for drilling that ridiculous idea in her head.
“One order of takoyaki please!” she squeaked. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Shinichi pull an expression - indiscernible from where she stood - before he made do with the remaining mochi dumplings. Her brain was in shambles, unable to make out what’s happening around and in her, and her extending a hand to receive the tray of fresh takoyaki had been purely mechanical.
Only when she popped one whole ball in her mouth did her mind resume operating the way it must.
“ Ack! ” Eyes glossing with tears, she coughed and spew air like a hysterical dragon, frantically fanning her mouth with a free hand. “H-Hot!!”
Seeing her chagrin, Shinichi rushed to her side and promptly brought out the tumbler from her bag. “What the hell Ran, here, drink.” Though voice urgent, Shinichi remained as calm as rock like he wasn’t forcibly downing the tumbler on Ran’s tongue to neutralize the heat.
The woman gagged.
Not because of the cool water zipping down her throat, but more of the careful fingers craning her neck, lacing her hair as the man guided the container to her parted lips.
“There, there," he crooned lightly, "I suppose that’s hotter than the dango.”
Shinichi was so close to her face, soothing her like a five year old child in view of the moderately few curious passers by, and Ran had never wanted to combust in absolute embarrassment as much as she did that instant.
She broke away from Shinichi, eyes blown wide, pulse drumming loud. A little water spilt on her school vest and to the ground. The burn in her mouth was forgotten ever so quickly, outdone by the tingling feeling in her stomach that crept up her neck onto her cheeks and ears. Ten degrees more and she’d be about ready to burst into flames.
“Ice cream. I need ice cream.” She blathered, unthinking.
Shinichi’s eyebrows furrowed. “But you haven’t finished half of your takoyaki ye—”
“Ice cream. Please?” God she really did sound like a kid. She swore she saw in his face the mix of surprise and incredulity and exasperation in relation to her strange behavior he probably chose not to address to his better judgment.
“Okay,” Shinichi shrugged, trying to sound patient. He resealed the tumbler and put it in her bag, then returned to the bag he had dropped earlier when he tendered to Ran’s burning mouth. “...If you feel like it, maybe you can tell me what’s going on?”
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Facing away from the busy streets, the two leaned on the back of the food truck from where they bought soft-serve vanilla sundaes. The typically levelheaded Ran had been reduced to a quiet mush of blush and blunder, melting her ice cream with her quiet gaze and quiet exhale, while Shinichi, still as calm and composed as ever, alternated his attention between his sundae and his girlfriend, patiently waiting for the woman to make sense out of the whole situation.
Ran huffed a breath, a deep and slow one, before taking a bite of the serving. If there’s something more embarrassing than her earlier takoyaki mishap, it was this.
Goodness, was she really going to tell the subject of the deal about her deal with Sonoko?
Her mind recalled her rooftop conversation with the lady. What compelled her to agree to this stupid deal? She knew she was trying to prove something, yes, but was the thought so despicable that only the fact of losing could convince her to accept it? Why couldn’t she accept it? What was so wrong with looking at her boyfriend and then imagining said boyfriend kissing her? Did that make her less dignified? A pervert? If she looked at him right now would she do exactly that? She���d been tempering herself for the past hour, trying, and trying… What if she tested herself by stealing a glance—
Wait, she shouldn’t go there. A dangerous test. The dango and takoyaki situation had proven that. Had she lost yet? She hadn’t right? The almost two weeks Ginza lunch deal sounded truly tempting. How could she let that pass? Of course she’d win this deal. She hadn’t lost yet. She only had to look at his nose or the middle of his brows if she must talk to him, to copy the poker face he’d been wielding since after lunch and simply go with the flow. She wouldn’t tell him what’s up, tell him instead she was having cramps. He’d understand. She’d win.
“That’s not the proper way to eat ice cream, barou.”
Rocked from her own thoughts, the first thing Ran’s brain processed was the teeth mark on her ice cream. It took another five seconds to register Shinichi’s comment.
She looked at him questioningly, unsure of what was wrong when she’d been eating her ice cream like that since little. “Then how?”
“You lick, duh.”
Ran eyed him mockingly.
“But you’re licking, and look at your chin and nose, you got some of your ice cream there! It’s messy!” she said as she pointed at the white blotches dotting the mentioned parts.
“That’s why they serve ice cream with tissue, Ran.” He proceeded to wipe the dirtied areas with the tissue he unwrapped from the cone.
“Whatever. At least when you bite you only get a little around your lips—” Ran demonstrated by taking another bite of the tip of her ice cream in a manner that made Shinichi wince, “—see?”
“Stup— Stop that, that’s really bad,” Shinichi grimaced like she’d inflicted him physical pain. “And you’ll get a toothache. It’s soft-serve ice cream for a reason. You’re supposed to lick it, not eat it like a pocky stick.”
“Oh, c’mon Shinichi, as if you haven’t seen me eat ice cream like this yet.”
“No, really, I’m quite surprised I haven’t. If I did I would’ve already corrected your wrong ways long ago.”
Puffing her cheeks, she exhaled deeply and shifted with a stomp to face him. “Okay then, if you think that’s the right way of eating ice cream, then let me change my ‘wrong ways’ and do what it is you deem proper, Mr. Always Right.”
Locking eyes with him as she pouted, Ran brought the ice cream to her mouth, flattened her tongue on the edge of the cone and, as slowly as she could, swooped right up the tip, vanilla coating her cavity and a little of her bottom lip and chin with gluey white.
Shinichi went horribly quiet.
“ Euh—see? It’s so messy! It’s everywhere on my face! I don’t like it,” she complained.
The teenage detective didn’t budge.
Out of curiosity, Ran spared him a glance as she wiped the sticky vanilla sundae off of her chin. Though he wasn’t saying anything, his dilated eyes spoke volumes. Shinichi couldn’t tear them away from her lips. He was in deep, observing and nothing more, yet observing way too hard . Too hard it made her so conscious she felt her cheeks heat up and her pulse thrum tormentingly.
“...Shinichi?”
“Ran.” He took one uncertain step forward. “...Damn. Goddamn it.”
Her mouth ran dry.
Was he going to kiss her?
He was still staring, eyebrows wired in a manner that made it difficult for her to decipher the thoughts running in his head. But she’s certain he wasn’t expressionless anymore like he was prior.
Oh no, did she feel her legs take a step forward too?
She didn’t know what incited him, but from the way his attention locked on her lips and the way his eyes hooded at the sight, she took it that he’s ready to take and mark her to his preference.
Oh no, she kinda wanted that, didn’t she?
She swallowed the saliva that had accumulated at the back of her tongue, letting the thought of kissing him run loose in her brain entirely.
Oh no. Sonoko was right now, wasn’t she?
After ten long seconds of them just staring at each other with vanilla stuck on her lips and breath stuck in his lungs, Shinichi, in the end, turned his back to Ran.
Tips of ears red, he mumbled. “...Curse you, Hattori.”
Ran tilted her head, uncertain if she heard him correctly. “What?”
Shinichi ruffled his hair as if annoyed, but Ran felt that the annoyance wasn’t directed at her but more at himself. “Have your way. Bite your friggin’ ice cream.”
She blinked. “...That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Ran felt her chest deflate, releasing the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding for the past minute.
Not only did she expect something, but she also did not get it, and she even lost her chance at Ginza lunches.
“Hey, that’s rude, face me and speak more kindly,” she demanded, curt, mood already dampened by her lose-lose situation.
“Finish your ice cream first before I face you.”
Ran rolled her eyes. “What, disturbed that I’d rather bite the sundae than lick it?”
“...Yes,” he said, humorlessly. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“But licking—”
“But do whatever you want.” He cut her short. “Bite or lick, I’m not... uh, just finish it quick. Please.”
She did, very quick unlike the takoyaki, and they went home with her noting how the tips of his ears remained red and how he hadn’t glanced again at her face, confirming her lost chances of truly getting a kiss.
.
.
“And what did I tell you?”
“I get it… no need to rub it in my face.”
Sonoko chortled, taking a mouthful of yasai itame from the customized bento Ran ever so diligently prepared. The dejected woman sat across her friend on the floor, legs and arms crossed, blankly staring at the rough cement of the rooftop.
“What are you going to do about it now?”
“I don’t know.”
Ran felt her friend’s eyes scan her from head to toe, having no idea if it was a look of judgment or pity she was giving or all of the above. She’s way too embarrassed to even bother knowing.
“You don’t have to wait for him, Ran. You can just, you know, go for it yourself,” said the woman.
“I—“ she blushed. “But that’s…”
“What? It’s not the 19th century anymore. If you want something, go for it! All’s fair in love and war, o-ku-sa-ma ,” Sonoko lectured. “Though really, your boyfriend is an idiot, I can’t believe he didn’t go for it! What a wuss.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to—”
“Oh, please. There’s drought on those lips and they’re dying to be baptized by yours.” Sonoko winked at her knowingly. Ran’s eyes blew wide, blush intensifying like the afternoon sun.
“Sonoko! You don’t have to say it like—”
“Want to make a different bet this time? Who will kiss the other first, you or Shinichi?”
“N-no, no more deals please!” Ran implored, utterly defeated. “Instead of deals, I’ll...I’ll try and...see... what I can do.”
“Atta girl. That’s the spirit.”
.
.
“And what did I tell ya, Kudo?”
“Shut up. I know.”
Heiji chuckled on the other line. “No ya don’t. If ya did then this bet wouldn’t have happened. Congratulations to me for winning that Koshien ticket premium seat and congratulations to ya for proving ya cannot stand a day without wanting nee-chan’s—“
“Hey, I said I know okay,” Shinichi’s voice raised a notch louder. Afraid that he might have caught the girls’ attention, he peeked on the other side of the rooftop door where he reclined and saw that they were still talking.
Closing the door gently behind him, he sat himself on the first tread of stairs. “For the record, I was doing so well until the ice cream thing happened.”
Heiji laughed some more.
“And? How did nee-chan react?”
“She...stepped forward too.”
A faint whistle echoed from the receiver. “ That seals it. Now ya really have ta kiss her.”
He ruffled his hair, visibly nervous. “But what if she doesn’t—“
“It’s not the 19th century anymore, Kudo. Betcha your girl’s like Kazuha. They know what they want. And they aren’t afraid to show it. Nee-chan stepped forward. Like that ahou when she… Yea that’s your cue.”
The East Detective groaned inwardly.
“What? Don’t tell me we havta make a deal out of this too?”
“No need. I can do this.” He puffed his chest. “I’ll see what I can do. Give me...uh, until tomorrow.”
“Ya better, Kudo. I’m telling ya, nee-chan’s waiting.”
(Fortunately for Heiji, he didn’t have to wait until tomorrow.)
.
.
A/N: In another universe, it’s veteran bro Heiji assisting his fellow bro Shinichi with his love problem. In whatever universe, Ran always pays attention to Shinichi’s lips because the Scarlet School Trip Arc says so and the Scarlet School Trip Arc is law.
(Tumblr Side Note: This whole fic was born from @detectivegeekshin ’s comment on Kiss Prompt#23 - what if it’s the other way around, with Shinichi doing the food ‘teasing’? Thank you for the wonderful idea, now we have a thirsting Ran (っ˘ڡ˘ς) )
#shinran#fanfic#kudou shinichi#mouri ran#12 games#managed to squeeze in an update before the year ends!#(hope you leave a review if you read this in AO3/FFN! 🙂)
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The Spare Chapter One: Maldives
Book: The Royal Romance A/U
Rating: Mature (18+); NSFW; some language
Characters/Pairings in this part: Liam x MC; mentions of Liam x OC; Leo x Madeleine; Drake; Maxwell
Word count: 3,286(+/-) Future chapters will hopefully not be this long.
A/N: Some characters belong to Pixelberry.
Tags: If you would like to be added or removed please let me know. Only tagging those that specifically asked for permatag.
@yourmajesty09 @gkittylove99
“Are you ready for this Brother? You know if you want to back out now, the jet is ready just in case.”
Leo smirked at his younger brother. “ My brother, the cynic. I love her Li and I know one day you’ll find someone. You have to let what Maria did to you go.” Liam rolled his eyes.
Two hours later they arrived at the cathedral. It was the royal wedding of the century. Leo and Madeleine were the epitome of royalty. The country couldn’t have been more proud for the reigning monarch and his new Queen. The reception followed the ceremony and the happy couple danced the night away without a care in the world.
King Leonardo and Queen Madeline were set for their month long honeymoon while Liam handled the country.
“Listen little brother, if you need anything ask Dad or Regina before you call us. We have a duty to produce an heir and I fully intend on making that happen.” Leo winked at Madeleine. “Liam, don’t hesitate to call.” She rolled her eyes at her husband. “The King here is getting a little ahead of himself, I think.” “Don’t worry about a thing while you're gone.” Liam kissed Madeleine on the cheek and shook Leo’s hand. “Enjoy marital bliss lovebirds, don’t worry about a thing stateside.”
It was smooth sailing running the country while the King and Queen were away. Liam worked with Constantine to secure Cordonia’a place in the UN. He also managed to get Leo an entrance in the International Trade Exchange. After the royal couples homecoming ball Liam and Leo sat in Leo’s study with a tumbler of scotch in each of their hands. “Thanks for everything you have done, Li.” “That’s what I am here for, Your Majesty” Liam said, with a sarcastic grin. “Sometimes I hate this shit but Madeleine loves it and I love her.” Leo shrugged. “Any news on an heir yet?” Liam asked, as he sipped his drink. “No, we decided to wait a while. Adjust to our positions. What about you? You ready to get back out there?” “Where is out there? I’m good where I’m at.” Liam said, smoothly but he knew he wasn’t fooling his older brother. “Oh here Li, Maddie booked you a villa in the Maldives for a week as a thank you. Take it, blow off some steam. Maybe you’ll meet someone.” “I wish you all would get off my damn back. I’m the spare. Who cares if I’m single? Between you, Connie, Regina and Max, I can’t get a minutes of fucking peace. I’m glad you married Maddie. She’s the only on that doesn’t give a fuck. Learn something from her.” Liam snapped, “I’ll take the vacation, but only the get the fuck away from here.” “Stop being so emotional Li, we just worry about you.”
A month later, Liam boarded the royal jet destined for South Asia. He decided to take the trip alone with no security detail. The time away from everyone he felt would give him some perspective over where his life was headed. He was the spare after all. Not much was expected of him except to show up when needed. He wasn’t needed to run a country. He couldn’t choose any job he wanted, he was still a figurehead of the Royal family. He didn’t even have a girlfriend.
“My son, I do hope you find a woman worthy of you soon. You may not be king, but its always beneficial to the stability of the monarchy to establish heirs.” Constantine’s words played on repeat in the back of Liam’s mind.
“Sir, sir, we’ve arrived.” Liam woke to the attendant shaking him awake. Liam departed the jet and headed to his private villa. Good taste Maddie. The Maldives was quiet this time of year. Not many tourists which Liam was excited about. He wanted time alone. His villa was the most secluded. No one would be bothering him, he hoped. The villa was a large one bedroom bungalow with a glass bottom floor. He could see straight to the bottom of the crystal clear water below. Liam got settled in and decided to stay in and relax with a glass of scotch and a book George Orwell’s 1984.
Tap Tap Tap
What the fuck was that? Liam sat up. He was dozing off, the sun outside was setting. He looked down.
Who the fuck is that?
A girl was tapping on the glass floor beneath him. She was in a light blue string bikini with scuba gear strapped to her.
Tap Tap Tap she tapped more frantically.
She pointed to the hatch directing him to open it. He ran over and opened it and she climbed out. She took the regulator out of her mouth and unzipped her vest. “Ugh sorry. I was following a fish and got stuck. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m Camilla. Most call me Cami.” She stuck out her free hand for a handshake. Liam just stood in place frozen. He couldn’t move or speak.
This is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen! What did she say her name was? Camilla? Say something you idiot!!
“Ummm okay.. I’ll go. I’m only further down the beach. It’s okay if I use the front door?” Liam nodded his head, still unable to speak. Cami started towards the door. “Wait, I’m sorry, I’m Liam. I just didn’t expect to see someone, so beaut… coming through my floor” he ran to open the door for her. “Here I’ll carry that for you.” He reached for her oxygen tank. “No no I got it.” “It’s the least I can do for my rudeness. Are you within walking distance or we can drive?” “Walking is fine, as long as that’s not too heavy for you?” Cami winked and pointed to her vest in his hand. Liam laughed nervously unsure of what to say. “Lead the way, Camilla.” Cami felt a tingle down her spine at the way her name fell off his full lips. “So, Liam? Right?,” he nodded his head, “what brings you to the Maldives, business or pleasure?” “Neither really, relaxation, alone time, what about you? Are you a local?” “Local?,” she laughed, “I wish, no I am here for R&R like you. Alone time? You’re on vacation alone?” “Yep, just me. That weird huh?” They made it to her bungalow. Six bungalows. Liam thought to himself. “Well this is me” Cami said as they stood at the end of the bridge that led to her front door. “Cami, where have you been?” a girl that looked strikingly like the one standing in front Liam. “Sorry that’s my sister,” Cami whispered to Liam, “I’ll be there in a minute Ans.” Ansley didn’t listen. She came striding right next to Cami. “Who is this?” Ansley asked out loud. She looked Liam up and down. “He’s cute, look at this chiseled abs Cam, mhmm..” “You’re engaged stupid. Go inside.” Cami snapped at her sister. “I’m sorry Liam, you’ll have to excuse my overzealous twin sister.” “Oh it’s fine, she likes my abs. Maybe I should be shirtless more often,” Liam winked at Ansley. “Oh my God, Cam if you don’t kiss him I will.” “Go the fuck inside, Ansley.” Cam whispered, her face turning bright red. Ansley laughed and went back inside. “Well, thanks for not letting me drown earlier, I’ll see ya around Liam.” Cami went to grab her stuff and go inside, but without thinking Liam pulled her into a soft kiss. Cami pulled away. “Umm thanks bye.” She ran inside leaving Liam standing at the end of the bridge.
“Shut up Ansley. Do not say a fucking word.” Cami slammed the door to her room. She threw herself down on the bed. Her world felt like it was spinning. She couldn't help but think how soft and sensual the kiss was. She had never felt anything like it.
Liam walked home alone with his thoughts. His hands dug into his pockets as flip flops kicked up the sand behind him. He headed towards the beach to clear his thoughts. He didn’t know what took over his body when he kissed Cami but whatever it was he liked it. The way she tasted, mint mixed with salt of the ocean, and slight smell of coconuts in her hair. He sat on the beach and listened to the waves. It had been nearly 5 years since Maria had broken his heart. He closed himself off after that. He decided being alone was easier than getting hurt. There was an instant connection with Cami. He couldn’t deny the electricity between them. Liam called it a night and headed back to his bungalow. He checked his phone. No new messages. He laid on the bed with a thud, flicked the light off and drifted into a deep sleep.
Bang Bang Bang “Liammmm are youuuu in there?” Bang Bang Bang
Liam rolled over with a groan and checked his phone. 3:17am
Bang Bang “Open Uppp”
“Who is it? It’s three o’clock in the morning!” Liam yelled. He climbed out of bed and stumbled to the door still groggy from sleep. “Cami?” He said, completely alert at the sight of her. “Heyyyy Liiiiaamm.” Cami slurred, “Can I come in?” “Are you drunk Cami?” She pulled a bottle of champagne she was holding behind her back and handed it to him. “Want some?” She asked, leaning against the door frame. “Sure. Come in.” He ushered her inside and to the large sofa. He grabbed a water for Cami and poured himself a glass of the champagne she brought. “Maybe have some water first.” He handed her the bottle. “So what’s bring you over?” “That kiss.. I thought we could.. try it again..?” Liam looked up. She crashed her lips onto his. She forced his lips apart and into his mouth. The electricity radiated from their bodies. Liam fisted her blonde locks with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her on his lap. Liam picked Cami up as she wrapped her toned, sun kissed legs around his waist. He carried her to the bed and laid her down on her back, their kiss never breaking. Cami ran her fingers down the elastic of his boxers. “Wait Cami, we shouldn’t. You’re drunk.” Cami knew he was right. Liam rolled on his side next to her. He kissed her on the forehead and wrapped his arm around her. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Mmm.. moist.. tight.. Liam woke from his dream. He still felt the sensations he was feeling while he was asleep. “Fuck Cami” he moaned. Her tongue swirled around the tip of his growing cock. She licked the beads of precum. Liam pulled the sheet off so he could watch her work his member. She looked him in the eyes as she took him all the way down her throat. Liam had never been so turned on. “Come here. It’s my turn.” Liam pulled her up and kissed her passionately as he rolled her to her back. He kissed and nipped at her already peaked nipples. He nipped her hip bones and sucked leaving his masks behind. He slid a finger through her moist folds. He brought his mouth to her bundle of nerves. Cami almost leaped off the bed at the feel of his tongue swirling her clit. He continued the lashing of her clit and pushed a finger inside. He pumped in and out curling his finger against her most sensitive spot. He could feel her let go at the pleasure of his fingers. He climbed back up hovering above her on his elbows and kissed her until her lips were swollen and bruised. He grabbed a condom out of the night stand drawer. “Let me,” Cami said seductively. She leaned forward and unrolled the condom to the base of his length. “Fuck you make not want to to wear this, I want you so much Camilla.” He lined himself up with her dripping center. He thrust deep and slow and allowed her to adjust. He groaned at how tight she felt around him. She wrapped her legs around and rolled her hips to meet his thrusts. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked as he thrust inside her. He felt her walls start to flutter the harder he thrust inside her. “Cum for me Camilla” his words were all it took for her to come completely undone. She screamed his name as his thrusts became more frantic. He gripped her hips digging his fingers into her skin as he erupted inside her. He leaned down and kissed her deeply as pulled himself out of her. He laid next to her and pulled her into his arms. Neither one of them could find the words to say.
“I leave in a week.” Cami finally broke the silence. “Me too” Liam whispered, “Spend the week with me.” “Okay. My sister is leaving early. Wedding emergency.”
They spent the next week enjoying each other. They learned everything they could about each other. Liam told her about his family in Cordonia. His brother and his wife. His father's retirement. She told him about Graduate School and the pressures she was facing from her family over choosing a job. When they weren’t talking they were learning everything they could about each other’s bodies. Kisses, licks, bits, moans and screams.
Six days later after spending the night exploring each other, Liam and Camilla laid in on the glass floor completely naked looking down at the fish below. “Stay one more week with me, Cam” Liam whispered. “I already extended my trip, but it’s just one more week and I have to go,” Liam pulled her into his arms,“Every second with you is everything, you are everything, go on a date with me?” “Okay. But our dinner options may be limited due to the isolated island.” She spoke softly. “Leave it to me my love.” Liam felt her body tense at her words. He didn’t know why he said it. Oh my God it’s been a week you idiot! He screamed in his head.
Cami woke the next morning to find Liam’s side of the bed empty and cold. She threw on Liam’s tshirt that was on the floor from the night before and headed to the kitchen. A note was leaned against the coffee pot full of freshly brewed coffee for her.
Hey Baby,
Enjoy your coffee & meet me at the beach.
-L
P.S.
Wear something you can get wet.
Camilla smiled and finished her coffee. She took a quick shower and brushed her teeth. She threw on an all white cheeky string bikini and a pair of Ray Bans and headed down to the beach. As she got closer to the beach she saw a large white tent set up with the the corners tied open. Liam was sitting on a thick blanket with pillows surrounding him and a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Liam?” Camilla whispered. Liam jumped up at the sound of her voice. Her voice was a siren song in his ears. “Hey Baby,” Liam leaned down and kissed Cami on the cheek, “join me?” They drank, ate, and laughed together. Cami felt herself falling. I love you, damn those three words, you leave in two days Cami. Get yourself together. “Liam, we need to talk.” She lowered her head avoiding eye contact. She knew if she looked in his eyes she would get lost, better yet she would drown in those deep pools of mysterious blue. “I leave in two days. I go back to reality on different ends of the Earth.” “I know Cam, we can try can’t we? I can visit New York, you can come to Cordonia.” “No Liam, it’ll never work. We both have obligations.” Liam lifted her head to meet her eyes. “Give me today tonight.” Liam kissed her so deeply it left her dizzy. They spent the rest of the night into the early morning making up for time they didn’t they had lost.
The day came for them to leave their tropical paradise and their love for the moment. Neither had spoken a word to each other. Neither finding the words. Cami sat on the bad after packing her suitcase. Her flight boarded in an hour. Liam’s flight didn’t leave until later that night. “Cami, can we stay in touch?” Liam sat next to Cami and laced his fingers through hers. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I just.. It’s time for me to go..” Cami stood up. Liam stood up and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m not saying good-bye Liam,” she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes. “Then don’t say anything at all,” Liam wiped the tears away as they fell down her cheeks, “I”ll drive you the airport.” Liam lifted her into his arms and carried her to his black Range Rover parked in the parking lot near the villa entrance. Cami stared out the passenger window without saying a word. Liam held her hand in his lap tightly as he drove. He dreaded having to watch her board the plane not knowing whether he would ever see her again.
They pulled up to the tarmac and Liam jumped out and ran around the car to open the passenger door for Cami. Cami leaned forward and buried her head in her hands as the sobs took over. “Why is this so hard after only two weeks, Liam?” Liam pulled her hands from her face. “I don’t know. We will see each other again. I can feel it, my love.” She got out of the car and he wrapped her in one last kiss. A kiss filled with love and sadness. A kiss that made their world stop turning and everything around them melted away. Liam pulled away and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her nose like he was memorizing every inch of her features. “My love,” Cami interrupted Liam, “Don’t say it. Will you text me?” “Every day.” Liam watched as Cami boarded the plane. She waved before the plane doors shut. He watched as her plane took off and disappeared above the clouds. A familiar feeling he hadn’t felt in two weeks, what was almost a distant memory flooded him. Loneliness. She already felt like a figment of his imagination. Liam drove back to his bungalow to pack. He passed by Cami’s bungalow. An emptiness he didn’t recognize creeped into his heart. He walked into his bungalow and pulled out his phone. He needed someone to talk to. Someone to tell him what to do.
“Drake.. Ya it’s Li. Ya sorry I took off for two weeks without telling you.. Everything’s fine. I’ll be home tomorrow. So I’m calling because I met a girl..”
Liam told Drake everything about Cami. How they met and her sister. How they had an instant unexplainable connection. How he thought he was in love. How he thought she was the one. The One.
“Listen Li, Go after her. Don’t be a fucking idiot. I’ll be on the next flight to New York, ugh apparently Max too. Do you know where she lives?” Drake asked.
“I don’t even know her last name. She has a twin sister named Ansley and she’s graduating from Columbia Law next week. And she’s from Manhattan, New York. That’s kinda all I got. I have her number but I am sure she doesn’t want me chasing her down...”
“I’ll get Bas on it. I’m sure he has plenty of time since Maddie locked Leo down,” Drake laughed, “we’ll find her.”
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Triple Play (Negan/Reader/Simon one-shot)
This fic was originally intended to be my entry for @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash’s birthday challenge ages ago, but then life and a moody muse turned it into a forever WIP. And yet I just could not get story idea out of my head and did not stop until it was completed.
My prompt was “Technology – Walkie Talkies”.
Summary: some secrets are better left untold…or are they?
Characters: Negan x Reader x Simon
Word count: 5,616
Warnings: angst, dirty talk, smut, swearing
Tags (tagging my forevers and those who expressed interest in this fic at some point): @negans-network, @i-am-negan-trash, @emoryhemsworth, @ridingmoxley, @ladysyn, @sleepylunarwolf, @letsby, @tatertotandcassie, @annablack1102, @genevievedarcygranger, @daisysouthmoore, @hughxjackman, @ofxallxwexlost, @negans-wife
I appreciate feedback and most days don’t bite. So don’t be shy to comment, message or ask me anything!
“Okay, Y/N, your turn. Dwight, Negan, Simon,” Laura chirped, her voice hissing with static.
Your lips curled up into a wide grin as you raised the radio to your mouth.
“Fuck Negan, marry Simon, kill Dwight.”
“Damn, girl. That was quick!” Arat’s laugh echoed through the speaker. “You could have at least pretended to think about it for a minute.”
The Virginia sun was beating down with all its might as you made your way through the field in the knee-high grass. You retrieved the water bottle from your backpack, but the few gulps of lukewarm water did little to wet your parched throat.
Negan had sent out a search party for two workers who were stupid enough to break into the storage room and steal various supplies, but not smart enough to take a car to make their escape. It was just a question of time before they were captured, but you hoped it was going to happen before dinner. It was Friday, and tonight’s menu was going to be mac ‘n cheese. A hot meal and a cold shower, you craved nothing more.
You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand while scanning the tree line for movement, but everything looked peaceful. Despite a badly decomposed walker that stumbled out of the forest about an hour ago, the search was uneventful. To kill time, Arat proposed to play ‘Fuck, marry, kill’ on the back-up channel, which she swore was safe from prying ears since nobody ever used it.
“Poor D, why would you hurt him?”
Laura could not hide the reproach in her tone. She had had a crush on Dwight since forever but didn’t dare to make a move on him, not even months after Sherry had married Negan.
“He’s a good dude, but not my type, sorry, not sorry.”
“Okay, what about Simon?” Arat chimed in. “I didn’t think you were the marrying type.”
The chorus of cicadas fell silent in the background as the transmission ended.
“I’m not, but I can’t fuck him too if I marry Negan.”
“Wait...what?”
An amused smile spread on your lips at the frantic reaction.
“Well, you know the rules. If you marry Negan, you can’t be with anybody else but him, right? But what if I want to fuck both him and Simon? The only way is to marry Simon and cheat on him with Negan. Or better yet, to coax them into a threesome.”
“Okay, I get Simon. He’s funny, has a killer swagger and that moustache must feel like heaven on your pussy,” Laura pondered. “But Negan…I mean, he’s hot, but also volatile, dangerous, and rough. He must be an animal in bed. I bet even his cum-face is scary.”
“I choose to accept the mission and find out for your peace of mind. I think he made Sherry come at least three times last night. Lucky bitch,” you sighed with envy recalling the sinful noises you overheard from Negan’s room.
“Then why don’t you volunteer to become a wife?”
“I worked my ass off to become a Savior, and will not give it up to sit around in the wives’ lounge, eat candy and paint my nails all day. I’d rather keep my job and fantasize about Negan and Simon while rubbing one out at night.”
The conversation was interrupted by your radio emitting a long beep, pulling you back to reality and the task at hand. You stopped in your tracks and switched to the primary channel.
“The search is over, we have the sorry shits in custody,” you heard Negan’s gravelly voice announce, his patience evidently worn thin. “Everybody get the fuck back to base now!”
You felt a pang of sorrow for the escapees. They were no doubt going to receive a painfully thorough ironing after dinner.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
An hour and a shower later you were on your way to the canteen with Arat and Laura in tow. The scent of melted cheese and spices filling the corridors made saliva pool in your mouth.
You devoured the plate of pasta within minutes and chugged two glasses of water to quench your thirst after the savoury meal. Feeling full and sleepy, you rested your chin in your palm, while Arat and Laura engaged in a heated debate over which of the newbie Saviors they wanted to fuck, marry and kill respectively.
“Evening, ladies,” Simon stopped by your table, his hands resting on his hips. After giving the two girls a quick nod, his eyes settled on you. “He wants to see you, Y/N, in his room.”
You furrowed your brow in confusion. Negan didn’t summon anyone but his wives at such a late hour and he had never asked to see you in his room before.
“Something wrong?”
“Everything’s A-Okay. The boss man just wants to have a word with you in private. Let’s not keep him waiting,” Simon gestured towards the door, his usual smirk never faltering.
You stood up from the table and gave Arat and Laura a wink before following Simon out of the canteen.
“I thought he was going to punish the escapees after dinner,” you stated rather than asked while trying to keep up with Simon’s long strides.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered under his breath. “There’s another matter he wants to deal with tonight.”
His curt response caught you off-guard, but you attributed it to him being hungry, since you had not seen him at dinner earlier.
Simon led you to the top floor and stopped before a large mahogany double door. Knocking twice, he turned the knob without waiting for an answer, and motioned for you to step inside.
Negan’s quarters looked nothing like other parts of the Sanctuary. It felt like entering the suite of a five-star hotel and you couldn’t stop looking around in amazement. The room was lavishly furnished with furniture and accessories from an expensive interior design store the Saviors had looted on your first run. There was a giant four poster bed to your left, decorated with grey, satin bedsheets and neatly arranged pillows, and to your right a comfortable black leather couch with two matching armchairs surrounding a coffee table. A bar area was set up in the corner complete with leather stools and a selection of spirits. The private bathroom was hidden behind a black door on the opposite wall, but you imagined it to be just as extravagant. Negan had a taste for the finer things in life, like beautiful women, good food and his luxurious apartment was no exception. Your room looked like a mouse hole in comparison.
Negan was sitting behind his desk, several papers splayed out before him next to a tumbler filled with amber liquid. His leather jacket was draped over the back of his seat, but his signature red scarf was still draped around his neck. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast an eerie light on his face. He looked up from the ledger in his hand and beckoned you closer, pointing at the chair in front of him.
Simon strode over to the couch behind you and plopped down, the leather squeaking under his weight. You were surprised to see him stay, but Negan didn’t seem to mind his number two’s presence in the room. He took a small sip of his drink and leaned back in the armchair, studying you with an unreadable expression.
Negan had always treated you fairly, appreciating your scavenging skills and rewarding your hard work. You climbed the imaginary career ladder at the community from common worker to lieutenant thanks to your tenacity, courage and ability to handle Negan’s short temper and crude humour. Along with Arat and Simon you were one of his most trusted soldiers, carrying out his orders and accompanying him on runs. You had been infatuated with him from the start and often found your eyes lingering on your formidable leader, but seemingly he had never expressed an interest in you.
With Simon your attraction began on your first run to Alexandria, when you were assigned to ride in the same truck and hit it off right away during the long journey. Simon was funny, smart and cute in a rugged way, and soon the two men occupied your dreams, with the three of you ending up having hot, messy sex on every vertical and horizontal surface imaginable. Yet, you did your best to act professionally around them, not letting your secret obsession interfere with your work.
“Something you wanna tell me?” Negan jolted you from your thoughts. “Anything you’d like to confess?”
“I’m not a religious person, sorry,” you pursed your lips to suppress a smile.
Simon snickered behind you, but Negan seemed unfazed by your cheekiness. He swirled his whisky a few times, his touch leaving random marks on the foggy surface of the glass.
“Okay, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I took an extra serving of the apple pie at dinner last night. It was too delicious to resist.”
Negan narrowed his eyes at you and stroked his chin, his gloved fingers scraping his salt-and-pepper stubble.
“Or if this is about the crime novel I haven’t returned to the library, I know it’s almost a month overdue, but I still have two chapters left and want to know who the killer is.”
You heard the sound before your eyes could register the motion as Negan slammed down his glass on the desk. You expected it to shatter into a million pieces, but the tumbler miraculously survived the impact, the ice cubes clinking against each other in protest.
“Careful, Y/N. You don’t wanna test my patience.”
You gulped hard, feeling an uneasy chill go down your spine. Negan was usually up for jokes, but he was evidently not in the mood for them now, and you could not shake off the thought that you were the reason for it.
He stood up and keeping his gaze fixed on you rounded the desk before leaning against it, resting his hands on the edge. His crotch was level with your eyes, and you straightened up in your seat to avoid having to look at the impressive package in his pants.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you opted for honesty.
Negan pushed himself away from the desk and started circling you. His looming presence behind you made the hair stand up on your back, but you fought the urge to turn around.
“I don’t take lightly to my Saviors keeping secrets from me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you asserted but regretted it immediately when Negan’s face appeared in your peripheral vision.
“Bullshit!” he snarled against your ear. “What about that little girl talk over the radio this afternoon?”
His words made the blood drain from your face. Closing your eyes, you wished the ground would miraculously open and swallow you up.
“Imagine my surprise when during today’s run, I heard one of my top gals confess over the back-up channel that she was fantasizing about me and my right-hand man while rubbing one out at night.”
If the blood had gone from your face before, it now rushed right back up as you felt your cheeks grow hot.
“That shit made me very, very disappointed.”
Negan stepped back in front of you, and crossing his ankles leaned against the desk. The intensity of his stare made your heart sink. You tried to guess how much of your radio conversation with Arat and Laura he could have heard. If luck was on your side, he only caught the last part. If not...
…you didn’t even want to go there.
“We were just…joking. A silly chat between us girls to pass the time,” you shrugged, feeling perspiration bead on your forehead.
Negan studied your face intently weighing your words.
“What do you make of this, Simon?”
“She’s lying, boss,” came the merry retort from the couch.
You head snapped around in protest but Negan grabbed your chin with his gloved hand, forcing you to look at him.
“I think you’re right,” he mused in a sing-song voice, his face so close that you could smell his body wash and the faint trace of whiskey on his breath. ”Get over here and give me a hand, will you?”
You heard Simon’s heavy boots cross the room and stop behind you. Negan gave him a knowing look and before you knew it, your arms were yanked back, and held firmly behind the chair.
“Where were we, doll?” Negan let go of your chin and crouched down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “Oh, yes. You fantasizing about me and Simon nailing you.”
He licked his lips slowly and your eyes followed the motion instinctively.
“What’s the matter, Y/N? Cat got your tongue? You were very talkative over the radio earlier,” Negan taunted sardonically.
You closed your legs to put some distance between your bodies, but Negan squeezed your thighs in warning and forced them further apart.
“Tell me what you thought about last night.”
You squirmed in your seat, Negan’s command ringing in your ears in the deafening silence that followed.
“You said that you were listening to me fucking Sherry. What did you think about to get off?”
Your eyes went wide like saucers and you desperately tried to come up with a plausible excuse, but your mind went completely blank. Sharing a kinky fantasy over the radio with your best friends was one thing. But confessing it face to face to the very subjects of it?
“Careful, Y/N,” Negan warned sensing your stalling, his mouth tightening into a thin line. “I want the truth on this one.”
You went limp in Simon’s grip with an exasperated sigh. As much as you hated to admit defeat, they cornered you. You held your head up high and gave Negan a defiant look. If he wanted to hear the truth, you were going to tell him just that, consequences be damned.
“We were in the meeting room, at the usual Monday briefing for the lieutenants. I disagreed with your order, and we got into an argument over it. I knew that I was pushing your buttons but the more riled up you got, the more it turned me on.”
Negan looked at you with a faint smirk, as if the same idea had crossed his mind before.
“You decided that if I was bold enough to backtalk in front of your men, then I would also be punished in front of them. Simon pinned me down on the meeting table, and the two of you took turns having your way with me.”
Negan’s pupils dilated, the primal reaction urging you to continue.
“All the lieutenants were watching us with hunger and envy that they could only look, but not touch or taste me. I was completely exposed and at your mercy, and yet felt safe and in control of the situation, because that was exactly what I wanted. To be taken, dominated, marked and used for your pleasure. You kept teasing me, edging me, until I was a begging mess. And in the end, you came inside me, breeding me.”
Negan tsked with a shake of his head.
“And you were hiding all of this from me? Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But don’t worry, we will rectify the situation right now.”
Your heart dropped as the meaning of his words sank in. This was it. You were going to be demoted, lose your friends, the respect of the Saviors and could never go near Negan and Simon again. Or they would kick you out of the Sanctuary even. And all of this because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Now you knew why the ironing of the escapees had been postponed. Negan had deemed your punishment more urgent.
“You wanna pay close attention to this, because I’m only going to say it once. Hearing your dirty little confession over the radio made me and Simon hard as steel. So we decided to make your wish come true.”
You blinked twice, expecting to wake up from what seemed to be the weirdest dream you had ever had. You were never going to stuff yourself full of food before bed again.
“But I have two conditions. Are you with me, doll?”
You nodded weakly as Negan’s fingers drew a zigzag pattern on your jeans.
“One: as much as the thought of fucking you in front of my men is tickling my balls, I am not letting those fuckers lay their eyes on you. It’s going to be just you, me and Simon.”
The offer sounded more than fair to you.
"Two: you know well I don’t share my gals with anyone, except for when I have a moresome with my wives, and I only allow them to fuck each other because I get to watch. What’s mine is mine.”
Your breath hitched as he moved his hands further up, the tip of his fingers skimming the apex of your thighs.
“But since your fantasy involved my right-hand man as well, I’m willing to bend the rules just this once.”
Heat pooled in your belly as you watched him, mesmerized by his usually hazel eyes darkening to dark chocolate.
“So, tonight I get exclusive membership at your pussy bar, no exceptions. You will be my little breeding bitch only,” he stroked your clothed centre, eliciting a pathetic whine from you. “As for other parts of your body, sharing is caring.” Negan looked up at Simon flashing his pearly whites, before his eyes settled back on you.
You stared at him at a loss for words. One part of you was cheering you on to seize the opportunity and accept the indecent proposal, while the other was adamant that you were going to wake up any minute. Negan lifted his gloved hand to your cheek and traced your lower lip, expecting an answer. You let your body do the talking and opened your mouth to run your tongue over his thumb, tracing a shiny path on the black leather. If this was indeed just a dream, you were going to make sure it would be a wet one.
“Damn, Simon, I knew she was going to be trouble from the moment we met her,” Negan drawled, his eyes heavy with desire.
Grabbing the back of your head he pulled you up and claimed your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth possessively. Simon pushed the chair out of the way and pressed himself into your back trapping your body between him and Negan. Even through two layers of clothing you could feel the outline of his hard-on, earning a low moan from you.
“Easy, Simon,” Negan grinned wickedly, sucking and nibbling on your neck. “We don’t want her to cum just yet.”
Closing your eyes, you rested your head on Simon’s shoulder to offer Negan easier access to your skin. Lost in the pleasure the two men were showering you with your right hand went to cup Negan’s bulge, while you grabbed the back of Simon’s head with the other and arched your back against him.
“Looks like someone’s eager,” Simon murmured grinding into your ass.
“She’s not the only one,” Negan hissed. “Let’s get her out of these fucking clothes, before I blow my load in my pants.”
He lifted your shirt over your head, and Simon unbuttoned your pants and pulled them off your legs along with your boots. You felt self-conscious standing before the two men in nothing but your underwear but Negan’s lustful gaze and the appreciative rumble in Simon’s chest chased all your insecurities away. Simon unclasped your bra and you dropped your hands to your sides, letting it slide down onto the floor. He went for your panties next, but Negan stopped him with a grunt, reminding him of the exclusive territorial rights he had established earlier.
Simon seemed unfazed by the setback and put his plan B in motion peppering your neck with sloppy kisses. He placed his right hand on top of yours, and guided it from his crotch to your front, tracing your belly button with the tip of your fingers, before slipping them inside your panties and brushing your slit.
His ingenuity impressed you, but Negan didn’t share the sentiment.
“Hands off, Simon, her pussy is mine,“ he bared his teeth at him.
The primal gesture combined with the possessiveness in his voice made your insides coil with anticipation. Simon held his hands up with a smug look and licked his fingertips, his eyes closing in delight as he savoured the taste of your arousal.
Negan yanked your panties down, the disapproval over your complicity in Simon’s crime evident on his face. Simon kneeled on the ground and lifted the garment to his nose to take a whiff, before letting it fall on top of your discarded clothes.
“I think we should catch up with her, Simon” Negan suggested, his eyes drinking in your nakedness.
He took off his shirt revealing tufts of dark chest hair and various tattoos, some faded, some more recent looking. You heard Simon unbuckle his belt behind you and looked back over your shoulder to steal a glance. He was bulkier than Negan, his muscles defined, and chest fully shaved. You watched the piles of clothes grow by their feet until they stood before you completely naked, their cocks standing proud against their bellies. Simon’s was thick and veiny, Negan’s long and smooth, but both impressive in its own right. You bit down on your lip, yearning to taste them.
“Like what you see, doll?” Negan flicked his tongue suggestively at you. “Get on your knees and show Simon what that smart mouth is capable of,” he instructed pointing down on the ground. “But don’t make him cum yet.”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” you purred.
“We shall see when you choke on his dick,” Negan replied darkly before turning to his right-hand man. “Show her who’s the fucking boss here.”
Simon didn’t need to be told twice and placing his hand on your shoulder pushed you down on the carpet. You grabbed his cock and gave it a few pumps before licking off the drops of pre-cum oozing from the tip. He sighed out loud, as you closed your mouth over the head and sucked gently, enjoying the salty taste. You swallowed him inch by inch, tracing every vein with your tongue, until he was buried deep in your throat. His hands tightened in your hair to keep you still, eliciting a muffled whine from you, your lips vibrating around his length. When you could no longer fight the need to gag, you began to move, bobbing your head up and down.
Opening your eyes, you searched for Negan and found him getting comfortable in the chair you had been sitting in before. He was watching your every move, legs wide open, stroking himself lazily. You mirrored his pace instinctively and sucked on Simon in sync with his palm fisting his dick. Negan sucked on his teeth as he watched your cheeks bulge rhythmically.
You pulled back and swirled your tongue around the crown like catching drips from a melting ice cream cone. Simon lowered his hand to the back of your head, spreading his fingers wide for a solid hold, and started fucking your mouth with abandon. Your throat was contracting and burning with every thrust but you didn’t mind the discomfort, feeling a rush of blood go to your core from him using you just like you had imagined.
“That’s enough,” Negan barked, but Simon was too far gone in pleasure to listen, his eyes closed, and head thrown back. You kept your eyes on Negan to show him that you had heard him and doubled your efforts, forming a ring with your thumb and index finger around the root of Simon’s shaft, and cupping his balls in your free hand. You knew that you were playing with fire, but the thrill was too tempting to resist.
Negan’s mouth twisted into a snarl and he jumped up from the chair to advance on you, his manhood swinging with every step like a metronome. You felt a sharp tug on your hair and let Simon slip from your mouth, a string of saliva hanging off your chin.
“I said, enough!” Negan repeated and pulled you up into a standing position. “Simon, take a time-out before you bust a nut.”
You felt him swat your ass hard and yelped in surprise.
“This may be your fantasy, doll, but I call the fucking shots here and will not hesitate to dole out some hard punishment, if you don’t follow my orders,” he seethed.
Still holding you by the make-shift ponytail he pushed you towards the bed and showed you down on the mattress.
“On your back, arms above your head.”
You laid back down against the pillows as you were told. Negan knelt between your legs and spread them apart by your knees.
“Well, would you look at this creamy little mess in here!” his eyes gleamed with unadulterated joy.
Getting on his elbows, he traced your mound with his lips, his mouth barely touching you, the combination of the scruff of his beard and his warm breath tickling deliciously. Your hands fisted the sheets as he licked your pussy from bottom to top, before dripping the tip into your opening, and lapping up your juices with relish. He peeked up at you through his long lashes, watching your reactions. His lips were sticky with your arousal as he ate you out shamelessly as if you had been his last meal on Earth.
You looked to your right to find Simon sitting on the couch, watching the two of you with drowsy eyes. He was trying hard to comply with Negan’s orders, but it was evident how much he wanted to touch himself as he fidgeted in his seat, his cock begging for attention.
Negan moved his tongue to your clit and sucked it between his teeth, the sensation exquisite and overwhelming at the same time. You cried out and digging your heels into the mattress lifted your body to move away from him, but he wrapped his fingers around your thighs holding you in place. His tongue continued its sensual assault alternating between slow, soft flicks, and fast, greedy slurps. The variation of the tempo and intensity combined with the thrill of not knowing what his next move would be was driving you crazy with want.
You bucked your hips to maximize the contact between your bodies, he, however, had other plans and sat back on his heels. Pulling you down by the waist until he was kneeling between your thighs, he lined himself up at your entrance and began grinding against your heat, coating his length with your wetness.
“Negan...” you whimpered and raised your pelvis to make him slide inside you, but he restrained you by putting his hand on your stomach.
“Not yet.”
Getting impatient you reached for his dick, but he slapped your hand away.
“I said, not yet! Simon, come here!”
You felt the bed dip and calloused hands pinning your wrists down on the mattress. Tilting your head to the side you continued to suck on Simon, eager to finish what Negan’s intervention had interrupted earlier.
You arched your back off the mattress as Negan pinched your right nipple and rolled it between his fingers. He grazed your left nipple with his teeth, before sucking it into his mouth and blowing on the stiff peak, his saliva feeling like a cool ointment against your overheated skin.
“Please...” you gasped, not sure if you were asking him to stop or to go on.
“I think she’s learned her lesson,” Simon gritted his words, the sensory overload of your lips on him, and the sight of Negan toying with you pushing him dangerously close to the edge.
“I don’t think so, Simon. But it looks like she will milk you dry any minute, and I want to fuck this pretty pussy raw finally.”
Negan positioned himself at your dripping cunt and slid inside, inch by inch. You cried out in ecstasy from the sweet pressure of him stretching you wide. When he was buried to the hilt, he remained still, and taking hold of your ankles, spread your legs wide.
“Look at that, Simon, how she is taking my big, fat dick like a champ?”
He finally began to move in a painfully slow rhythm, enjoying as your warmth enveloped him. Crossing your legs for a closer fit he placed your feet on his shoulder, the penetration so deep that you let out a cry with every thrust. Your entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat and your damp strands of hair stuck to your forehead. You were exposed and at the mercy of the two men, but had never felt this free and complete. Tension was building in your stomach and you closed your eyes to absorb yourself in the moment.
Negan, however, pulled out abruptly, earning him a frustrated mewl from you that he rewarded with a slap delivered on your swollen clit.
“On all fours, doll. I want to fill this fertile pussy full of my cum.”
Simon let go of your arms and sat back against the headboard. You rolled over lifting yourself up on your elbows, barely able to support your own weight. Negan lifted your ass up and placing his palm between your shoulder blades pushed you down in Simon’s lap. When he was satisfied with the angle, he rammed into you again, his fingers digging into your hips.
“Are you going to cum on my cock, like a good girl?” he growled and spanked your ass hard.
You cried out an affirmative and continued to pleasure Simon while chasing your own release. A few seconds later you felt every nerve ending in your body tingle and warmth spread to your core. Your toes curled inward as your body surrendered to the inevitable and waves of ecstasy washed over you, dulling your senses for what felt like several minutes. The vibrations of your moans around him made Simon succumb to his own climax. He started twitching and throbbing, before spurting his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop hungrily before releasing his softening member from your mouth.
Negan let you ride out your high, and then picked up the speed again. Fisting your hair, he pulled your head back twisting your body in an unnatural shape as he continued to pound you. His hand curled around your neck, his fingers squeezing hard enough to make black spots appear in your vision and blood drum in your ears. Drops of sweat fell from his chest to your ass tickling down to your sides and onto the sheet as he rode you, not losing his rhythm for a second.
His moves became more urgent, until he buried himself inside you one last time. He groaned a series of expletives under his breath before biting down on your shoulder as he came inside you, coating your inner walls with his cum. His fingers released their grip around your throat, allowing much-needed oxygen to fill your lungs and a second orgasm, even more intense than the first, consume you. You collapsed on the bed all strength leaving your limbs, as the room came back into focus, your heightened senses perceiving everything all at once.
Negan rolled off of you onto his back, his arm resting over his eyes, as Simon laid down against the pillows, a sly grin plastered over his face.
“Damn, boss,“ he wiped his brow with his thumb. “If only all dreams came true.”
Your reply was a tired but satisfied hum of agreement. A girl could dream, but making it come true was so much better.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
You stirred awake at the break of dawn. Taking in your surroundings you realized that you were still in Negan’s bed. It was dark outside, but the first rays of the sun peeked through the heavy curtains. You felt spent and sore, your skin sticky with the remnants of sweat and dried cum. The bitemark on your neck was still tender, but you wore it with pride as proof of Negan’s claim over you. Turning your head, you found him lying sprawled out on his stomach, his breathing deep and even, but Simon’s side of the bed was empty, the wrinkled sheets cold already.
You sat up carefully, searching for your clothes in the dim light, when you felt a strong arm circle around your waist.
“Where do you think you’re going, doll?” Negan’s raspy drawl made you shiver.
“Back to my room?” you looked at him over your shoulder.
“Nuh-uh,” he pulled you back against his chest. “You are staying. I want you all to myself for round two in the morning. And after that I may even change my mind about fucking you at the Monday briefing.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” you tried to untangle yourself from his hold but were easily overpowered after a playful struggle and his expert fingers finding your tickle spot.
“Just sass me, doll, and you shall see, along with all the filthy ideas I have on my mind.”
The alluring promise made you relax against him, dark words whispered in the twilight lulling you back to sleep, and another fantasy taking shape in your imagination already.
#twd#the walking dead#negan#twd negan#jeffrey dean morgan#twd fic#twd fan fiction#the walking dead fic#the walking dead fan fiction#negan fic#negan fan fiction#twd negan fic#twd negan fan fiction#smut#negan smut#twd negan smut#twd simon#negan x reader#twd negan x reader#negan x you#twd negan x you#jdm#negan's thirst squad
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all for a 56-pack of crayons
Prompt which has obviously been a little modified because of who I am as a person: “I was bartending at an Italian restaurant and it’s pretty much full of valentine dates. A guy walks in and sits at the bar by himself. He had come to the city to surprise his girlfriend for valentine’s day (about a five-hour bus trip between cities) and he sure surprised her. she was in her dorm room fucking one of his friends from high school”
so @shireness-says sent me the above prompt a dreadfully long time ago, and I was going to write it for her birthday. I missed that date by a few weeks, but who doesn’t love a late birthday gift? Keeping the party going! 🎉
found on ao3 | here |
-/-
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“This,” Emma says, motioning out to all of the people in front of her. “People can go on dates every day of the year, but everyone in all of Portland is here tonight.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Mary Margaret sighs, a goofy little smile on her face that’s always there when she’s talking or thinking about love. It’d be obnoxious if she wasn’t so damn charming. Or nice. Charming is really more of David’s thing. “People like to go on dates on Valentine’s Day.”
“Because it’s a – ”
“Societal construct. Yes, I know. You’ve said that once or twice.”
Emma rolls her eyes and grabs the bottle of wine she was looking for. “Look, all I’m saying is that if you think proposing to your girlfriend on Valentine’s Day is romantic, you’ve got issues. There are a lot of days of the year, make another one of them special.”
“Emma.”
“I’ve got to go serve table ten. He’s got a ring being put in a dessert. Be right back.”
Mary Margaret isn’t behind the bar when Emma gets back. She’s probably off trying to help some teenagers flirt or listening to some couple’s love story. She’s very into romance and candy hearts and the whole big thing. It’s like this every year, but Emma can’t blame her, not really. Mary Margaret has been with David since they were fifteen years old, and her entire life is some kind of candy heart and giant teddy bear holding red roses world. There are obviously a few pieces of melted chocolate and fallen rose petals in there, but overall, she’s never had a reason to be sick of love and this holiday that just makes single people feel shitty about themselves.
“Whatever your strongest rum is, I want that.”
Emma turns to see a man sliding down at the barstool in front of her. No one is sitting up here tonight. Everyone is in the booths and at the tables, so what the hell is this guy doing up here?
Alone.
She quickly glances over him. He’s got on a white button-down, the top few buttons undone, and a leather jacket on top of it. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and Emma can’t tell whether he just doesn’t know how to do his hair or if he’s one of those guys who tries to artfully mess his hair up. From everything else about his looks, he’s definitely a guy who tries to do that.
You don’t look like him and wear a leather jacket if you don’t know you’re attractive.
The blue eyes alone could probably get half the girls in here into bed with him.
Woah, Emma.
That’s definitely taking her judgment of people a little too far.
“You don’t want something specific?” Emma asks him.
“Whatever can get me drunk.”
Emma’s brows raise, but she quickly tries to neutralize her face. She judges people all the time, but they can’t know that she judges them. She would lose her tips, and she needs those to live and to pay bills and to be able to buy Henry new shoes and the 56-pack of crayons he wants that has all of the specialized colors.
“I am technically not supposed to encourage a customer to get drunk, but I will get that rum for you.”
“Thank you, lass.”
Emma bends down and searches through their shelf of rum, pulling out a bottle that won’t break the guy’s bank but that tastes good enough, and pours him a glass. “You need anything else?”
“Do you serve food up here?”
“We do, but sir, if you’re here for a date, I’m afraid – ”
The man downs his drink before slamming the glass against the bar top. He winces and then adjusts the tumbler.
“I’m not here for a date. I’m simply here for some food and a few more glasses of rum.”
“I’m not supposed to let you have enough to get drunk. I wasn’t kidding about that.”
“Lucky for you, I have a high tolerance.”
Emma’s eyes roll, and she turns away to hide that before grabbing a menu off the shelf and then handing it to him. “You can look through this, and then when you’re ready, I’ll send your order back to the kitchen.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Not your love.”
Oh shit. She shouldn’t get snippy with him. She was just thinking about how she needs the tips.
56 pack of crayons and all.
“Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “Force of habit.”
“You have a lot of people call you love? I didn’t know there was such a British population in Portland.”
“I have a lot of people call me by pet names,” Emma corrects, forcing her smile back onto her face. “Baby, sweetheart, honey, whatever else men can come up with when they’re trying to hit on me.”
The man nods and places his hand on the counter. She glances down at the movement, notices the fact that he has a glove on just that one hand, and as much as she is curious, she’s sure as hell not about to ask. Her five-year-old might ask, but she’s decidedly not five and has better manners than that.
“I apologize, love. Fuck. Didn’t mean to say that.”
Emma chuckles and turns around to get him a glass of water. She should have already done that, but she got distracted. “It’s Emma. Emma Swan. I’m sorry for not telling you my name earlier. I should have as soon as you sat down. I seem to be off my game tonight.”
“Killian Jones.”
She turns around with his water and puts it down. “It’s nice to meet you. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you.”
Emma stays busy for the next hour, serving drinks and doing the take-out orders, and while people come up to the bar, none of them stay. They’re here for a fleeting moment, getting what they need, and then going. She doesn’t mind. It’s busy enough in here that she never stays idle, and if she keeps working, this damn day will be over and she can go home, never thinking of engagement rings and candy hearts again.
A round of applause sounds around the restaurant, and Emma looks up to see a man on his knees and his girlfriend with her hands clasped over her mouth.
“Does that happen often?”
“Huh?”
“The proposal,” Killian explains. “Does that happen often?”
“I’d say we get a proposal in here every two weeks, but on Valentine’s Day? At least ten per shift.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I take it you’re not a fan of Valentine’s Day.”
“I think it’s cliched, and I’m not really a fan of cliched.”
“Eh, I think it has its pros and cons. A few clichés are good.”
Emma crosses her arms over her chest. “Like what?”
“Surprises, maybe. If you’re in a long-distance relationship and you ride on a train for five-hours to surprise your girlfriend, I imagine that can be a nice, cliched thing.”
“Is that what you did?”
He drinks half of his glass before stabbing a piece of his steak. “Funnily enough, I did.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Well, when I showed up to her apartment, she was fucking my oldest mate.”
Holy shit.
No wonder he wanted the strongest rum they have.
“You’re kidding? You have to be kidding.”
He scoffs and leans back on the stool, a smile curving on his lips while his eyelashes flutter. “I wish I was.”
Emma shakes her head and grabs his bottle, pouring a little more in his glass. “I’m cutting you off after this glass, but this one’s on me.”
“You don’t have to do that, Swan.”
“Look, I may hate Valentine’s Day, but no one deserves that when they were trying to do something romantic. Hell, no one ever deserves that. Unless maybe they’re an asshole.”
“I guess I’m an asshole.”
“I don’t know you well enough to say for sure, but I doubt it.”
“How would you know?”
Emma shrugs. “I call it my superpower. I’ve got an intuition about these types of things.”
“It’s true. She does.” Mary Margaret steps up beside her and leans forward on the counter. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear your story.”
“Marg – ”
Mary Margaret waves her away. “First of all, I’m so sorry. Secondly, I bet you don’t have a place to stay tonight, so why don’t you stay with us?”
Oh hell no.
“Marg,” Emma hisses, pulling Mary Margaret away from the counter and back against the shelves, “what the hell are you doing?”
“He was going to stay with his girlfriend tonight, but now they’ve broken up.”
“He can stay in a hotel.”
“That’ll be so expensive. Come on. We have a couch.”
“I don’t want to have to spend the night with a stranger. That’s not safe.”
“David is a cop.”
“He doesn’t know that. He could still plan on murdering us.”
“Well, I suppose I do now,” Killian says. She and Mary Margaret both turn on their heels to look at him. “Sorry. You’re not exactly in a discreet spot. I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your offer, lass. I don’t – you’re too kind, but I can’t accept it.”
“Emma,” Mary Margaret begs.
“No.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
“I’m Mary Margaret,” she suddenly says, turning to Killian and shaking his hand. “You’ve had a rough night, obviously, and I think you need some homemade brownies. Let me call my boyfriend, and I’ll clear it with him.”
“What about Emma?”
“Ignore her. She’s paranoid that everyone is a serial killer.”
“She has a point.”
“You’re not a serial killer. We can both tell.”
“Love, I really – I cannot impose on you.”
Emma blinks at him, wondering why the hell British people use so many pet names. She’s not sure what the hell is happening. Why is Mary Margaret inviting him to their apartment? Why is she so insistent on it? This isn’t the first time someone has stumbled into the restaurant wanting to get drunk because something shitty has happened, and it certainly won’t be the last.
But Mary Margaret is Mary Margaret, and Emma guesses she’s going to sleep in Henry’s room with the door locked and his dresser pushed up against the door.
Not that she thinks this is a bad guy.
But precautions and all that. She’s not naïve enough to think that everyone she meets is going to be a good person, and she’s not taking a single chance when it comes to Henry.
“You wouldn’t be imposing in the slightest. Our shift finishes at midnight.”
Emma turns around to Mary Margaret and hisses, “if he murders us, I’m coming back to life to kill you again.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
-/-
“So, what do you do?”
“David,” Mary Margaret sighs. “Don’t make him uncomfortable.”
“He’s sleeping on our couch. I can ask him what he does.”
“Be nice.”
“I’m getting my Masters in Civil Engineering at NYU.”
Emma lets out a low whistle before catching herself. Damn. That’s impressive, especially considering she’s currently in a bunch of lit classes with eighteen-year-olds who couldn’t care less about the classes they’re in. They also complain about having class at eight in the morning and then finishing all of their classes by noon, but, really, she can’t be bothered by them too much. If her life had gone the way theirs had, she imagines she would complain about being up at eight in the morning, too.
Hell, she does now. Just for entirely different reasons.
“Something to say about that, love?” Killian asks, both brows raised.
She bites her tongue at the name. He’s been letting them fly for both she and Mary Margaret all night, so it really must be a force of habit and not him trying to get into her pants.
“Not a thing.”
“So what do you plan on doing with that?” David asks Killian.
“Well, I am planning on – ”
“Mom.”
Oh shit.
Emma turns around and sees Henry standing in the hallway. He’s in his pajamas, his hair pushed up from where he’s been sleeping, and he only has one sock on. How the hell does that always happen?
“Kid, what are you doing awake?”
“You guys are loud. Who’s that?”
Emma looks between Henry and Killian, trying to figure out how the hell to explain this to a child.
“A friend,” she quickly answers. “He’s going to sleep on the couch tonight before he leaves in the morning to go back home.”
“Where is he from?”
“New York.”
“How do you know him?”
“Alright,” Emma sighs, going toward Henry and gently placing her hands on his shoulders before guiding him back to his room, closing the door behind them. “It’s late, and you need to go back to bed. We’re going to the playground in the morning, remember?”
“The TV man said it was going to snow.”
“Well, when has a little snow ever stopped us?”
She gets Henry back in bed and cuddles up beside him, tucking him in and fixing his hair before kissing his forehead and sighing. She’s exhausted, desperately needs to be in her own bed, but that probably won’t happen tonight.
“Did you have a good day at school?” Emma whispers while she still strokes Henry’s hair.
“Mhm.”
“Did you give your cards to your class?”
“Yep! Can I eat my candy?”
“Right now?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to say no to that one. You’ll get far too much energy, and then you’d have to brush your teeth again.”
“Nooo,” Henry giggles, squirming as Emma runs her fingers over his belly. “I don’t want to brush my teeth again.”
“Then I guess candy will have to wait for the morning.”
Henry sighs and shifts in his bed, burying his face into his pillow. He’s quiet, so Emma doesn’t say anything, hoping that maybe he’s going to fall asleep easily. Henry’s going to be in a mood in the morning. She can already tell. Hopefully, and it is a big hope, he’ll sleep in.
There’s almost a 100% certainty that he won’t.
“Is that man your boyfriend?”
Emma nearly chokes on her own tongue.
“What?”
Henry twists around until she can see his face again. “Avery said since I don’t have a dad, that my mom must have a boyfriend. Do you kiss him?”
His face is so twisted over the thought of Emma kissing someone that she can barely hold in her laughter. Her stomach is probably about as twisted as Henry’s face is.
“No, kid, that man is not my boyfriend. I don’t have one, but I promise if I get one, you’ll be the first one to know.”
He won’t be. If she ever does decide to date again, Henry won’t be meeting anyone until she’s somehow sure that everything will go right.
She has no idea how people do this.
It takes a few more minutes for Henry to fall back asleep, soft puffs of air hitting against her neck, and when she’s sure that he’s sound asleep, she carefully untangles herself and moves out of his bed, quietly exiting his room and going back out into the hallway. Mary Margaret, David, and Killian are all sitting in the living room, quietly talking, and Emma tries to slip past them and into her own bedroom only for David to call her over to hear some story about how Killian managed to get here from London. She listens to half of it, but she’s not nearly as intrigued by the stranger in her apartment. When he was nothing but a handsome customer, he was fine. This is much too much.
And that’s exactly why she excuses herself to her room, slipping out of her uniform and taking a shower to wash away the smell of food and alcohol and everything she hates about her job.
She’s going to smell like garlic bread for the rest of her life.
By the time she’s finished, has braid her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and changed into a pair of pajamas, it’s far past three in the morning. She needs to go to sleep, but she’s not leaving Henry unattended. As quietly as possible, she grabs an extra blanket and steps out into the main room of the apartment, hoping that Killian is asleep and stays that way.
Because this is her life, he is obviously wide awake and sitting at the kitchen table with a still steaming mug of what smells like tea in front of him.
He looks up the moment her bedroom door clicks behind her.
Shit.
“Swan,” he nods.
She nods. How rude would she be to ignore him and walk to Henry’s room?
“Oh. You’re still up.”
“It would seem so.”
“Do you need something? Another blanket? A pillow? Is Netflix not working?”
Killian shakes his head and takes a sip of his tea. She didn’t even know they had tea. Mary Margaret must have had some.
“I’m fine. I assure you that the three of you have been nothing but hospitable when I was fine to find a motel.” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear. She tries her best to ignore the fact that the fingers underneath his glove don’t move. “If I had known you had a son, I – ”
The hair on the back of her neck stands. “You would have what?”
“I would have never accepted Mary Margaret’s proposal. I’m sure you don’t want someone you don’t know being that close to your kid.”
“No, I don’t. You could be the nicest guy in the world, but don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”
“I would despair if you did.”
Emma scoffs and turns her head away. Stupidly, she looks back. “If you want to spike your tea, I think we have some whiskey.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“I’m off the clock now. I feel like you might deserve it.”
His head tilts back in quiet, broken laughter. “Aye, I suppose I do. It’s been a banner night.”
“I don’t know her or anything, but your girlfriend is obviously an idiot to cheat on you.”
“You don’t know anything about me either.”
“I know that very few people deserve to have their heart broken like that.”
“Is that what happened to you? You had your heart broken?”
She tugs the blanket around her shoulders. “That’s not your business.”
“Forgive me, love. You’re something of an open book to me. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Now she’s the one who needs a drink.
This has not been her day.
Far too much love.
Far too many thoughts of Neal.
Far too many British men thinking they know her when they don’t.
“You don’t know anything about me either.”
Killian sighs and takes another long sip of his tea. “I know you hate Valentine’s Day and have a son while also living with another couple who are slightly older than you. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out a few things about you just as I’m sure you’ve done the same to me.”
Emma almost protests. But only almost. He’s right. She’s been watching people for a long time, and it’s easy to know that he uses his looks more than his intelligence to initially make people be fond of him. He’s charming, but he’s also smart. He’s studying a crazy difficult subject at a school that isn’t exactly for slackers, and while he may secretly be an asshole for his girlfriend to cheat on him, she doesn’t get that feeling.
She gets the feeling that he might be as down on her luck as she is sometimes.
“I’m getting the whiskey,” she blurts out. She’s not tired anymore, and if she goes to Henry’s room, she’s going to end up not being able to sleep. “Do you like hot chocolate?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had any.”
“Well, we’re changing that.”
Emma has obviously lost her mind in some kind of sleep-deprived, stressed-out kind of way, but she finds it easy to talk to Killian.
Which is dumb.
She wanted to hate him.
She really did.
But he’s easy to talk to despite the fact that she’s mad about that and that it’s probably one of the worst days of his life. She would assume. She doesn’t know.
What she does know, however, is that he was in the Navy for one year, was involved in an accident, and the compensation he got for that funded his move to the US and his education, which is a lot more information than what he shared with David earlier. It’s kind of fascinating, if not a little tragic, and maybe today wasn’t the worst day of his life.
She may have a little bit of whiskey in her, but she’s not about to spill all of her secrets.
Then again, she’s never going to see this man again. He’ll be a fleeting memory, just a ship passing in the night.
But no. She won’t share. Wounds never close if you keep picking at them, and she’s not going to do that.
Instead she tells him she just started at a local community college and that she hopes to get into the nursing program. She’s never been great at science, but it’s a good career with good pay, and by the time she’s finished with the program Henry will hopefully be at least a little self-sufficient. Besides, she’s got David and Mary Margaret to help her, and she can handle it.
She always has.
His mom was apparently a nurse, and she doesn’t ask about the way he refers to her in the past tense. It’s easier not to. Instead she listens to him share stories of she’d once told him when he was younger. It’s all crazy and stressful, and if Emma didn’t want a better life for she and Henry so badly, she’d probably drop all of her classes out of fear right now.
But the better life is calling.
Killian keeps the conversation flowing from topic to topic more easily than anyone has a right to, and he only occasionally stops, a dark flash settling in his eyes and in the curve of his lips. But just as quickly as it appears, it disappears and he talks of his favorite shows or the runs he likes to go on early in the morning when, miraculously, most of Manhattan is asleep.
“Thanks for this, love.”
“For what?” Emma asks.
“For keeping my mind occupied. I don’t – well, I bloody don’t know what I’d do if I’d stumbled into another restaurant tonight.”
Emma leans forward and tears apart a piece of her pop tart. “You’d be sleeping on some other bartender’s couch.”
“There’s not currently a lot of sleeping going on.”
She laughs and takes another bite before looking down at her phone. “Holy shit. It’s almost six thirty. How are either of us awake?”
“I’m fueled by anger, sadness, and the conversation of an incredibly charming woman.”
His brows wiggle with his words, his smile more of a smirk, and in any other situation, she’d have the urge to slap him.
“I’m going to be dead inside today.”
“I should probably let you go to bed, Swan. I’m sure you’ve got plans today that require sleep.”
“Yeah, I do. I – ”
Almost as if on cue, Henry’s door creaks open, and he walks out into the living room. His hair is disheveled like it always is when he wakes up, and now he is officially missing both socks.
Why can kids not sleep in?
“I’m hungry,” he mumbles, wiping his eyes. “Can we have pancakes? With the faces on them?”
“Kid, I – ”
“I can make them,” Killian interrupts. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”
“Um, yeah,” Emma nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m going to make some coffee, and then I’ll help. Henry, go brush your teeth.”
“Okay.”
“And I’m going to check to make sure you actually did.”
Henry groans, and Emma hears Killian chuckle. “I was exactly the same as a lad. So, pancakes with faces on them? Where do I find the ingredients?”
-/-
The pancakes are really good.
Much better than the ones she makes, which seems impossible when the recipe is on the box.
And Killian is fantastic at entertaining Henry’s questions, even when Henry asks about Killian’s gloved hand. He makes up some story about being attacked by Peter Pan and being like Captain Hook, and it helps Emma be a little less mortified that her child has no manners.
So on no sleep and a slight hangover, Emma has breakfast with her kid and a half-stranger, and it’s not the worst thing in the world.
It’s actually kind of nice.
And when Killian leaves to catch a train home, he slips her a note with his phone number. He leaves the ball in her court, which she likes, and even though it takes a few weeks, she does end up calling.
Well, texting. It’s easier that way.
Really, the whole thing is easy, and Emma is as surprised by that as anyone. For once in her life, she has hope that something is going to work out.
-/-
Next year Valentine’s Day is spent eating pizza with Killian and Henry with the only acknowledgement of the day being Henry giving the two of them the leftover cards from his class.
It’s perfect.
The year after that Killian doesn’t have to travel five hours to see them.
That’s somehow more than perfect.
“Can we say that our anniversary is Valentine’s Day, love?” Killian asks her as his lips press into her temple.
“Never,” she sighs, “but maybe the day isn’t as bad as it used to be.”
#cs fic#cs ff#cs fanfic#captain swan fic#captain swan ff#captain swan fanfic#captain swan#shireness-says
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1. I N E F F A B L E
Moodboard // Content // Masterlist
Disclaimer:
All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.
1. INEFFABLE
Erskine Limited. A well known multinational company in U.K. Is a home for 20,000 employees across the country. One of the prestigious companies.
This head quarter looks more extravagant than the branches. Of course.
Never in her wildest dreams she thought would be sitting here. Greyish, sleek and shine furniture. Looking around, everything look sophisticated, professional.. while daydreaming about how come this opportunity was offered to her. Until a smooth yet firm voice calling her up close.
“Miss Y/L/N?”
Turning her head, a woman smiled at her, offering warm gesture. She's tall, her short black hair look nice against her delicate brown skin.
“Yes, I am.” Smiling, Y/N shake the woman’s hand.
“Sanaa Martinez.”
“Y/N YL/N”.
Now, sitting face to face with her made her nervousness increase. Well, sitting in front of your new boss surely makes your worries skyrocketed. But, looking how she welcomed her, she's positive this would be good.
“Firstly, apologies for coming late. Having small problem back at meeting and.. your boss ask me to meet you before we met him.”
Hold on, this gorgeous woman will not be her new boss? If Y/N remember correctly, Mr. Adams said she would meet the new boss directly.
“Oh, I suppose he would be so busy.”
“Yeah.. yeah, perks of being the man who hold the highest level .”
“Pardon?” Y/N could not hid her shocked face, until something she think inappropriate in this situation came out of her mouth, “I’m sorry. I have no idea, I will working with the....”
“The CEO? Yes. The Owner? Can be. The man is in both position. I believe Mr. Adams did not tell you that?”
“No, ma’am.”
She sighed while massaging her temples, “Poor girl. I think he a bit bitter of you moving here. But this is your good chance.”
“Honestly, I was quite surprised when the offering letter came. Did not think I have a chance here. I mean, I work in a small branch office in Swansea. Now, I’m here, in the head quarter, in London.” Y/N smile, keeping the eye contact while deep down in her heart, she tried to calm herself. How the fuck it could be? She never dreamt being work together with board of director, let alone the CEO, the Owner themselves.
She laughed, “Non sense. If your performance can offer something more, why not?”
“I guess?” Y/N mumbled, giving her shy smile.
“Well, I have your resume here. But, tell me about yourself.”
.
.
.
.
Day one went smooth.
Day two went alright.
Day three, four.. until a week being here in her new office, everything went perfect. Y/N got a week training before starting her task as Executive Assistant to the owner this company. Mrs. Davies, or Rita, the lady in her mid forties who was her tutor for the this past week, patiently taught her about everything will be done as a EA.
“I must admit.. that you are indeed deserve this job. I’m amazed how you could cope with these, Y/N” She said in her desk, while screening Y/N tasks in her screen. “Never thought a young lady will filling the EA position. I’m impressed.”
She grinned, “Thank you, Rita. It’s all because of you could guide me well.”
“Not really. You learnt quickly and I think.. pretty little head of yours can memories everything perfectly fine.” She hummed, “I am still responsible for you until next month. So if there are complaints coming, of course I will see you again.”
“And oh, Madeleine just told me Mr. Styles is in his office right now. I think it’s good for me to introduce you to him before you move to your office in Monday.”
“Madeleine?”
“His receptionist? Well, you will work with her too. Let’s go, Y/N. Your new office is quite far from here.”
Walking to her office was quite far because it was on a different level building, they separate the BOD’s building and general employee’s. Y/N eyes gawking around, admiring how people seem more professional doing their works.
“One thing I haven’t said.. be patient with Mr. Styles, he’s kinda having short temper.”
When the lift door opened, Y/N see a woman sitting behind her large desk. She must be Madeleine.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Davies.” She squeak, standing confidently. The moment her eyes move towards Y/N, she could see clearly her smile falter slowly. Weird.
“Hello Mads, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Madeleine.”
“Nice to meet you, Madeleine.” Y/N smile while offering a hand, think shaking hands is normal and professional, apparently not for Madeleine. She just nodded while giving they both access card, “I’ll let Mr. Styles know you guys are here.” Y/N take it awkwardly.
“An access card?” Y/N mumble, glancing at Madeleine was on the phone.
“Everyone require an access card to the his office. I’m sure Madeleine will prepare one for you.”
“He’s ready. Waiting on his office. He just has 30 minutes tops. ”
“Thank you Mads.”
“Rita?” Y/N murmured, while looking at her surrounding.
“Yes?”
“Why Mr. Styles needs an assistant while he has a receptionist? Madeleine looks capable being an assistant too.”
“Well, actually Mads was once tested by us, but the results were not satisfactory. Everyone wanted to apply this job but.. you come with outstanding results. So, congratulations.”
They stopped in front of solid door that engraved Harry E. Styles in gold letter, Rita scanned her card until the door opened revealing a man focused on his Macbook. His gaze turned to Y/N for a moment.
Shit.
The first thing caught her off guards was the green eyes, and the cheekbones. Sharp jawlines followed, with pinkish thin lips.
“Mr. Styles? I'm here with your new EA.” Rita said, introducing her to him.
“Have a seat, Rita. Don't standing on the door.” He smiled. For a second, Y/N was cursing at her ignorance for not asking her boss profile, so seeing a man look younger than she think, doesn't shock her at all. He must be no more than twenty-seven years old, quite a young man he is – she think.
“This is your new EA, she is from Swansea office. She will ready in Monday.”
“Nice to meet you, I'm Harry Styles.” He gave Y/N small smile, offering his hand.
“My name's Y/N Y/L/N. Thank you for the opportunity. Glad to be part of head office.” Shaking his hand, Y/N could feel his firm grip yet skin was very soft. She glanced at small amount of glitter on his nails, was he wearing nail polish?
“My pleasure.”
“Well, that's it. We do not want to interrupt anymore. And oh, Harry. Please do not be hard on this one. God knows how hard to find a competent EA.” Rita teased while pat Y/N shoulder. Mr. Styles, or Harry, just laughed while escort they both to the door.
“I never know Mr. Styles is that young.” Y/ N muttered, letting the lift door closed, ready taking them to the ground floor.
“I think you know, no?” Rita frowned. Y/N sighed, shaking her head.
“Well, maybe I just forgot that part. He is young, just turning twenty-five last February. Running this company after his father death three years ago. But young Harry has been helping the company since he was in college. That's great because not many children are successful in continuing a family legacy.”
“He's great business person too, but like I told you before. He's temperamental. If you get his wrong side, he won't afraid barking at you in front of people. And that's not a sight to see.” She added.
.
.
.
.
Monday coming. Y/N woke up at 6 in the morning, like usual. When she was still in Swansea, she could wake up at 7 because her home just 10 minutes away from office by bus. Here in London, Y/N needs at least 30 minutes to arrive on time.
Arriving the North Tower, which office level that Y/N wil working in. Madeleine was nowhere to see when Y/N stepped on her floor. She had no idea where is her desk. Seems like Mr. Styles haven't arrive yet. It's only 8.30 am, no wonder the office is still empty. The cleaning lady still doing her work. She has 30 minutes left until work hours begin. Suddenly, Y/N's phone buzzed. A message from unknown number.
Y/N, it's Madeleine. If you arrive earlier than me, your office is next to Mr. Styles'. It doesn't need access card, except if Mr. Styles ask for it.
After replying a thank you to her, Y/N walked to Mr. Styles' office. Noticing a door next to his, that must be hers. Her office was pretty spacious, Y/N has her own desk, shelves. Quite surprisingly to find an iPad next to the iMac. Smiling happily, she turned on the iMac, running the email first.
1 new message from [email protected]
From: Styles, Harry <[email protected]>
Subject : Introduction To: [email protected]
Y/N
Good luck on your first day. Your office, your desk, everything has been fullfiled for your needs. If you are wondering, you will often join me in meetings. I think the iPad will be more efficient than you try to bring the iMac. - I'm joking. I will send your next tasks separately.
HS.
Giggling, Y/N reads the message one more time until realise that was sent at 8.00 am. He arrived earlier than her, didn't he?
While retrieving another message to come, Y/N bring her tumbler to the break room, hoping to find coffee or tea at least. Madeleine just arrived at her desk in hurry, while her hand quickly opened her Mac.
“Morning Madeleine?”
Her head shot up, “Hi. Have you set your finger print yet?”
“Yeah, already set.” Y/N nodded, “Want something? Maybe I'll find tea or coffee in break room.”
“No no thanks.”
“Right.” Y/N mumbles, walking away.
The break room was huge. Y/N could find anything. Professional coffee machine, huge fridge, wine cellar, anything.. you named it. It was more to say the kitchen of a professional chef. Y/N decided to make espresso because she sure need caffeine to work first day with Mr. Styles.
“Jesus Christ!”
Turning around, Y/N was absolutely shocked to find Mr. Styles standing behind her the whole time, only few centimeters away. His eyes looking sharp, his green irises darker than usual. His aura was different, a bit sinister than Y/N first met him the other day.
“Mr. Styles?” She spoke quietly, gripping her tumbler tightly. But he didn't budge. He was so intimidating. “Do you want something, Sir? I can bring it to your office?”
He suddenly closed his eyes, shaking his head once. Now, his irises looks like back to normal, light green. But the greenest she ever seen.
“I'm sorry. Uhm, I didn't sleep much last night. Think need a coffee, yeah.” He mumbled.
“Need me to bring it to you?”
“No, but thanks.”
“Alright. Excuse me, sir.” Y/N smiles, leaving him alone. It was undeniable she feel a little bit strange with his behaviour. Leaving her desk for a while, there was already about twenty incoming emails with almost all of them have attachments. None other than Mr. Styles was the sender.
The clock ticking at 2.00 pm when Y/N look at her phone, didn't realise time passed quickly. Until someone knocked her door. Madeleine bring a small box in her hands.
“This is your stationery and and your personal business cards.”
“Thank you Madeleine.” Nodding, She take it and put it on the desk. She hummed, turning her heels towards the door. Y/N grab her paperwork, ready to dial Mr. Styles' extension but her office phone rings first.
Incoming call: 621 – Harry Styles
Speaking of the devil. It was Mr. Styles himself.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles?”
“Hello, Y/N. About the monthly report, please finish tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Because you have to focus on Barclays paper, they arranged a meeting this afternoon. I'm sorry for sudden notice.”
“Oh, it's okay. Actually, both are done. I might deliver to you right now?
“Already?” Y/N frown, somewhat confused to hear his shocked voice, “Err, yes?”
“Amazing. If you have the softcopy, it would be nice if you send me both of them. For the Barclays paper, you can keep it because you'll join me in the meeting. I'll see you in the lobby an hour from now. Thank you, Y/N.”
After he hung up, Y/N send him both of softcopy and rush out to grab lunch. This is her first meeting and she doesn't want to pass out in the middle of meeting because she was starving.
.
.
.
.
The trip to Barclays takes 20 minutes but seeing the traffic is a bit crowded, maybe they will arrive a little longer. Along the way, Y/N prepares meeting material while Mr. Styles busy behind the wheel. Surpising enough a big boss like him drives himself.
“Mr. Styles? Samantha from Barclays just emailed new adress for meeting. It won't held in Barclays office.” Y/N spoke lowly, not sure what she said. It's strange that huge company like Barclays suddenly change their meeting place without any apparent reason. From the corner of her eye, Y/N can see him rolling his eyes.
“Where?”
“It will take place at Shangri-La The Shard.”
“Please push back until 4.15 pm, I'm afraid we can't be on time because the traffic.”
“Right away, sir.” Typing away his request, Barclays team confirmed it in less than five minutes, “Confirmed at 4.15 pm, level 34, Yi Room.”
“You know, you will get used to things like this, sudden meetings, sudden change of place, hours. Event cliet. So, don't be surprised.” He said, one hand stay still in the steering wheel and the other touching the LCD screen. Y/N just realised, his left hand's fingers filled with rings except thumb and ring finger. Ink sticking out of his wrist even though it's covered by his suit jacket sleeve. She wonder how many tattoos he had underneath. His pinky nail was polished with chipped black nail polish.
“Fancy listening some music? I'm not very used to driving in silence.”
Y/N smiled, “Go ahead. I don't mind.”
Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine roaring softly throughout the car. He hummed happily while tapping on the wheel. She doesn't expect, despite his appearance, he has this kind of an old soul. Staring at him from the corner of eye, his looks doesn't need to be questioned. He has a very beautiful face. His charisma is extraordinary, even when they were walking together in the lobby, she could feel it. Y/N swore there was many females who can't take their eyes off of him when he walks.
“Something wrong Y/N?”Y/N was caught off the guards, didn't think he was aware the whole time she was staring at him. Even behind his sunglasses, Y/N swore his eyes were wrinkled in humour.
“N- No. I just didn't think you have an old music taste.” Y/N startled, her cheeks heated.
“Oh, do you want to change the song? What do young people usually like? Ed Sheeran? Justin Bieber? One Direction?” He muttered, tapping the screen. He look like he was talking to himself rather than talking to Y/N.
“Ew no.. no. I'm fine. I just quite surprised. Didn't mean any harm. I'm sorry, sir.” Y/N laugh, massaging her temple. It didn't occur to her he could joke like that, many high profile people like him are always rigid and strict. He laughing along, letting Everything Has Changed go next.
“You not need to call me Mr. Styles or sir if it doesn't involve work, you know? I feel like an old man with big belly if you keep calling me that. Tell me, how old are you? You are no more than twenty-four if I may guess.” He asked.
“Uh huh, turned twenty-two last January actually.”
He nodded, “Well. Before we met them, one thing you need to know about Barclays, they're a bit sneaky, like to make their clients feel uncomfortable. Don't be surprised if they're too blunts. To be honest, I'm not comfortable taking you there.”
Y/N frowned, watching him from the side. “If you don't mind me asking. Why?”
He sighed, “ Just be careful with Mr. Higgins.” When he turned the wheel, Y/N could see The Shard at the end of the road. This is her first time setting foot in luxury hotel, she was ecstactic and nervous at the same time.
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.
.
.
That meeting went well, even though it was tense up a little, Mr. Styles or Harry could soften it. He was so damn calm throughout the meeting, but Y/N was sure from the look of his eyes, he really want to end it quickly. Especially when Mr. Higgins kind of made a comment of her, Harry defended her well. Y/N really wanted to speak up herself, but it was better to be quiet, playing the good – obedient assitant.
Sending the agreement back and forth for almost two weeks, Erskine and Barclays finally found a deal.
That day, she was arranging Harry's meeting schedule for the next two weeks. Aware of number of meetings he has to attend, the more tasks awaits her. It's not that she was not happy, but her lunch hour was falling apart. Ring of her phone startled Y/N, without seeing the caller id, she grab it. “Y/N”
“I need you to come to my office right now, we have some serious issue to deal with.” With that, he hung up. Y/N frowned, Harry doesn't usually speak grimly like that. Rushing into his office, she found him sitting in his chair, one hand cupping his chin. His eyes blankly staring at some files on his desk.
“Is there anything I can help sir?” Y/N ask slowly walking toward him. Without looking at her, he nodded, “Have a seat.”
“Are you aware we have two contracts which are a little deviated from the absolute procedur?” He asked, his tone was low. “Well, it's really deviated.”
“No, sir.”
He sighed, not satisfied with her answer. “Both are big clients, and it has been going on for months.” He grab two big files, giving it to Y/N. “You read this, find and point out the mistake.”
While Y/N read the papers, Harry dialled Madeleine's extension. Asking someone who was unfamiliar to his office. 10 minutes passed, someone entered the office. Y/N dare to not looking, just focus on the papers and scribbled some points that she feel weird.
“You called me, sir?” A male voice. She could feel Harry stand up from his chair, hands resting on the desk. He whispered to Y/N to move to the couch.
“Did you drew up contracts with companies during 2018? All of them?”
“Only from April to September.”
“Did you know you messed up?”
“Pardon? I don't understand-”
“Two god-damn big companies could bail on us, Ethan. You didn't read it or didn't understand?!” For the first time Harry raised his voiced, you could see him trying to hold back his anger. This Ethan guy shaking in his boots, his head hang low, both hands tangled. Y/N glad Harry didn't scream a bloody murder, if he did, she was sure this room is soundproof.
“I'm sorry Mr. Styles, b-but it was under your knowledge. I asked you at that time but you shoo me away. Even I asked Carlton, he said everything has been discussed by you.”
Harry froze in his desk. He seemed shock, but shouldn't he not be surprised if the agreements was under his acknowledge?
“It was?” He asked, half unsure at what he said himself. Ethan nodded in confirmation. He excused himself after Harry told him to leave. In less than 30 seconds, the door bursted open revealing a man with fancy clothes, curly blonde hair, hands in his pants. Y/N never seen him in this company before. Harry sighed in disbelief, dialling Madeleine's extension immediately.
“Don't you know what function of the phone or fucking intercom is on your desk?! I didn't say I'd be available for another guests.” He hissed.
That blonde guy looking at surrounding, until his blazing blue eyes caught Y/N busy figure on the couch. He taking closer step to her, tilting his head. “I've never seen you before.” He spoke lowly. Y/N just offered a small smile.
“Hey, Harry. Is this your new birdie? You didn't tell me you got a new beau.”
.
.
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Unedited.
What do you think? Let me know!
#dark!harry#dark harry#dark harry styles#harrystyles#harry styles#harry#harrystylesxreader#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles writing#harry styles series#fanfiction#alter ego#alterego!harry#solo harry#harry series#series#romance#harry edward styles#one direction#fanfic#fantasy novel#alternative#harry au#harry styles au
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Chapter 4 part 2
I threw myself into clubbing like it was going out of style. Cary and I bounced all over downtown clubs from Tribeca to the East Village, wasting stupid money on cover charges and having a fabulous time. I danced until my feet felt like they were going to fall off, but I toughed it out until Cary complained about his heeled boots first.
We’d just stumbled out of a techno-pop club with a plan to buy me flip-flops at a nearby Walgreens when we ran across a hawker promoting a lounge a few blocks away.
“Great place to get off your feet for a while,” he said, without the usual flashy smile or exaggerated hype most of the hawkers employed. His clothes—black jeans and turtleneck—were more upscale, which intrigued me. And he didn’t have fliers or postcards. What he handed me was a business card made from papyrus paper and printed with a gilded font that caught the light of the electric signage around us. I made a mental note to hang on to it as a great piece of print advertising.
A stream of quickly moving pedestrians flowed around us. Cary squinted down at the lettering, having a few more drinks in him than I had. “Looks swank.”
“Show them that card,” the hawker urged. “You’ll skip the cover.”
“Sweet.” Cary linked arms with me and dragged me along. “Let’s go. You might find a quality guy in a swanky joint.”
My feet were seriously killing me by the time we found the place, but I quit bitching when I saw the charming entrance. The line to get in was long, extending down the street and around the corner. Amy Winehouse’s soulful voice drifted out of the open door, as did well-dressed customers who exited with big smiles.
True to the hawker’s word, the business card was a magic key that granted us immediate and free entrance. A gorgeous hostess led us upstairs to a quieter VIP bar that overlooked the stage and dance floor below. We were shown to a small seating area by the balcony and settled at a table hugged by two half-moon velvet sofas. shepropped a beverage menu in the center and said, “Your drinks are on the house. Enjoy your evening.”
“Wow.” Cary whistled. “We scored.”
“I think that hawker recognized you from an ad.”
“Wouldn’t that rock?” He grinned. “God, it’s a great night. Hanging out with my best girl and crushing on a new hunk in my life.”
“Oh?”
“I think I’ve decided to see where things go with Trey.”
That made me happy. It felt like I’d been waiting forever for him to find someone who’d treat him right. “Has he asked you out yet?”
“No, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t want to.” He shrugged and smoothed his artfully ripped T-shirt. Paired with black leather pants and spiked wristlets, he looked sexy and wild. “I just think he’s trying to figure out the situation with you first. He wigged when I told him I lived with a woman and that I’d moved across the country to be with you. He’s worried I might be bi-curious and secretly hung up on you. That’s why I wanted you two to meet today, so he could see how you and I are together.”
“I’m sorry, Cary. I’ll try to put him at ease about it.”
“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. It’ll work out if it’s supposed to.”
His assurances didn’t make me feel better. I tried to think if there was a way I could help.
Two guys stopped by our table. “Okay if we join you?” the taller one asked.
I glanced at Cary, and then back at the guys. They looked like brothers and they were very attractive. Both were smiling and confident, their stances loose and easy.
I was about to say, Sure, when a warm hand settled on my bare shoulder and squeezed firmly. “This one’s taken.”
Across from me, Cary gaped as Lauren Jauregui rounded the sofa and extended her hand to him. “Taylor. Lauren Jauregui.”
“Cary Taylor.” He shook Lauren’s hand with a wide smile. “But you knew that. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I could’ve killed him. I seriously thought about it.
“Good to know.” Lauren settled on the seat beside me, her arm draped behind me so that her fingertips could brush casually and possessively up and down my arm. “Maybe there’s hope for me yet.”
Twisting at the waist, I faced her and whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”
she shot me a hard glance. “Whatever it takes.”
“I’m going to dance.” Cary stood with a mischievous grin. “Be back in a bit.”
Ignoring my pleading glance, my best friend blew me a kiss and the guys followed him. I watched them all go, my heart racing. After another minute, ignoring Lauren became ridiculous, as well as impossible.
My gaze slid over her. shewore dress slacks in graphite gray and a black V-neck sweater, the overall effect being one of careless sophistication. I loved the look on her and was attracted to the softness it gave her, even though I knew it was only an illusion. she was a hard woman in a lot of ways.
I took a deep breath, feeling like I needed to make an effort to socialize with her. After all, wasn’t that my big complaint? That she wanted to skip past the getting-to-know-you stage and jump straight into bed?
“You look…” I paused. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing. So damn sexy…In the end, I went with the lame, “I like the way you look.”
Her brow arched. “Ah, something you like about me. Is that a general like of the overall package? Or just the clothes? Only the sweater? Or maybe it’s the pants?”
The edge to her tone rubbed me the wrong way. “And if I say it’s just the sweater?”
“I’ll buy a dozen and wear them every damn day.”
“That would be a shame.”
“You don’t like the sweater?” she was pissy, her words coming clipped and fast.
My hands flexed restlessly in my lap. “I love the sweater, but I also like the suits.”
she stared at me a minute, and then nodded. “How was your date with B.O.B.?”
Oh hell. I looked away. It was a lot easier talking about masturbation over the phone. Doing it while squirming under that piercing green stare was mortifying. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
she brushed the backs of her fingers over my cheek and murmured, “You’re blushing.”
I heard the amusement in her voice and swiftly changed topics. “Do you come here often?”
Shit. Where did that clichéd line come from?
Her hand dropped to my lap and caught one of mine, her fingers curling into my palm. “When necessary.”
A quick stab of jealousy made me stiffen. I glared at her, even though I was mad at myself for caring either way. “What does that mean? When you’re on the prowl?”
Lauren’s mouth curved into a genuine smile that hit me hard. “When expensive decisions need to be made. I own this club, Camila.”
Of course shedid. Jeez.
A pretty waitress set two pinkish-colored iced drinks in square tumblers on the table. she looked at Lauren and gave her a flirtatious smile. “Here you go, Miss. Jauregui. Two Stoli Elites and cranberry. Can I get you anything else?”
“That’ll be all for now. Thanks.”
I could totally see that she wanted to get on the pre approved list and I bristled at that; then I was distracted by what we’d been served. It was my beverage of choice when clubbing and what I’d been drinking all night. My nerves tingled. I watched her take a drink, swirl it around in her mouth like a fine wine, and then swallow it. The working of her throat made me hot, but that was nothing compared to what the intensity of her stare did to me.
“Not bad,” she murmured. “Tell me if we made it right.”
she kissed me. she moved on fast, but I saw it coming and didn’t turn away. Her mouth was cold and flavored with alcohol-laced cranberry. Delicious. All the chaotic emotion and energy that had been writhing around inside me abruptly became too much to contain. I shoved a hand in her glorious hair and clenched it tight, holding her still as I sucked on her tongue. Her groan was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard, making the flesh between my legs tighten viciously.
Shocked by the fury of my reaction, I wrenched away, gasping.
Lauren followed, nuzzling the side of my face, her lips brushing over my ear. she was breathing hard, too, and the sound of the ice in her tumbler clinking against the glass skittered across my inflamed senses.
“I need to be inside you, Camila,” she whispered roughly. “I’m aching for you.”
My gaze fell to my drink on the table, my thoughts swirling around in my head, a clusterfuck of impressions and recollections and confusion. “How did you know?”
Her tongue traced the shell of my ear and I shivered. It felt like every cell in my body was straining toward her. Resisting her took an impossible amount of energy, draining me and making me feel tired.
“Know what?” she asked.
“What I like to drink? What Cary’s name is?”
she inhaled deeply, and then pulled away. Setting her drink down, she shifted on the sofa and drew a knee up onto the cushion between us so that she faced me directly. Her arm once again draped over the sofa back, her fingertips drawing circles on the curve of my shoulder. “You visited another of my clubs earlier. Your credit card popped and your drinks were recorded. And Cary Taylor is listed on the rental agreement for your apartment.”
The room spun. No way…My cell phone. My credit card. My fucking apartment. I couldn’t breathe. Between my mother and Lauren, I felt claustrophobic.
“Camila. Jesus. You’re white as a ghost.” sheshoved a glass into my hand. “Drink.”
It was the Stoli and cranberry. I pounded it, draining the tumbler. My stomach churned for a moment, then settled. “You own the building I live in?” I gasped.
“Oddly enough, yes.” she moved to sit on the table, facing me, her legs on either side of mine. she took my glass and set it aside; then warmed my chilled hands with her.
“Are you crazy, Lauren?”
Her mouth thinned. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. My mom stalks me, too, and she sees a shrink. Do you have a shrink?”
“Not presently, but you’re driving me crazy enough to make that a possibility.”
“So this behavior isn’t normal for you?” My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing past my eardrums. “Or is it?”
she shoved a hand through her hair, restoring order to the strands I’d mussed when we’d kissed. “I accessed information you voluntarily made available to me.”
“Not to you! Not for what you used it for! That has to violate some kind of privacy law.” I stared at her, more confused than ever. “Why would you do that?”
shehad the grace to look disgruntled at least. “So I can figure you out, damn it.”
“Why don’t you just ask me, Lauren? Is that so fucking hard for people to do nowadays?”
“It is with you.” she grabbed her drink off the table and tossed back most of it. “I can’t get you alone for more than a few minutes at a time.”
“Because the only thing you want to talk about is what you have to do to get laid!”
“Christ, Camila,” she hissed, squeezing my hand. “Keep your voice down!”
I studied her, taking in every line and plane of her face. Unfortunately, cataloging the details didn’t lessen my awe even a tiny bit. I was beginning to suspect I’d never get over being dazzled by his looks.
And I wasn’t alone; I’d seen how other women reacted around her. And she was crazy rich, which made even old, bald, and paunchy guys attractive. It was no wonder she was used to snapping her fingers and scoring an orgasm.
Her gaze darted over my face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?” Her jaw tightened. “And I’m warning you, if you say anything about orifices, preapprovals, or seminal emissions, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
That almost made me smile. “I want to understand a few things, because I think it’s possible I’m not giving you enough credit.”
“I’d like to understand a few things myself,” she muttered.
“I’m guessing the ‘I want to fuck you’ approach has a high success rate for you.”
Lauren’s face smoothed into unreadable impassivity. “I’m not touching that one, Camila.”
“Okay. You want to figure out what it’s going to take to get me into bed. Is that why you’re here in this club right now? Because of me? And don’t say what you think I want to hear.”
Her gaze was clear and steady. “I’m here for you, yes. I arranged it.”
Suddenly the threads the street hawker had been wearing made sense. We’d been hustled by someone on Cross Industries payroll. “Did you figure that getting me here would get you laid?”
Her mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “There’s always the hope, but I expected it would take more work than a chance meeting over drinks.”
“You’re right. So why do it? Why not wait until Monday lunch?”
“Because you’re out trolling. I can’t do anything about B.O.B., but I can stop you from picking up some asshole in a bar. You want to score, Camila, I’m right here.”
“I’m not trolling. I’m burning off tension after a stressful day.”
“You’re not the only one.” she fingered one of my silver chandelier earrings. “So you drink and dance when you’re tense. I work on the problem that’s making me tense in the first place.”
Her voice had softened, and it stirred an alarming yearning. “Is that what I am? A problem?”
“Absolutely.” But there was a hint of a smile around her lips.
I knew that was a lot of the appeal for her. Lauren Jauregui wouldn’t be where she was, at such a young age, if she took “no” gracefully. “What’s your definition of dating?”
A frown marred the space between her brows. “Lengthy social time spent with a woman during which we’re not actively fucking.”
“Don’t you enjoy the company of women?”
The frown turned into a scowl. “Sure, as long as there aren’t any exaggerated expectations or excessive demands on my time. I’ve found the best way to steer clear of those is to have mutually exclusive sexual relationships and friendships.”
There were those pesky “exaggerated expectations” again. Clearly, those were a sticking point with her. “So, you do have female friends?”
“Of course.” Her legs tightened around mine, capturing me. “Where are you going with this?”
“You segregate sex from the rest of your life. You separate it from friendship, work…everything.”
“I’ve got good reasons for doing that.”
“I’m sure you do. Okay, here are my thoughts.” It was difficult concentrating when I was so close to Lauren. “I told you I don’t want to date and I don’t. My job is priority number one and my personal life—as a single woman—is a close second. I don’t want to sacrifice any of that time on a relationship and there’s really not enough left over to squeeze in anything steady.”
“I’m right there with you.”
“But I like sex.”
“Good. Have it with me.” Her smile was an erotic invitation.
I shoved her shoulder. “I need a personal connection with the men I sleep with. It doesn’t have to be intense or deep, but sex needs to be more than an emotionless transaction for me.”
“Why?”
I could tell she wasn't being flippant. As bizarre as this conversation must be for her, Lauren was taking it seriously. “Call it one of my quirks, and I’m not saying that lightly. It pisses me off to feel used for sex. I feel devalued.”
“Can’t you look at it as you using me for sex?”
“Not with you.” she was too forceful, too demanding.
A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in her eyes as I bared my weakness for her.
“Besides,” I went on quickly, “that’s semantics. I need an equal exchange in my sexual relationships. Or to have the upper hand.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? You said that really quickly considering I’m telling you I need to combine two things you work so hard to avoid putting together.”
“I’m not comfortable with it and I don’t claim to understand, but I’m hearing you—it’s an issue. Tell me how to get around it.”
My breath left me in a rush. I hadn’t expected that. shewas a woman who wanted no complications with her sex and I was a woman who found sex complicated, but shewasn’t giving up. Yet.
“We need to be friendly, Lauren. Not best buds or confidants, but two people who know more about each other than their anatomy. To me, that means we have to spend time together when we’re not actively fucking. And I’m afraid we’ll have to spend time not actively fucking in places where we’re forced to restrain ourselves.”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”
“Yes. And see, that’s what I mean. I wasn’t giving you credit for that. You should’ve done it in a less creepy manner”—I covered her lips with my fingers when she tried to cut me off—“but I admit you did try to set up a time to talk and I wasn’t helpful.”
she snipped my fingers with her teeth, making me yelp and yank my hand away.
“Hey. What was that for?”
she lifted my abused hand to her mouth and kissed the hurt, her tongue darting out to soothe. And incite.
In self-defense, I tugged my hand back to my lap. I still wasn’t completely confident that we’d worked things out. “Just so you know there are no exaggerated expectations—when you and I spend time together not actively fucking, I won’t think it’s a date. All right?”
“That covers it.” Lauren smiled and my decision to be with her solidified for me. Her smile was like lightning in the darkness, blinding and beautiful and mysterious, and I wanted her so badly it was physically painful.
Her hands slid down to cup the backs of my thighs. Squeezing gently, she tugged me just a little bit closer. The hem of my short black halter dress slipped almost indecently high and her gaze was riveted to the flesh he’d exposed. Her tongue wet his lips in an action so carnal and suggestive I could almost feel the caress on my skin.
Duffy began begging for mercy, her voice drifting up from the dance floor below. An unwelcome ache developed in my chest and I rubbed at it.
I’d already had enough, but I heard myself saying, “I need another drink.
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Day 11: K - Kiss.- Cara and Rowan
[Link to the challenge here. Malcolm belongs to @cursebreakerelmswood and Wendy belongs to @drinkyoursoupbitch.]
[Write a kissing scene of any kind! Get creative. 😚]
Cara smiles, watching the small group of people, as most of the other guests have already left. Ryan’s flirting with Penny and she’s fairly certain that they’ve started dating again or are, at the very least, thinking about it. Sara is wrapped in Barnaby’s arms, as they sit curled together on the couch. She spots Wendy, Ben, and Malcolm chatting in a corner. Conor’s in another corner, half-asleep and nursing a large tumbler of whiskey, while pouring over a large sketchbook. Her brother’s pretty buzzed, as his glasses are askew on his face. He’d also spent the last hour telling everyone that he wasn’t stuttering and then proceeding to run through all his trouble sounds. It was endearing to see her normally reserved and stoic brother let loose, though.
“Hey, whatcha looking at?” Rowan’s voice startles Cara, causing the glass of eggnog she’s been nursing for the past few hours to spill onto the carpet.
The swear words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them and Cara’s cheeks turn the light pink that’s more commonly seen on Conor.
“I’m sorry, Cara. I didn’t mean to make you spill,” Rowan says, before cleaning the mess up with the flick of her wand.
“It’s fine, Ro. I forgot that I still had this horrible eggnog in my hand.”
“It is pretty terrible. Who brought it?”
“I don’t know. We never had eggnog growing up.”
“Yeah, we didn’t either.”
Cara sighs and stands up. She walks across the living room to the kitchen and drops her mug into the sink. She snags a few of the gingerbread men off of the platter on the table as she walks back to the corner where she had been standing.
“Want one? They’re my grandmother’s recipe. Ryan found it in one of Granddad’s old textbooks,” Cara asks Rowan, offering one of the gingerbread men.
“No. I don’t care much for gingerbread,” Rowan says.
“What kind of Christmas sweets do you like then?”
“Peppermint, like candy canes.”
“We used to race to see who could finish a candy cane first.”
“Who won the most often?”
“Conor.”
“Conor?” Rowan asks incredulously.
“Yeah. Somehow, he was really good at eating a candy cane very quickly.”
“I’d have thought that you or Ryan would have been the best at that.”
“Well, Ryan almost choked a few times, but Conor always seemed to be able to eat it faster, without choking.”
Rowan laughs and Cara follows Rowan’s eyes as they glance over at Sara, Ryan, and Conor. She smiles softly, remembering the stupid candy cane races of their childhood and Hogwarts days. That was always one of the best parts of their holidays.
“Hey, Sara has some peppermints in one of the cabinets,” Cara exclaims, suddenly.
The two walk quietly across the room, and Cara rummages through her sister’s cabinets. She lets out a triumphant noise when she pulls out of the bag of peppermints. She rips the bag open and drops one into Rowan’s hand. Rowan grins softly and pops the peppermint into her mouth.
“KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” The chants startle both of them.
“You’re under the mistletoe!” Ryan yells.
Cara sighs and raises her eyes at Rowan. “They’ll stop if we do it.”
Rowan nods. Cara steps forward and presses her lips to Rowan’s. She can taste the peppermint and hot chocolate that Rowan had drunk earlier. Cara’s stomach flips and her hands are clammy. They break apart when a loud cheer emanates from the group. Cara’s cheeks have turned pink, and Rowan scratches the back of her head.
#hphm#hogwarts mystery#cara o'donnell#rowan khanna#cara x rowan#carowan#rowan x mc#rowan khanna x mc#30 day otp challenge#could also have worked for h#oh well#this is cara and rowan's first kiss#o'donnell quadruplets
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Tinker - Chapter 1
So this whole story (which started as a one-shot and quickly turned into a chapter fic) is based on Tony’s famous, three-piece, two-button Tom Ford suit in CA:CW.
Non-Powered!AU where Peter works for his Uncle Tony at his watch repair shop. You guys ready for some slow-burn Starkercest?
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Word count: 1.7k; Rated T: no explicit activity between characters…yet…but I can definitely guarantee it! Patience will be rewarded, I promise!
Chapter summary: Peter learns a secret about his Uncle Tony.
Chapter contains: violence, death, drinking. Peter’s age is not mentioned, so that’s for you to decide.
—
Peter never asked why his Uncle Tony wore just the one glove. For as long as he could remember, his right hand had always been clothed in a glove of black leather, held together with red and gold stitching. He had grown fond of the accessory, as his Uncle Tony was never seen without it, but that fondness grew and was soon coupled with a nagging curiosity.
It became more difficult as the years went on, as Peter was an affectionate boy, always craving his uncle’s warmth and contact, but in all their years of closeness, he always took special care to keep a certain kind of distance. Even after his uncle had taken him in as an apprentice in his shop, where he serviced clocks and watches, he’d never dared to ask him about the glove. He thought perhaps it was a part of the trade, to keep the delicate watches he worked with from being smudged with oils and fingerprints, and left it at that.
But as Peter grew, his intrigue grew as well, and he found himself thinking about the gloved hand more often than not.
Aunt May never had much to say about it and cautioned against prodding. It’s kind of a sensitive subject, honey. It happened a long time ago, but it’s a tough story for your Uncle Tony and it’ll be a tough story for you. But it’s a story he’ll tell you about when he’s- when you’re both ready. He wanted so badly to know, but respected his uncle enough to maintain that silent boundary, just as everyone else had.
One night, while at the shop, Peter’s curiosity had finally caught up with him. It was a quaint little store, with hickory bay windows and green and gold foiled wallpaper, attached just below the apartment he and Aunt May shared. Grandfather clocks and antique cuckoos lined the walls, velvet cushioned display cases showcasing timepieces of gold and silver. It was a second home to Peter, where he and Tony had many spent all-nighters together tinkering and toying with various watches and motors.
Tony sat at his work table, his left sleeve rolled up to his elbow, the other buttoned tight where his glove met his wrist. Peter had never thought about it until now, but he’d realized that he’d never actually seen skin in that little gap between glove and sleeve. He watched from across the table as Tony took a screwdriver to the open body of a small pocket watch, his eyes drifting to leather fingertips that delicately held the timepiece in place.
“Uncle Tony? Um, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, kid. Shoot.” Tony furrows his brows, looking closer into the guts of the pocket watch. He aligns the driver with a screw.
“D-do you ever take it off? The glove?” The way Tony’s body stiffened was more than noticeable, but his focus remained on the watch. Peter is instantly uncomfortable at his silence and sputters. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pry! We don’t have to talk about it! I mean, it’s just-”
“Hey, buddy. Relax. You don’t have to explain yourself. I suppose it’s time and you’re old enough to know...” Tony set down the watch and repositioned himself in his chair, leaning in closer to his nephew. “Your Aunt May and I wanted to wait until you had a couple more years on you before really getting into it.”
Before Peter can speak, Tony began unbuttoning his right sleeve. Peter’s eyes go wide as Tony rolls it up, slowly revealing slick, buffed metal. It’s rolled up as far as it can go, and Peter can only stare.
Revealed is a limb made of cold, dark steel. It was an impressive prosthetic, its’ mechanics silent and unassuming, especially under his starched Matuzzo dress shirts. Tony took it upon himself to dress as sharp and as clean as possible, goatee trimmed neatly and his Tom Ford suits pressed to a crisp. And today was no exception. Peter wet his lips, Tony’s dark grey vest and black gunmetal arm a stark contrast against his white dress shirt and deep red tie. Bright, almost glowing, blue metal accents lay between gaps of intricate steel panels, and Peter gazed as Tony’s arm seemed to come alive as he flexed his fingers.
“Is it-is your whole arm, uh…?”
“Arm and shoulder were a package deal. It was a miracle that they didn’t need to replace more.” Tony sniffed. Peter is silent as he lets Tony pace the story.
“Believe it or not, your Uncle Tony used to be a real grease monkey. I was a mechanic, dingy coveralls included.” Peter giggled, replacing Tony’s suit with a Dickie’s jumper and imagining his uncle wiping a grease smudged brow with a red oil-stained rag.
“Your, ah- your dad and I worked on cars all the time with your grandfather growing up.”
This caught Peter’s attention in a different way, looking up in surprise. His parents were rarely ever brought up in conversation, especially after their untimely passing. Peter didn’t know much about them; he just knew that his mother died at childbirth, and his father passed shortly after he’d been born. It was painful for everyone to talk about, his father being the biggest sore spot of them all.
“Your dad was an incredible mechanic, a genius of the trade, and together we opened up an auto shop in Queens.” Tony stood from his seat and began circling the table to stand next to the boy, Peter’s eyes following him. “You were such a tiny little thing when it happened; so quiet we barely knew you were here. Your mom had already passed and your Uncle Ben and Aunt May were helping take care of you while your dad and I worked at the shop.”
Tony loosened his tie and turned towards the young man, eyes scanning his face for another moment before taking a deep breath.
“One night, your dad called me saying he was going to the shop to work on a car that had been giving us trouble earlier that day. But I’d had a bad feeling. I offered to come by and help, but he insisted he’d be fine working on the car alone and-”
“Is this about the night he died?” The young man spoke before Tony could go further. Tony had a pained look in his eyes, but he neither denied or confirmed.
“Maybe we shouldn’t-”
“No, please, Uncle Tony. I want to know. Please?”
Tony took another deep breath, grabbing and wringing his wrist as he collected his story once again.
“They said it was a robbery gone wrong. By the time I got to the shop, all there was was smoke. Your dad never kept money in the shop, but they didn’t believe him. One thing led to another, and next thing you know, they’d shot him and set the shop on fire.”
It dawned on Peter why they’d waited to cross this bridge, both for his sake, and for Tony’s.
“I ran in; into the fire. I could barely see, but I managed to find your dad. I don’t know how long he’d been laying there for. He was weak and had already lost so much blood...”
Tony had begun to pace the room, eyes to the floor as he went back and forth.
“The heat was almost unbearable, but it was the last thing on my mind. I just couldn’t leave him. I pulled the both of us out and I thought we’d made it, but it was too much for him. He’d fought hard, but by the time I’d come out of surgery, he was gone. I’d lost my brother and my arm both in one night.”
“Uncle Tony...I’m-I’m so sorry, I-”
“They said there was nothing I could’ve done. He didn’t have a chance, with or without the fire...”
“But why did you go in?” Peter asked. Tony looked up at Peter, and suddenly, the boy looked so small; any smaller and he’d fold in and disappear into himself. “If you hadn’t of gone in, you’d-you’d still have your arm, and-”
“And I probably wouldn’t of been able to live with myself if I didn’t. I would do the same thing if I had a chance to do it over. I’d been burned down to the bone, and I’d do it all again if it meant having those final moments with your father.”
Peter could see nothing but love and sincerity in Tony’s eyes.
“I made a promise to my brother that night, that if he didn’t make it out alive, that I would spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”
Neither of them were sure what to say at this point, Peter deep in thought at what he’d just learned. The room stilled. They’re quiet for a moment, Tony walking past Peter to a cabinet in the shop, opening the door and grabbing himself two tumblers and the decanter of whiskey from middle shelf. Peter is reigned back into the moment at the sound of metal clinking with crystal. The older man set the glasses down on the workshop table, pouring themselves a healthy finger of whiskey each. Peter’s surprised at the gesture, taking the tumbler and swishing the amber liquid around the glass, just as he’d seen his uncle do so many times before.
“You sure, Uncle Tony? Aunt May won’t be mad?” Peter was a little more excited than he’d like to admit. He knew it was an attempt to lighten the mood, but with everything that had come to light between him and his uncle, he couldn’t help but feel that much closer to being a man; a man that Tony could respect and admire one day as more than just his nephew.
“I don’t think we’ve ever sat down together for a proper drink.” He picked up his own glass and Peter’s eyes are once again drawn to the sound of metal fingers wrapping themselves around the glass.
“Besides,” Tony paused to take a sip of his drink. “May is your Aunt, not your keeper. She doesn’t have to know everything we do here.” He winks in Peter’s direction, smirking at the sudden pink flush that rushes across the boy’s face.
Peter smiles back, taking a shy sip at the reassurance. He’d never had whiskey before; it’s strong at first, but smooth and hot as it traveled down to his belly. But he’s pleased with himself that he hasn’t faltered, and he takes another drink. Tony seemed pleased as well, smiling once more as he raised his glass for a toast.
#starker#tony stark x peter parker#tony x peter#non powered au#chapter fic#tw: drinking#tw: death#ironspider#starker au#tw: incest#tinker fic
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The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.
The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds.
As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.
The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.
DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it.
She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.
The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.
“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”
“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.
“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”
“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”
“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”
Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”
Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.
“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.
“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.
“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.
“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.
“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile.
“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.
She gathered her things and stood to leave, lingering briefly in the doorway. “I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.”
She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland.
Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.
She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it.
Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm.
She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”
#these two things are linked strongly in my brain for whatever reason#in case you ever wondered what it's like inside that dark cavern of crazy#the world ocean#long post
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Two Worlds Collide Chapter 11
Read it on AO3 | Rated: NC-17 | Stella x Scully
Chapter 11
Stella pushed through the door into the lobby of her hotel, a mixture of relief and frustration fizzing inside her. As tired as she was, the prospect of a night alone in her hotel room felt unbearable. Her gaze flitted to the bar on her left. A month ago, she would have gone straight in and found a willing stranger to occupy her evening. Knowing that she couldn’t chafed at her nerves. Realizing that she didn’t even want to made her eye twitch.
Her heels clicked briskly over the polished floors, not betraying her inner discomfort. She hadn’t slept well last night, had missed lunch, and had spent too many hours sitting in a too-hard plastic chair reviewing case notes with a misogynistic pig of a man who took issue with every word that left her mouth. She should have stopped at the restroom before she left the station, but she’d been in too much of a hurry to get the fuck out of there. Consequently, she needed to pee, her stomach ached with hunger, her feet hurt, her ribs hurt, her neck hurt. In short, she was an absolute mess.
Happy Fucking Birthday, Stella.
And yet, she considered stopping for a drink. Just a drink. A little something to numb the pain before she went up to her empty room. Before she didn’t call Scully because it felt too disingenuous to call today and not mention the date. But as her feet slowed in front of the bar, her gaze caught on an entirely-too-familiar waterfall of red hair on a petite figure perched on the barstool nearest to the lobby.
Heat wound its way through her, crawling over her skin, making her jaw clench. Arousal. Irritation. Anger. What the fuck was Scully doing here?
Stella stalked to the empty stool beside her, sliding carefully onto it. Scully turned to face her, beaming at Stella with a smile so bright, she almost had to squint against the power of it. After a moment of pointed silence, though, Scully’s smile dimmed. She called the bartender over and ordered a whiskey for Stella to match the tumbler sitting on the bar in front of her.
“What are you doing here?” Stella finally asked as the bartender set a glass in front of her. She murmured a thank you as she lifted it to her lips, taking a hearty swallow.
“I think you know.” Scully sipped her whiskey, darting a glance over at her.
“Who told you?”
“Stephen,” Scully said with a small smile. “He tipped me off when I brought you lunch the other day.”
Stella took another gulp of her whiskey, feeling it burn all the way down her esophagus, igniting her temper. What was Chen thinking, meddling in her business like this? He knew she didn’t like a fuss. The whole office knew, but Chen knew her better than most, well enough to have known better.
“I thought you’d be happier to see me.” Scully swung one foot against the edge of the bar, drawing Stella’s gaze to her legs, bare from the knee down.
She swallowed more whiskey, her gaze wandering slowly over the slinky black dress Scully wore. It wrinkled at her hips where she sat, and Stella wanted to take the bunched material between her fingers and pull Scully against her, kiss her, fuck her, use her to blot out the darkness in her mind. Then she saw the way Scully’s breasts spilled over its lowcut bodice, and her brain went up in flames. Fuck. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress before.”
“I don’t wear them often.” Scully glanced over at her again, eyes probing Stella’s, trying to read her mood. She’d worn a dress for Stella’s birthday. Suddenly, her throat felt too thick.
“I’m sorry.” She dragged her gaze away from Scully, staring into the amber depths of what remained of her whiskey. “I’m not very good company tonight.”
“I can see that.”
Stella blinked at her unexpected candor. “I don’t like a fuss.”
“Then I won’t make one.” Scully leaned subtly closer, drawing Stella’s gaze again to the way her breasts were poured into that dress. “You look like you’ve had a shit day.”
“I have,” she admitted. The whole week had been shit so far. She’d seldom faced such open hostility from a precinct when she was sent in for a review. They were completely fixated on the former officer who’d been accused of the crime, and while he was definitely a fuck-up, Stella didn’t think he was guilty of rape. If only she could convince the prick in charge to listen to her.
“I’m here to make it better,” Scully said softly.
Stella exhaled, her spine softening as she heard the truth in Scully’s words. She was taking her pissy mood out on the person who least deserved it. Scully was dressed to go out, had probably come here tonight with big plans, an evening Stella simply wasn’t up for. She couldn’t bear the thought of polite dinner conversation, hours more in her heels. But for Scully…perhaps she could find the strength for it somewhere inside herself.
Scully shifted closer to Stella on her barstool, sipping her whiskey. “Tough case?”
“Aren’t they all?”
A smile touched Scully’s lips. “Some more than others.”
“It’s not the case as much as the DCI in charge of it,” Stella said.
“Ah. He must be a real asshole to have you this riled up.”
“He is.” Stella took another drink of her whiskey, watching the way the light glinted off Scully’s cross pendant as it dangled just above her cleavage.
“For the record, I don’t like a fuss on my birthday either,” Scully told her. “But sometimes it’s nice to be pleasantly surprised.” Her hand crept over to squeeze Stella’s beneath the bar.
Stella breathed past the lump in her throat, the sudden, overwhelming surge of affection for the woman sitting beside her. She hated surprises, even pleasant ones. But she couldn’t seem to hate anything about Dana Scully.
“Is this anti-celebratory mood a Gibson family trait, or just you?” Scully asked, her expression gentle yet probing. No doubt, she’d realized Stella never mentioned her family. They were both detectives after all.
“Both, I guess,” she answered.
“It can’t be both,” Scully said, her tone teasing.
“My mother doesn’t celebrate much of anything, although she did call today,” Stella told her. “We aren’t close.”
“And your father?”
“He died when I was fourteen.”
“Oh.” Her hand found Stella’s again beneath the bar. “I’m sorry.” It seemed ludicrous that Scully didn’t already know this formational fact about Stella, but she had only herself to blame for it.
“Ancient history,” Stella told her, but sitting here with Scully, body aching after a long, stressful day, it didn’t feel so ancient. She remembered the fresh soapy scent of his aftershave when he hugged her, the bright glint of his eyes when he laughed, the pure unadulterated happiness she’d felt when she was with him. Nothing in her life had ever been the same after he died.
Some of this must have shown on her face, because Scully said, “You and your dad were close.”
“Yes.”
They lapsed into silence for a minute as both of them polished off what remained of their whiskey. Scully turned toward her, understanding gleaming in the indigo depths of her eyes as her knee bumped into Stella’s. “I had planned to take you out somewhere nice, but on second thought, I think tonight calls for room service.”
“Please,” Stella said gratefully. In truth, nothing sounded better.
Scully paid for their drinks, linking her fingers in Stella’s as she led the way toward the elevator. “Anything you want tonight, Stella.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Anything?”
Scully’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Anything.”
***
Scully sat on the edge of the bed, feet swinging restlessly. Stella had excused herself as soon as they’d reached her room and gone into the bathroom, and she’d been in there long enough now that Scully was starting to worry, really worry, that she’d fucked up by coming here. Stella certainly hadn’t been happy to see her, but then, she’d seemed to warm up to her before they came upstairs.
A sick feeling swirled in her stomach. What if she’d made a difficult day worse for Stella? Why was today so hard for her? Why hadn’t Scully respected her boundaries in the first place? Her eyes stung.
The bathroom door opened, and Stella emerged, barefoot and bare faced, wearing her pale pink silk robe. She looked tired. Maybe even a bit vulnerable. But not angry. In fact, the hungry gleam in her eye seemed to hint that she might be glad for company tonight after all.
Scully meant what she’d told her earlier. She would do anything to make Stella’s birthday a little brighter. She’d had a difficult few months, and while Scully had second-guessed herself about a million times before coming here tonight, ultimately, she couldn’t bear the thought of Stella being alone on her birthday.
Scully walked to her now, resting her hands on Stella’s hips as she leaned in for a gentle kiss. She kicked off her heels, bringing herself down to Stella’s level so their lips lined up perfectly. She might never truly get over the thrill of kissing someone without having to go up on her tiptoes.
Stella exhaled into their kiss before dropping her forehead against Scully’s, eyes sliding shut. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“So am I.” Scully swallowed her smile, as pleased by Stella’s affection as she was concerned by the exhaustion in her face. She slid her hands up Stella’s back, feeling the knots of tension bunched in her muscles. “How do you feel about back rubs?”
Stella let out a little sound of relief. “Sounds so good right now.”
“Lay on the bed,” Scully said, giving her a nudge in that direction.
“Should I take this off?” Stella tugged at the sleeve of her robe.
“Your choice.”
Stella lay face down on the bed, still wearing the robe, wincing as her chest came into contact with the mattress. Dammit, Stella. Scully had glimpsed the wet swimsuit hanging in the bathroom. She knew it was a better option than some of Stella’s other coping mechanisms for a rough week, but she obviously hadn’t done her cracked ribs any favors.
And Scully couldn’t relax her with a back rub while she was in pain. She walked to the closet and pulled out the extra pillows and blanket she found there, carrying them to the bed. Then she propped them beneath Stella until she’d taken the pressure of the mattress off her ribs. “Better?” she asked.
Stella nodded, eyes closed and looking far more comfortable than she had when she first lay down. Scully worked her skirt up her thighs so that she could crouch over her, placing her hands on Stella’s shoulders, thumbs pressed into the knots between her shoulder blades. Stella inhaled sharply.
“Okay?” Scully asked, receiving another nod in response. She kneaded her fingers into Stella’s trapezius muscle, gradually increasing pressure as she worked through the knots she found there. Stella seemed to melt into the bed, eyes closed, body gradually loosening beneath Scully’s fingers.
Once she’d worked the tension from Stella’s shoulders, she made her way down her back, kneading and stroking, rubbing away the effects of a stressful day. By the time she’d reached Stella’s glutes, she almost thought she’d fallen asleep, she’d gotten so still, so relaxed, so quiet. But as Scully’s fingers slid over the backs of her thighs, Stella’s hips shifted, arching into her touch.
Scully smiled. “Still with me?”
“Mm,” Stella murmured, shifting again beneath Scully.
Scully sank her fingers into Stella’s hamstrings, carefully massaging away the strain of countless hours in heels and however many laps in the pool. Stella sighed deeply into the pillow beneath her, golden curls fanned out over her shoulders, so beautiful, even if she did look a bit like a fallen angel in this position.
“Any other parts that need attention?” Scully whispered as her fingers slid beneath the hem of Stella’s robe.
“Yes,” Stella breathed. “Please.”
Scully skimmed her fingers up Stella’s bare skin to the juncture of her thighs, finding her already wet, so wet. An ache grew between Scully’s thighs as she began to stroke Stella, doing what she could to erase the last of the tension from her body. She lay beside Stella, pressing their bodies together as she worked Stella with her fingers, swirling and plunging, drawing a gasp from her throat.
Stella rolled to her side, moving the pillows out from under herself, drawing Scully in closer, replacing their somewhat awkward position with a much more friendly one, chests pressed together, legs entwined and mouths meeting for a messy kiss as Scully continued to finger-fuck her.
Stella panted against Scully’s neck, fingers gripping her dress, trying to bring her impossibly closer. She came with a gasp, body tensing against Scully’s before she collapsed onto the pile of pillows behind her, eyes closed and breathing hard.
“I think that’s what they call a happy ending massage,” Scully said, leaning over to brush a golden strand of hair out of Stella’s face.
“Fuck, yes,” Stella said, chest heaving, cheeks stained a satisfied pink.
“Better now?” Scully asked as she crawled in next to her.
“So much better,” Stella murmured, one arm coming around Scully, pulling her flush against her body. The crystalline depths of her eyes were calm now, her body relaxed against Scully’s. “Shame you got all dressed up like that.”
“Not really,” Scully told her. “We’ll go out another night. And your present is under this dress.”
“Is it?” Stella’s interest sharpened, lips pursing in one of her almost-smiles as her gaze dropped to the dress.
“Yes.”
“And I get to unwrap it?” Stella asked.
Scully felt a warm flush spread over her skin. “Yes.”
“Now?”
“If you like.”
“Oh, I like,” Stella murmured, pushing herself upright. “Stand up for me.”
Scully climbed off the bed, ridiculously pleased and equally aroused that Stella had taken so quickly to the game. Also, to see Stella looking so much calmer and more comfortable than she had when she first approached Scully in the bar downstairs. Now, she looked like a woman enjoying herself on her birthday, and it made Scully irrationally proud and just…so happy to see her this way.
Stella stood there for a moment, gaze raking from Scully’s face to her pink-painted toes as if deciding how best to unwrap her. Scully’s body sizzled beneath her stare, heat building everywhere. Finally, Stella stepped forward, pressing Scully against the wall, kissing her deeply as her hands roamed over the dress, sliding over the slinky fabric, pressing here and there to give herself a hint as to what lay beneath.
She palmed Scully’s breast, pinching her nipple through the fabric. “Lace?”
“Maybe,” she gasped, desire tightening in her core.
“You know just what I like,” Stella murmured as her fingers traveled behind Scully’s back, slowly dragging down the zipper of her dress. She resisted the urge to shrug it off her shoulders, letting Stella have the honors. She looked at Scully now, eyes bright, amused, aroused, despite the dark smudges beneath them. Lips quirking, she pushed Scully’s dress off her shoulders, and it slipped to the floor in a whoosh of fabric, leaving Scully standing before her in the sapphire blue lace bodysuit she’d bought yesterday just for this occasion.
Stella sucked in a breath, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth as she again raked her gaze over Scully, pupils blown with lust. Scully had never felt so aroused from watching someone look at her, getting off on the fact that Stella was getting off on looking at her. It was disorienting. And surreal. And hot.
Stella traced her fingers reverently over the lace containing Scully’s breasts, her breath quickening. “My favorite color.”
“Really?” she couldn’t help asking, because she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Stella wear blue.
“On you,” she said softly, fingers sliding over lace, nails skimming Scully’s sensitive flesh. “My favorite color on you.”
***
Stella roused at a knock on the door, realizing as she blinked through her disorientation that she must have dozed off in bed while they waited for room service to arrive.
“Don’t move,” Scully said, pressing a kiss against her cheek. “I’ll get it.” She slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in Stella’s robe, finger-combing her hair as she looked around for her purse, pulling out a bill to tip the attendant who’d brought their food.
Stella tugged at the sheet, making sure she was fully covered before the door opened. God, she wasn’t sure she even had the energy to sit up, let alone eat. She was so tired, still sore, although less so since Scully’s magical massage and the two orgasms she’d delivered, one before and one after Stella had unwrapped her birthday lingerie. What had she ever done to deserve someone like Scully in her life, even temporarily?
“Happy Birthday,” Scully said, wheeling a cart toward the bed that contained much more than silver room service platters. On one side, a bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket of ice. An arrangement of flowers stood between the two trays, big squishy peonies in various shades of pink, so beautiful they made Stella’s eyes well with tears. “I know how much you like fresh flowers, and I thought you might like some for your room while you’re here.”
“I do. They’re beautiful.” She blinked, trying desperately to clear her vision, but it was no use. The tears slipped over her cheeks, and she swiped them away. “Thank you. Really. That was very thoughtful of you.”
Scully smiled as she sat on the side of the bed, and the sight of her in Stella’s favorite pink robe was playing all kinds of tricks on her mind, mostly making her want to pull Scully against her and kiss her senseless. “Also, fudge,” Scully said, holding up a white paper bag. “It reminded me of our first night together.”
“It was our second night, as I recall,” Stella said, smiling at the memory. “You didn’t get that off the room service menu.”
“No,” Scully said with a pleased smile. “I left these things at the front desk earlier, while I was waiting for you.”
“A woman who plans ahead.” Stella leaned over to kiss her before burying her nose in the flowers, inhaling their crisp floral scent. Just the thought of having them here for the rest of the week made it feel so much more bearable.
Scully popped open the bottle of champagne. She poured two flutes, handing one to Stella. “To the year ahead.”
Stella tapped her glass against Scully’s, not knowing how to respond to that. What would the year ahead bring? For Stella? For Scully? For their time together? She couldn’t think about any of it, not tonight, anyway. Instead, she sipped, letting the cold, tart bubbles fill her mouth and fizz their way down to her stomach.
Scully lifted the lids off their trays and set them on the floor, and the room filled with the rich scent of beef. Stella’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she pressed a hand against it with a rueful smile. She slipped into her nightgown before crawling across the sheets to join Scully in front of the food.
She and Scully sat side by side on the hotel bed, eating burgers and fries, the bag of fudge on the nightstand, and it was so much like that other night, the night they’d caught Ronnie Strickland, the night Stella had first bared her scars to Scully. Tonight, she sat confidently beside her, not much caring that the gown did little to hide the ancient scars on her legs.
They were mostly quiet as they ate, sneaking glances at each other, sharing smiles and occasional kisses between bites. It was so much like that other night, but also…not at all. They were so much older now, so much wiser, so much more comfortable with each other, even if they’d only been reunited a few short weeks ago.
Somehow, the connection between them seemed so much more firmly rooted than it should have been, given the handful of scattered phone calls and emails they’d exchanged in the intervening years. They were halfway through the bottle of champagne by the time they’d finished their burgers and Scully brought the bag of fudge onto the bed.
“You spoil me,” Stella murmured as Scully handed her a piece of dark chocolate fudge, her favorite. All her favorite things. How did she already know Stella so well? How was she so good at all of this?
“As you deserve,” Scully responded with a playful smile, popping a bite of caramel fudge into her mouth. “This is new since that night,” she added, touching the tattoo on Stella’s wrist. “What does it mean?”
Stella stared at the Sanskrit letters inked there, a warm flush spreading over her skin as she debated how to answer. But surely, this was one small truth she could give her, after Scully had given her so much. “It means rebirth, to start over again.”
“Nice,” Scully said casually before her eyes widened, her mouth going slack as the meaning of Stella’s tattoo sank in. “Oh.”
Stella looked away, intensely uncomfortable, skin tight and prickly, cheeks burning.
“Like mine,” Scully whispered.
“In a way.” She’d gotten it not long after Scully’s first visit, when she’d caught her first serial killer, her first big victory as a Detective Sergeant. It was a celebration of the next chapter in her life, a reminder that her life would always evolve, always move forward as long as she was here to drive it. Maybe she’d been thinking of Scully and her ouroboros when she chose it.
She’d certainly never thought she’d sit here and explain it to the woman herself, to give her this insight into the effect she’d had on Stella’s life, the impact she continued to have. Was there any end to the ways she could knock Stella’s world off its axis, send her spinning when she thought she’d figured herself out?
“Mine got ruined,” Scully said quietly.
Stella turned to her in surprise. “What?”
In response, Scully slipped out of the pink robe, turning her bare back to Stella. She leaned over, squinting more closely at the multi-colored snake on Scully’s back. A scar shone in the center of it now, bisecting the snake through its belly, its colors muted and blurred beneath the shiny tissue. The scar was wide and jagged, obviously the result of some sort of wound. “What happened?” Stella asked.
“Don’t laugh,” Scully said, eyebrows rising to warn Stella that her story was going to involve an X File.
“Of course not.” She would never laugh at Scully, especially not over anything that had caused her so much pain.
“I was abducted by a religious cult that believed this enormous parasitic worm was the second coming of Christ,” Scully said.
“Jesus,” Stella whispered.
“And they put it in me. In my spine.” Scully shuddered, wrapping her arms around her abdomen. “I was pregnant.”
Stella just stared as this information worked its way through her brain. “They put a giant parasitic worm in your spine? That’s what made the scar on your back?”
She nodded. “Agent Doggett had to cut it out of me before it reached my brain. It was…horrifying.”
“That sounds like an understatement,” Stella said quietly. “And you were pregnant with William?”
She nodded as a tear slid over her cheek. “My miracle baby, and they put that thing inside me…”
Stella reached for her, pulling her against her chest. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever fully understand all the horrific things Scully had endured during her time with the X Files. And here she was fretting over Paul Spector cracking her ribs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Scully murmured against her chest. “It wasn’t in me very long, and obviously it didn’t end up affecting my pregnancy. It did ruin my tattoo, though.”
“I don’t think so,” Stella told her, fingers combing through the auburn depths of Scully’s hair. “Just added character to it, that’s all.”
“A little added life experience.” Scully sat up, smile back in place.
They ate more fudge and polished off the last of the champagne before clearing away the remnants of their meal. Room service trays went into the hall, and the vase of flowers sat on the desk next to what remained of the bag of fudge. They got ready for bed, climbing in beside each other.
Fatigue weighed heavy on Stella, as it had every night this week. But tonight, with Scully beside her, she slipped easily into sleep, not stirring until Scully’s alarm went off sometime later.
“Sorry,” Scully whispered as she reached for her phone and silenced it. Outside, the sky was still ink black. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but I have to catch the train back to London before my shift starts.”
Fourteen years ago, it had been Stella sneaking off at the crack of dawn to go to work. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t have wanted you to leave without saying goodbye.”
“Me either.” Scully leaned in to place a quick kiss against her lips before she slid out of bed. She went into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later wearing blue scrubs, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wandered around the room, shoving things into the duffel bag she’d brought with her before sitting on the bed to give Stella one last kiss. “Bye.”
Stella reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Thank you, for last night.”
“You’re welcome.” Scully gave her a warm smile. “I hope you’re back home soon.”
“I should be back this weekend.”
“Let’s go out then,” Scully suggested. “A fancy dinner, something fun? A real date.”
“Yes,” Stella agreed. “I’d like that.”
“Okay, then. I’ve got to run, or I’m going to miss my train.” She leaned in for one more kiss and then slid off the bed. She paused by the desk, sneaking a piece of fudge with a guilty smile before heading for the door with a wave.
Stella watched her go, wondering how she could ever really tell her how much last night had meant to her. She hadn’t shared anything that meaningful on her birthday since before her father died. And before she could let herself ponder that uncomfortable truth any further, she climbed out of bed. Following Scully’s lead, she popped a piece of fudge in her mouth as she went into the bathroom to get her swimsuit.
She had laps to complete before heading into the office.
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call me al
there was a tumblr post that said:
"no offense but two characters running from the authorities and then on of them pull the other in dark, small alley to shake them off and they're both breathing hard and there's not mush space there and they're looking at each other while trying to hold back chuckles and one of them brings their finger to their lips playfully in a 'shhh' motion while smirking and oh no now they're looking at one another's lips and one of them whispers 'i think the coast is clear now. we could leave.' and the other says 'yeah. we could' but they're still looking at the other person's lips and neither make a move to of and they can feel each other's breath against their skin"
masterlist
arthur morgan x alayna [ofc] 1.8k
It’s after noon when Alayna comes riding her into camp on her all black thoroughbred, with a deer on the back ready for Pearson’s stew that night. Lifting the heavy carcass onto her shoulder she carries it over to the cooks wagon.
“Thank you Al, it’s about time someone contributed today.” Pearson’s scratchy voice can be heard behind her. As he walks up, he takes the dead animal from her and hangs it up to be skinned.
“What do you mean? Hasn’t Arthur brought you anything yet?” Walking around the man, she goes to the water basin, scoops some out and rinses off her hands, “He’s usually the first person to bring you game.”
Pearson takes out his knife and begins to skin the deer, “He’s off drinking it up in town,” He stabs a little rougher at that, “Dutch's' orders.”
Alayna hums in acknowledgement, swipes an apple. Taking a bit she makes and her way to the man himself. Dutch is sitting outside his tent reading his beloved book by Evelyn Miller.
“Whats this about Arthur drinking in town?”
“Ah! My dear Al,” Dutch looks up from his reading and a smile blooms on his face. After all these years she was still a sucker for his smile.
She remembers when Hosea and him picked her up. She was about 15 and living on the streets. She ended up pickpocketing the man they were trying to con. Dutch charmed the man, sent him on his way, and then turned and charmed her as well. And here they were, 14 years later and she was still falling for his craft. That man had a way with words that she could never resist.
“Yes, poor Lenny came riding in here this morning saying something about Micha getting locked up in Strawberry and is to be hung—”
“Let’s hope so.” She mumbles taking another bite of her apple. The pointed look Dutch gives her lets her know she was heard but he keeps talking anyway, getting up and leading her towards the horses.
“Yes, well Arthur took him into Valentine to go drink and calm him down. Why don’t you go check on them? We don’t want to cause any more trouble than we already have.” They stop at her horse and Dutch gives her shoulder a pat dismissing her.
“Well Beef it looks like we have to go babysit some boys.” Alayna feeds him the rest of her apple and gives him a couple of pats and makes her way into town.
The various sounds of the saloon can be heard as Alayna rounds the street corner of Valentine. She takes moment looking around trying to spot Arthur and Lenny’s horses, once she does she hitches Beef up beside them and makes her way into the saloon.
Music and laughter fill her ears and very particular laugh makes her smile softly. Arthurs laugh has always brought a smile to her face and had done so often before the Blackwater mess.
Growing up with John and Arthur was defiantly a challenge, John was practically a brother, and the two of them teased each other as such. But Arthur, Arthur always had the potential to be something else entirely. Yet the two could never find themselves quite on the same page, Alayna had had dalliances before and of course Arthur had Eliza and Issac at one time, and then Mary. But there were still stolen glances, lingering touches the went just past a normal amount of time, flirting teases here and there that always built up a tension between them. It never helped that even the gang members could see that there was something between them, even if they didn’t acknowledge it themselves; Hosea had a couple of times sent Alayna down to the river to look for Arthur, on the pretense that he was fishing, just to find him bathing instead. They had both come back beat red from the river and avoided eye contact for the next couple of days every time they fell for it. Hosea would always find it amusing though.
Alayna spots Arthur and Lenny at the far end of the bar and heads over to them, the two men are laughing and taking shots of whiskey, as the younger one takes the shot he throws his entire body back, in turn bumping into a drunk behind him, he turns irate and begins throwing slurs at Lenny.
“Lenny!” Alayna reaches them patting Lenny’s shoulder and putting herself between the two men, who on closer inspection she realizes is one of the men for the bar fight earlier in the week.
“Sorry sir! Here have a drink on me!” Turning to charm the drunk and defuse the situation, Alayna plasters on a giant smile, “Get my friend here a drink!” She motions to the bartender and tosses him some coins hoping that would be enough to earn the mans silence. Its works and the man takes his drink and moves to a table away from them mumbling something about women. Alayna rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the two clearly drunk cowboys she calls family.
“Al! W-w-what are you doin’ here?” Lenny slurs a little, his head cocked to the side in confusion, “But thannnk god you were. I did not wanna fight him.”
Alayna motions to the bartender again and orders herself a beer and takes up the spot next to Lenny, “Well someone has to take care of you boys—” She can see that Arthur is watching her, not paying attention to what she's saying. But instead he's captivated by her lips. She takes a swig of her beer and a little bit slips out past her lips and flows down her neck, he watches it, finding himself wondering what is would be like to trace the path with his tongue.
“Besides Arthur isn’t the only here who knows how to have a good time.” At his name he’s jolted out of his thoughts and makes eye contact with Alayna, realizing he's been caught, a blush forms across his face and going down his neck.
“What?” Finally catching Alayna’s teasing,”Oh you mean like that one time you got drunnnk and convinced yourself you could ride a pig?” He tries to hide his smirk but it gets the best of him and grows into a wide smile.
“As I remember it, we got drunk and you tried as well!” Lenny lets out a hearty laugh “You did what!” and all three of them start laughing harder as Arthur tries to defend himself and Alayna retells the story.
L E N N Y ! Y N N E L !
The rest of their time carries on like that, swapping stories, drinking, and causing mischief. As night rolls around Alayna and Arthur lose Lenny a couple of times.
The first time the lose him they find him on the upper level of the saloon trying to balance a tumbler on his forehead. They go to join him leaning against the railing drinks in hand.
“Say Arthur, why you haven't been married yet?” Lenny asks, completely oblivious to Arthur going ridged at his question.
“Oh, no one will have me.”
“Tha’ss not true” Alayna slurs, turning to Arthur she grabs on to his bicep, “Any women, hell some men, would be happy, veeery happy, to have a big, strong, c-caring…man,” She loses her voice not wanting to say more under Arthurs heated gaze. She can feel her face heat up, she's unsure if its embarrassment or the alcohol doing it. Probably both.
Or maybe.
Something else.
E L N Y N ?
They some how lose Lenny again, Alayna fears it’s going to be a pattern tonight, but doesn’t worry to much about it because of the drink and because it just means more time with Arthur.
Alayna watches Arthur from her table walk back in from taking a piss outside. He stumbles into a working girl at the base of the staircase, “You want some company cowboy?” He looks to be taking a second to see who was talking to him but he answers, “Umm, no thank-k ya’ ma’am.”
He makes his way back to Alayna, “She looked like Lenny, didn' she?” She chuckles at his statement at he sits down with her going back to drinking his beer.
“You were still ever the gentlemen Arthur.”
“She’s not the kind of company I want.”
W R E H E I E H S ?
All three of them stumble into the street laughing, drinking, and yelling. Lenny throws up near some horses hitched up in front of the saloon.
“Hey—!”
The sheriff and some deputies are marching towards them from up the road.
“Lenny! Run!” Alayna laughs and pushes him towards the bank. Grabbing Arthurs hand she starts to run down the alley trying to lead them behind the saloon, they end up stumbling, Arthur wraps his arms around her catching her, giggling and leaning into the crook of her neck sending tingling shivers up and down her body. They both end ups laughing as they stumble down and around the end of the alley.
“There they are!” A deputy rounds the general store, pointing at the two laughing drunk idiots.
“You’ll never catch us alive!” Arthur yells turning and dragging Alayna by the hand in the opposite direction. They end up running and jumping fences all along the back of Valentine, laughing and trying not to fall over anything.
They manage to escape and hide behind the church at the end of the street. Alayna pulls Arthur behind the building, Arthur leaning against the building Alayna’s forehead leaning against his chest, hands still clasped together as they try to catch their breath.
Alayna can feel Arthur chuckling to himself, shoulders shaking. “Shush,” She looks up, putting a finger to his lips and peaking around the corner to check, “They’ll find us.”
He’s staring at her. Hard. His eyes darting around her face. Her lips. Her eyes. They way strands of her hair have fallen out of her plait and have fallen in front of her face. Does she realize what she doing? Being this close? Finger still on his lips? Oh, now she’s looking at him, and theres a dawning look on her face. Now she realizes.
Her finger slowly traces his parted lips, they’re chapped from being in the sun everyday. But still very much kissable. If either one of them were to lean in just an inch or two their lips would touch. Does he want that? Alayna looks up from his lips to see his pupils blown wide, she can hardly see they hazel that surrounds them. Yes. They’re breathing each other in. Arthurs hand that is not clasped in hers comes up and cups her neck fingers brushing into her hair, they lean into each other.
So close.
*F W E E T!*
It was like a spell was broken. They snap apart and begin their run again.
Hands still clasped together.
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