#still gives dance lessons and lives above said bar? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prettyboybarzal · 4 years ago

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lessons in romance // nate mackinnon x reader

summary: nate mackinnon is really bad at keeping a steady girlfriend. so bad that’s become somewhat of a joke between him and the boys. but you come along and try to set him straight.

word count: 14k+

author’s note: it’s finally here. i’m honestly surprised at how fast i cranked this out... which is actually a LOT longer than most people write on here so mayb i shouldn’t brag lmao! this fic was inspired by THIS gifset. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE give me feedback/reblog!!!!!!

warnings: smut (i jumped out of my comfort zone people. i finally wrote some lmfao) & mentions of a past toxic ex

Weekends were better spent in bed or visiting family, not sitting in a crowded bar with men who reminded you slightly of your ex-boyfriend. You were probably overreacting a little bit because the guys truly meant well, but their overly boy-ish energy was startlingly similar to that of your ex. Maybe a few more drinks would help the cause and you could get passed the sex jokes.

Mel Landeskog was the reason you were there. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, much like her husband, and so you were sitting across the booth from some of the largest men you’d ever seen in your life. Gabe gave you the rundown of their names as they arrived though the only one you could remember was Cale. He was a perpetually blushing 21-year-old named after a vegetable; how could you forget him?

“Do you think Nate’s upset about this one?” Cale asked. The new topic of conversation was their friends’ disastrous date since he texted to tell them he was broken up with and was on his way to them. “They were sort of serious.”

“We’re about to find out,” Gabe announced, nodding towards the entrance of the bar. Nate was on his way to the booth, tired smile on his lips. As he got closer, he started shaking his head and the table erupted in chirps at his expense.

You recognized him from earlier at the Landeskog’s pregame. He was slipping out of the front door as you stepped in. His cologne was the type the good-looking guys always wear, and you weren’t disappointed when you looked up at him. He was handsome with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows and the top three buttons undone, and when he smiled, you all but swallowed your tongue.

He began to greet his teammates. The chain around his neck caught the light of the DJ booth and you found yourself gazing at it. You tore your eyes away from the gold at the sound of Mel’s voice introducing you.

“This is my girlfriend, YN, from my Saturday morning Cycle class,” she said. “And, YN, this is my husband’s boyfriend, Nate MacKinnon.”

He threw his head back in a laugh at Mel’s joke as he extended a hand to you. “Nice to meet you.”

You listened to the quips from his teammates, each one with their own opinion about Nate’s relationship or lack thereof. It seemed like this wasn’t the first time in recent months that he’d been broken up and it had become somewhat of a spectacle to the boys. Mel, who’d seen this song and dance one too many times, wrapped her fingers around your elbow and tugged you with her towards the bar.

“What was that about?”

“Nate can’t hold down a girlfriend,” she explained. “It’s been a joke since he first came here because they almost all have the same issue with him.”

“And what is that?”

“He’s not romantic enough.”

You glanced back over your shoulder and watched the boys laughing amongst each other. It looked like they were celebrating as they lifted their beers in a sad looking toast, and it hit you right where it hurt.

You really saw your ex-boyfriend in the group now and, though you tried not to make assumptions, you found it hard to set the first impression aside. The liquor in your system didn’t help. With each joke about his dating misadventures, you became less of a fan of him and by the end of the night you were bubbling over in annoyance.

Gabe and Mel offered Nate a ride home towards the end of the night and you managed to keep your expression neutral when he accepted. As they headed out to grab the car, you and Nate waited at the curb several feet away from each other.

“I’m sorry about your break up,” you offered after a moment of silence. The statement came out more like a question and Nate’s lips quirked up into a smirk at the inflection of your voice. “Sorry, I just can’t tell if you’re upset or not, so I don’t know if I should even offer my condolences.”

“I’m, uh, I’m not upset,” he began. “I saw it coming.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time a girl’s broken up with me for not being romantic enough,” he said. Thoughts were filling your head faster than you could make sense of them. There was no reason for the situation to annoy you as much as it did. You didn’t know this guy and the odds that you ever saw him again were slim.

“So, if it’s not the first time, why hasn’t anything changed?”

“Excuse me?” he asked. There was a crease between his eyebrows. He hadn’t been expecting you to respond like that. You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t your business

“I mean, you act like a martyr when you probably would be successful in love if you just put in the romantic effort these girls are craving,” you said. Your anger had begun to boil over and words were spilling from your mouth faster than you could stop them. “Guys like you are the worst. You lead girls on and make them think they’re special. Next thing they know, they’ve been wasting time on you and your lack of effort.”

The comment made Nate take a step away from you. His eyebrows drew together in shock and confusion. As you spoke, he turned his body to you and crossed his arms over his chest. The moment you closed your mouth, he interjected. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t have to,” you argued, turning to him. You were in a stand-off with a man several inches taller than you, and to any passerby it probably looked a little bit funny, but you weren’t backing down. “I know guys like you. I’ve dated guys like you.”

Before Nate could continue arguing, the Landeskogs pulled up to the curb. Mel hollered out for you two and the topic of conversation was dropped.

---

You regretted everything you said to Nate the moment you woke up the morning after. It wasn’t like you to be so rude, especially not to someone you didn’t know. Your heart stopped every time Mel texted you in the days following. You thought that at any moment she’d confront you about what you said to him, but it never came. As the week carried on, you found yourself forgetting the harsh words spoken outside the bar and the worry stopped.

Until Thursday night.

The knock at your apartment door was unexpected. You met your roommate, Mara’s, narrowed eyes over the dirty dishes you were working on. By the look on both your faces, neither one of you had a guest on the way over. She turned on her heel to check the peephole and the next look she gave you was equally as confusing as the previous one. She still opened the door.

“Does YN live here?”

The voice sent shockwaves through your veins and you stopped your movements, plates held just above your head as you were about to slide them into the cabinet. Nate MacKinnon was at your apartment. Mara nodded at him slowly before stepping back to let him in.

“Hi,” he greeted. His hands were tucked into his sweatshirt pocket, legs clad in compression leggings and a pair of shorts. He looked like he’d just come from a workout and his hair was still wet from the shower he’d taken before coming over. “I hope you don’t mind. Gabe gave me your address.”

“No problem,” you told him through a shaky breath. “Come in. Come sit at the island.”

He removed his shoes and approached slowly, sending Mara one last smile as she crept off down the hall. You silently cursed her for leaving you with your shaking hands as you cleared the clutter from the countertop. You watched him as he settled into the stool across from you, mirroring the kind smile he was sharing with you.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? I have food, too, if you’re hungry.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. His voice was softer now than it had been before. “I wanted to talk to you about the other night. It won’t take long.”

“Oh?” you asked, trying to ignore the way your stomach dropped. You wanted to start apologizing right then. You didn’t have a reason to go and butt into his personal life like you had. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Guys like him didn’t care about your opinions. “I’m sorry for what I said. When I get drunk, I have the tendency to shoot off at the mouth.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. Your mouth snapped shut. “No one keeps me in check. All the guys think the fact that I can’t keep a girlfriend is a big joke because I’m so bad at dating. It shouldn’t be a joke. So, I’m sorry and thank you.”

You dropped your hands to the counter and leaned against it. The last thing you expected was for Nate to thank you, so you needed a moment to gather your thoughts. His eyes glistened as he watched you and then the corner of his lip quirked up because you started giggling.

“You should not be thanking me,” you said. With that simple statement, the tension in the air lifted. You turned your back on him, indicating that if the conversation must go on, you were going to be doing the dishes as well. “I was just being bitter the other night.”

“You had every right to be,” he said. “I was gloating.”

“You were kind of gloating,” you mumbled. You hadn’t meant for Nate to hear, and he knew that, but he laughed anyway. You turned to face him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he said. He didn’t even know why you were apologizing at that point. It seemed like you’d apologize for taking up space and that made him feel a bit sad. He smiled politely at you anyway, to signal he wasn’t annoyed by the apologies, and it lit up his features in a way you hadn’t noticed the other night. “Anyway, I came here for a reason.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to teach me to be romantic.”

He delivered it tentatively, as though he was afraid of the way you might react. In the split second that followed, your mouth open and closed twice as every possible response came to your mind. He waited patiently.

Finally, “You don’t even know me. How can you be so sure that I’m the right person to teach you this stuff?”

“You’re a girl,” he explained, deadpan. “Girls know romance.” You snorted at how adorably dumb he was. Your hand flew up to cover your mouth in embarrassment and your cheeks burned as he grinned at you, amused by the sound of your laugh. “What do you say?”

---

Mondays were always your least favorite day of the week. Every weekend, your workload piled up and most Mondays you could hardly take a lunch break because you were so busy getting shit done. Whenever you came home from work on Mondays, you were wiped. Mara always made sure to have dinner ready for you when you got in, and the two of you often sat on the couch while eating those nights.

That Monday, you were sure that you’d be in bed before the Bachelor even started. But then Nate showed up unannounced. Mara was in the middle of washing the dishes this time, so you were the one to open the door. He greeted you with a goofy smile and a large electrical wire. Without a word, you stepped to the side and he was kicking off his shoes to enter the living room. Mara caught the roll of your eyes as you followed him.

He was standing beside the television when you entered the room. The wire he’d brought with him was connected to his cellphone while he found a port for the other end. You sat at the corner of sectional and waited, yawns escaping your mouth every minute or so. The day had been long enough already.

Suddenly, the television lit up with his cellphone background on full display. He held it up to show you, a grin present on his face.

“I need your help,” he began. He tapped one of the dating apps on his home screen and immediately you were regretting letting him in. You realized he wasn’t leaving any time soon as he unraveled the cord and plopped down beside you on the couch. Mara entered the room, eyes catching on the beautiful brunette woman on the screen, and then she gave Nate a curious look. “Come on, Mara. Join us.”

An amused smile came to her lips as she sat on the other end of the couch.

“I am not swiping for you,” you grunted, rubbing at your eyes. “I have no interest in judging girls off these apps.”

“Relax, YN,” he said. “I’m not asking you to play matchmaker. Just help me talk to this girl.”

“You need help talking to girls?” Mara asked as she gave him the once over. You laughed out loud while Nate blushed.

“I don’t need help,” he began. He turned his attention back to the television and pulled up the profile of a beautiful brunette woman. “I just don’t want to come on too strong, or douche-y. This girl is perfect and I wanna take her out.”

“Can you two make this quick?” Mara asked. “The Bachelor’s on tonight.”

“And my bed is calling my name.”

Nate peered at you over his shoulder. He smiled at your tired eyes, drooping as you leaned your head on your hand. He leaned back, stopping inches from your face and said, “I’ll make it quick.”

To your surprise, and Mara’s delight, he reached up and ran his hand over your hair before turning back to the television. He gave a rundown about the girl on the television, but his words went in one ear and out the other. Your glazed eyes watched as he typed out messages to her, and you laughed when Mara made fun of the way he was talking. (“Why the fuck are you talking like that? Are you her father?”) Finally, he turned on you.

“Are you gonna help or what, love doctor?”

“Give me the phone,” you said, extending your hand. He plopped it into your palm and watched you type out the message on the television screen. It took you less than a minute to type out a sweet message asking the girl out on a date before you were shoving the phone back into his hand. “You overthink too much.”

“That’s it?”

“Short and sweet,” you noted with a shrug. “I’d say yes.”

Nate’s eyes cut to you and you felt a chill run down your spine at the intensity behind them. Mara cleared her throat as you diverted your attention from him, shaking the feeling you got from his baby blues. She smiled sweetly at the two of you. “Can I detach your phone from our TV now? It’s almost time for Bach.”

You peeled yourself off the couch and headed to the bathroom to wash your face before changing into sweats and a t-shirt. You returned to the living room to find Nate with his feet up on the coffee table. Mara had tuned the television to ABC and the Bachelor recap was playing. He looked up as you entered and frowned.

“Stay out here a little bit longer,” he proposed, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “We’ll watch some of this and see if she says yes to the date.”

“Nate, I’m exhausted.”

“C’mon.”

You couldn’t say no, not when he was pouting like that. So, you rolled your eyes and walked around the couch to plop down in the spot you’d been before. Before long, your eyes were closing and you couldn’t keep them open any longer.

Nate didn’t realize you fell asleep, but he didn’t mind when you leaned against his arm as a pillow. He stiffened for a moment, unsure of what to do, but a soft snore escaped your lips and he found himself smiling down at your peaceful face. He didn’t move for the rest of the episode because he was too nervous to wake you. When the credits began to roll, he dropped a hand to your knee and shook you lightly.

Your eyes opened, bleary from sleep, and you found that you’d fallen asleep on him. You jerked away, realizing that it was probably too close for comfort, and smiled apologetically. He returned the smile before standing and gathering his things from the coffee table.

“Get some sleep,” he said on his way to the front door. You hummed in response, following him to the door to say a proper goodbye and lock up. He pulled you into a hug before going, shocking you once again by with how gentle he was despite hardly knowing you.

“Did she say yes?” you asked as he pulled away from the hug. “I almost forgot to ask.”

“Yeah, she did.”

---

Lesson #1: The First Date

In the chaos of the week that followed, you’d almost forgotten that you promised Nate your assistance before the date. You weren’t used to being accountable for someone else like you were now, so it wasn’t surprising.

“There is a man at reception asking for you.”

The office receptionist, Debby, was standing in the doorway with a giddy smile on her lips. You knew immediately from the look in her eye that the man at the front desk was going to be the talk of the office for a week.

You stood, following her out the door of your office and down the hall. As you rounded the corner to reception, you saw Nate leaning against the desk. He was sucking on a mint from the bowl in front of him and smiled wide when he saw you.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have my date tonight, remember?” he asked. One glance at your watch told you that you worked a little too late. You cursed under your breath, turning quickly to head back to the office and send one last email. Nate hesitated, but ultimately decided to follow you down the hallway. He eyed the pencil skirt you were wearing, eyes lingering a little too long on your ass. He shook his head from his trance, knowing damn well that he was just asking for trouble.

Nate lingered in the doorway of your office for a moment before his eyes landed on a picture frame across the room that caught his attention. It was a marble frame without a photo like it had been removed and never replaced. He picked the frame up and turned it over in his hands, then turned to you.

“You need a picture.”

“What?” you asked, eyes still trained on the screen. They flickered up to see what he was talking about and then got right back to work. “Used to be a picture of me and my ex. Nobody’s important enough to put in.”

Nate placed the frame down. He felt a pang of sadness for you in that moment, but distracted himself by moving onto the next shelf and playing with some of the desk games on it. He was in the middle of fiddling with your Rubiks cube when you stood from the computer.

“You’re wearing that?” you asked. Nate winced at the question, glancing down at the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing. When he looked back up, you were wearing a shit eating grin. “I’m fucking with you.”

“Jesus, YN.” He clutched his heart and released a deep breath. You rounded the desk and grabbed your jacket from the hook. As you swung it over your shoulders, Nate stepped up to help. You slipped your arms through the arm holes trying to suppress the flair up of butterflies in your stomach.

When you reached the sidewalk outside the building, you led him down the block to a florist. Their window displays were your favorite in the city and you often found yourself going out of the way to peak at them on shitty days. You daydreamed about the day someone bought you a bouquet from there specifically.

The bell above the door rang as you stepped in. The smell of fresh flowers hit your nose and you sniffed it in happily. You grinned back at Nate and he felt a tug at his heart at your excitement.

“Can I help you?”

You bounded over to the woman behind the counter, Nate following behind you a little awkwardly. You gave him an expectant look and then his brain finally caught up with the question. As he leaned forward to look at the flowers in the case in front of you, his hand pressed against the small of your back.

“What would you get?” he asked curiously. You took a sharp intake of breath at the lack of space between you and pulled away to look at the flowers.

“Sunflowers and baby’s breath are my favorites.”

Nate smiled at the woman behind the counter and repeated what you’d just said, adding, “It’s for a first date, so I don’t need it too big or anything.”

You laughed at his explanation, and then the blush that come to his cheeks when he realized how silly he sounded. Neither of you noticed the confused look on the florist’s face. She was about to comment on how cute the two of you were, and in hindsight she was glad she kept her mouth shut. He reached out and squeezed your arm as a warning to stop teasing him. You stepped away completely, still smiling stupidly as he turned to pay.

“I’d’ve put roses in there too,” you told him once you were back on the sidewalk. “But this is only a first date. It might’ve been a little intense.”

“Roses?” he asked. You hummed in response, plucking the flowers out of his hand as you continued in the direction of the restaurant he was meeting his date at. “Good to know, you know, for the future.”

The walk to the date spot was only about ten minutes long and most of it was spent talking about your plans for the weekend as opposed to his date. He was going to be away with the team and you had plans to visit family. You kept thinking to yourself that you needed to stop getting distracted by him and his good looks and his sweet disposition. He was dating someone, and that person was not and would not be you, but he kept surprising you with the way he weaseled himself into your life.

“We’ll have to hang out next week sometime, then,” he said, snatching the flowers back out of your hand playfully. You nodded, but you were taken by surprise. It didn’t make sense that he’d want to hang around you without getting something out of it, whether it was dating advice or something more. Clearly, Nate didn’t care and you were beginning to wonder if maybe you’d get a beautiful friendship out of this nonsense.

“Any last-minute advice?”

“Don’t say anything dumb,” you said to him, emboldened by the realization that you might actually be friends now. Nate laughed out loud. “You think I’m just being funny, but sometimes you say stupid shit.”

“Jeeze,” he muttered. “Way to fuck up my self-esteem right before a date.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes and came to a stop just before the crosswalk he’d be using. He slowed to a stop as well, the bouquet of flowers falling to his side as he looked down at you. You reached out to right them with an amused smile. “Careful with these.”

“Got it, boss.”

You stalled a moment more, gazing at the flowers. You almost felt jealous of the girl going to dinner with Nate because those flowers would look perfect in a vase on your dining room table. “God, I really hope she appreciates those.”

The tone of your voice took Nate by surprise. It sounded a little sad, and full of yearning, and he felt kind of bad that he’d be walking away with the flowers you’d been admiring the entire walk from the florist. Even so, you said your goodbyes and he watched you turn on your heel to head home. He felt stuck in place, eyes trained on your retreating frame while his feet were cemented to the sidewalk. Before he could second guess himself, and his motives, he called out your name.

“Wait, YN!” When you turned, he was halfway down the sidewalk to you and, once he was within arm’s length, he plucked a sunflower from the bouquet and extended it. “For you.” Your cheeks felt red hot as your fingers curled around the stem. You hoped he couldn’t notice a blush. If he did, he didn’t make it known and left with a simple, “I’ll talk to you later.”

A stupid smile sat on your lips the entire way home. You felt the thumping of your heart long after you’d entered your place and placed the flower in the dining table vase. No matter what you found yourself doing that night, Nate remained at the back of your mind. You swore to yourself that it was because you wondered how his date was going, nothing more. But, when your eyes kept finding their way to the sunflower on the dining room table, you worried that maybe the reason you couldn’t stop thinking about him was something more.

---

You grabbed dinner with Mel the next Tuesday. Because of your trip to visit family, the two of you agreed to take a week off and reschedule some sort of get together for Tuesday. Gabe was home so he’d be with Linnea, and you were just happy that it wasn’t Monday. She was in the middle of a story when your phone lit up beside you; Nate’s name was on full display.

When’s our next lesson?

You snatched the phone off the table and away from Mel’s prying eyes, hoping that it wouldn’t peak her curiosity. The movement itself was enough to stir her, though, and Mel was soon leaning forward to see what was going on. She reached out and pushed the phone down, craning her neck to read the text.

“Next lesson?” she asked, eyebrow quirking. “Who is this?”

“It’s Nate MacKinnon.”

You said it so quickly and so nonchalant that Mel actually continued picking at her brunch before she reacted. Her fork clattered to the plate. “Did you just say Nate MacKinnon?”

“This,” you began gesturing at her wild eyes and wicked smile, “is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Why?” she asked, feigning innocence. “Because I’m totally going to take this and run with it?” You dropped your face in your hands. “You should go for it. He’s a little dumb, but mostly cute. You definitely have the patience to deal with him though.”

“Mel, it’s not like that at all,” you told her. “I’m helping him learn how to be more romantic.” Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline in shock. “I’m serious. You know just as well as I do that he’s bad dating. He asked for my help after we met. I have enough experience with douchebags to tell him what not to do.”

“You sure do,” Mel agreed. You laughed at her response and an easy smile spread across her face. “Maybe teaching him a thing or two about how to be romantic will remind you of what you deserve.”

You sighed, picking up the coffee in front of you to take a sip. Mel knew better than anyone, besides Mara, how shitty the guys in your life had been. She met your ex last year just before your break up and she hated him from the moment you introduced the two. He never deserved you and her heart broke the longer you spent wasting your time on him. When you finally ended it, she was your biggest supporter.

You left the message unanswered, not wanting to give her anymore ammo in what was sure to be her new mission. When she got up to head to the bathroom before the check came, you opened the message from him. The last conversation was from Saturday night and he was letting you know that the girl he’d gone out with was looking forward to their next date.

What do you need help with now?

Do you know how to cook?

---

Lesson #2: A Homemade Meal

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to cook,” you grunted as soon as Nate pulled his apartment door open on Friday night. The grin on his face was anything but apologetic and you pushed past him with two large grocery bags in hand. You brought them to the kitchen and began unpacking them onto the counter.

“I do know how to cook, by the way,” he said, stepping up beside you to help you remove everything from the bags. You eyed him skeptically. “Mostly just the basic meats and vegetables.”

“You can’t cook a date your pregame meal.”

Nate knew that. He wasn’t that stupid, but he did love saying stupid shit around you. You tended to roll your eyes at him, but your lips always gave away how you really felt about his stupidity. The right side always curled up into a smirk, like you were trying to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest. He loved it when you did that.

“Is this, like, a meal your ex used to make?” he asked after grabbing some spices from the cabinet. You were grateful that his back was turned because the easy smile on your lips disappeared at the reminder of him. You busied yourself with the pot of water on the stove and set it to boil.

“No, my ex never actually made dinner for me,” you answered in a poor attempt to keep your voice steady.

Nate stopped prepping the meat and turned to face you. Questions sat on the tip of his tongue, begging for him to ask, but you wouldn’t look at him. He felt a little bit angry at your confession, though he couldn’t quite place why. Admittedly, he had been that boyfriend before – the one that didn’t cook dinner. Now, he was mad at himself for ever being that guy.

When you didn’t turn to look at him, he dropped the subject. You worked in silence, you busy with the pasta and him with the chicken. As you waited for the food to be ready, you hiked yourself up onto the counter. Nate grabbed a bottle of red wine from the end of the counter and poured glasses for the both of you.

He stood across from you with a dish towel over his shoulder and his own glass of wine in his palm. He asked about work and you filled him in on all the hot office gossip. The smile on his face didn’t fall once as he listened to your stories, and he never tried to change the subject or take over the conversation for himself. After a while, you stopped.

“I’ve been talking forever.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been enjoying it,” he told you. You laughed. “I wish I could be a fly on the wall in your office.”

Feeling a bit bolder, you kicked your foot out and nudged his side. “Maybe I can take you to bring your pet to work day.”

Nate’s jaw dropped, a reaction you weren’t expecting, and you began laughing hysterically at his surprise. He placed his wine glass down beside him and took a step closer, wrapping a hand around your ankle to tug you closer to the edge of the counter. You yelped in surprise.

“Pet?” he asked. You wiggled your foot out of his grasp, giggles falling from your lips as he dropped his hand to his side. The oven started beeping, interrupting whatever moment you were having before it could continue. “Saved by the bell.”

“Looks good, Nate,” you praised as he pulled it out of the oven. “My mouth is watering.”

“Go sit down,” he ordered. “You have to evaluate my presentation and make sure I look good.”

Nate entered shortly after you sat down and placed the plates on either side of the table with a smile. He slipped back out and returned with the wine. There was mischievous glint in his eyes as he topped your glass off and added to his.

“How is it?” he asked, leaning back. A look of cockiness flashed over his features and you felt it in your stomach when you looked at the way his arms were crossed and his biceps filled out the sleeves of his t-shirt. You picked up your utensils and cut into the meal, picking up a bit of each piece before putting it in your mouth.

Nate leaned forward eagerly. He watched your eyes light up when the flavor hit your tongue and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You nodded emphatically as you swallowed your first forkful. He cut into his own meal and the moment he took a bite, he moaned. The meal was so good that conversation was sparse and, by the end, it looked like your plates had been licked clean.

You didn’t stop Nate from filling your glasses again, though you figured you should have. The third glass always lowered your inhibitions.

“How pissed off would you be if I asked you about your ex?”

“Not pissed off,” you answered. You took a sip of the wine, then leaned your cheek in your palm as you spoke. “What do you want to know?”

Nate sat up at this, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t prepared himself with a question because he didn’t think you’d give him the go ahead. He let out a tuft of breath, took a sip from his glass, and thought. Finally, he asked, “Why’d you break up?”

“How long do you have?”

“As long as you need,” he answered. His voice was soft, comforting, and you felt yourself relax into the question.

“Honestly, I didn’t want to break up with him,” you began. “And, if I didn’t have friends like Mel and Mara, I might still be with him. Things have changed now, though. I realize what a crap human being he was but, if I stayed with him, I don’t think I would’ve realized how much better I deserved.”

“Did you fight a lot?”

“Do I seem like the fighting type?” you teased. He shook his head. “He did enough fighting for the both of us. He would yell at me for no reason sometimes, just because he felt like it.”

Nate was angry. His features were contorted in distaste as you told him about your ex. Even though you tried to make light of the situation with a few light-hearted jokes, Nate couldn’t find it within in him to react with laughter. You deserved so much better than what you’d been given.

“When I broke up with him, Mara was there. We packed my things and moved it all out. I was going to leave a note, but he came home from work early and caused a scene. He went out the night after and sent me all these videos and pictures of him out with his friends. They were flipping me off, girls were draped all over him, etcetera. I blocked him the next morning and I haven’t seen him since. That was over a year ago.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, dropping his head in his hands. He felt ashamed. “That’s why you yelled at me.”

“Yep,” you answered. “Emotions got the best of me.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Silence filled the room and you felt vulnerable. You didn’t share the story about your tumultuous relationship often, but with Nate it just slipped out. You grabbed your glass from the table and finished it off.

“I’m not staying for another,” you announced. Nate sat back, his face flashing with an offended expression. As you gathered the plates from the table, you tried to ignore the knots in your stomach that were becoming more and more prevalent when he was around. “Nothing good ever happens after the third glass. But, if I was your real date, I would definitely stay for a fourth and you would probably get to kiss me at the end of the night simply for how good that meal was.”

The words fell from your lips so easily that it shocked you and you hoped that the playful tone of your voice wouldn’t scare him off. You gathered yourself before turning back to look at him. He was still sitting at the table, chair pushed back with one arm over the back of it. The way he was looking at you was lethal, eyes drinking you in as you stood in his kitchen. You couldn’t tell if you were imagining the tension or it was real.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said finally. You grabbed your bag from the counter and pulled it over your shoulder as you headed for the door. Nate stood then to walk you out, pulling the door open as you slipped into your sneakers. “It was delicious.”

“Thank you for teaching me how to cook something actually good,” he said. “Poor girl would’ve been eating chicken and vegetables or pasta if you hadn’t come by.”

“Can’t let that happen, can we?” you asked. “Let me know how dinner goes.”

Nate leaned down, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you into a warm embrace. You melted into his arms as yours came up and around his neck. For a moment, the two of you just stood there in each other’s arms. You wondered if he could feel the beat of your chest again him. It sped up as his hands flattened against your back, crossing over each other to engulf you completely.

“I’m not that kind of guy,” he said. He leaned his cheek on the top of your head and his chest rumbled beneath your own cheek as he spoke. “You know that, right?”

Your blinked away tears before he couldn’t notice then and nodded in response to his question.

When he pulled back, he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek and his lips caught the corner of your mouth. An electric shock coursed through your bloodstream and you pulled back quick before offering one last smile and tossing a goodbye over your shoulder.

---

Nate called you the next Friday night with plans for Saturday.

“Mel and Gabe invited a bunch of the guys over and she told me I should see what you were doing tomorrow.” he said. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you much since last week. The guys would love to meet you.”

“Meet me?” you asked. “So, it’ll be more than just the ones I know?”

“A few more,” he answered with a laugh. “They’ll love you, okay? I’ll be at your place to get you at 5:30.”

It was the first time you were going to see him since you made dinner together last Friday. You exchanged a few texts throughout the week, but nothing of substance. You knew his dinner date went well, though you didn’t know to what extent. You found yourself wondering if she stayed for that additional glass of wine after dinner, or if she stayed for the night after.

He showed up to your apartment wearing a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. You welcomed him in while you went back to your room to get your heels on. He gaped at the dress you were wearing as soon as you had your back to him. His eyes wandered over your curves as you bent to grab your heels from the floor in your bedroom. When your dress slid up your thighs, he had to force himself to look away.

You tried to get more details about his dinner date out of him on the way to Mel’s, but he kept quiet. She liked dinner, she stayed for an extra glass of wine, and then she went home at the end of the night. An invisible weight lifted from your shoulders upon hearing she didn’t stay the night and you settled back into his passenger seat.

Nate noticed the way you relaxed into the seat and tore his eyes from the road for just a moment to sneak a peek at you. You were watching the world go by from the window, unaware that he was even looking at you. When he turned his attention back to the road, all he could think about was his sweaty palms and accelerated heartrate. Why did he care so much about what you thought?

Everyone was already at the house when you pulled up. The two of you walked up the driveway, his hand against your lower back much like it had been in the florist. Mel opened the door, lunging to sweep you into her arms and whisk you to the kitchen, her husband and your, well, Nate left behind.

“Thanks for having me, Mel.”

She handed you a drink complete with a salted rim and said, “I’m glad Nate asked if you could come.”

“Nate asked?” you repeated. She affirmed with a nod and ushered you to join the others in the living room while she and Gabe finished dinner.

You swore half the team was there, which meant not one seat was open on their couch. As you passed Nate, he grabbed your hand and sat you on the arm of his chair. He pulled your legs over his lap and began introducing you to the boys you didn’t already know.

You caught Cale’s eyes and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Out of everyone in the room, he was the only one making note of the lack of space between you two. Though you weren’t technically sitting in his lap, it still felt a little inappropriate. Nate’s hand was like fire where it rested against your thigh and you had to remind yourself to stop peeking at the placement.

Nate lied about your invitation to dinner, and for what? He could’ve just invited you himself instead of disguising it as a joint decision between him and Mel. What was he so afraid of that he couldn’t man up and admit he wanted you there? Better yet, why didn’t he ask Gianna?

You somehow ended up seated away from Nate at the dinner table. Cale settled in on one side of you and EJ occupied the other. Across from you sat JT and Tyson, bickering as always. You don’t know how you ended up separated from Nate, but you welcomed it because you needed the breathing room.

The meal was delicious, but Nate couldn’t even enjoy it because you were so far away. He was going to get fucking whiplash because of the way he kept looking back to see who you were talking to or hear what you were laughing at. How did he even end up this far down from you?

On the other hand, he couldn’t stop the smile that kept creeping up to his lips when he saw you with his teammates. They loved you, probably almost as much as he did, and he was proud to have you by his side that night. But then came the harsh reality that you weren’t actually his to show off.

When the party relocated, he made sure to slide up next to you on the way to the couch. EJ’s laughter mocked him, but you didn’t catch on to his teammate’s playful ribbing. With Gabe and Mel’s eyes in the room, he didn’t pull you over his lap and opted to lower his arm over the back of the couch instead. There were just inches between your skin and his but, after having you on his lap earlier, it felt like miles.

Drinking games were played, stories were shared, and you all left the house with full bellies and large smiles. Nate was driving, so he eased up on the drinks after dinner. You, on the other hand, were feeling just as free as you did after three glasses of wine at his place last week, and feeling daring enough to ask him the question that’s been on your mind all night.

“Why did you tell me that Mel asked you to invite me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you invited me, you said that Mel told you to,” you explained in a slow voice as if you were breaking the situation down to a child. “But she said that you asked if you could invite me.”

“Why does it matter where the invite actually came from?” he asked. A slight panic was rising in his chest because he didn’t have an answer for you. This wasn’t supposed to come back around to you. “Everybody wanted you here anyway.”

“Why didn’t you ask Gianna?” you asked, stepping down to join him on the path to the driveway. He rolled his eyes at this, and you noted it because though you’d done it to him many times, he’d never done it to you. He began walking, so you followed. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Because I didn’t want to introduce her to everyone yet,” he answered. “You just fit in with us.”

Nate saw your face fall and decided not to push the conversation any farther. He said something wrong, but he didn’t know what. As far as he thought, he was complimenting you. He was complimenting how easy going you were, how his friends got along with you so easily. You were already a part of the group. It was great.

You continued along to the car in silence, not bothering to argue with him over a dumb comment. He wanted friends, so you were giving him friends, but the touches and the invite to team dinner was something more than friends. You needed distance. And he needed to figure his shit out, fast.

---

Lesson #3: Meeting the Friends

Something changed. When Nate dropped you off that night, he left you with a half-assed hug and a quiet goodbye. You couldn’t catch a wink of sleep that night because something changed. But then, Nate texted you tomorrow and tried to carry on as normal. Things weren’t normal.

And you knew that for sure when Nate didn’t invite you to EJ’s house the next weekend. Mel invited you instead and since you could never say no to Mel, you went. The thought of texting Nate to let him know passed briefly through your head, but the sheer fact that he hadn’t even bothered to talk to you about it in the first place was enough to decide against it.

When you entered EJ’s living room, you knew exactly why he hadn’t asked. Gianna was sitting on his lap, fingers curling through his hair as they talked. Anger rose in you no matter how hard you tried to suppress it. Just last week he said he didn’t want to bring her around and now she was here? Now she was here and he couldn’t even talk to you?

There was an uproar as Nate’s teammates noticed you standing in the doorway and Nate’s eyes cut to you in surprise. You lifted your hand in a pathetic wave before Cale was wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you to the kitchen.

“Who’s the girl with Nate?”

“His new girlfriend,” you answered, hoping that you didn’t sound bitter. “I don’t even know if that’s the right title for her, but they’ve been on a few dates.”

Cale let out a soft hum, his tone indecipherable, just as Tyson entered the room.

“What’s the deal with Nate’s new girl?” he asked as soon as he saw it was just you and Cale in the room. When you didn’t answer, he nudged you for an answer.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, she’s no you.”

---

Nate couldn’t help but ask himself, “What the fuck are you doing?”

As you were pulled into his teammates arms, he watched and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up and hug you too or if he just wanted to disappear. When Gianna’s fingers gripped his bicep, he decided he wanted the latter.

That’s when you looked at him, of course, and the smile that was on yours lips faded just a bit. At least, that’s what he thought. You lifted your hand in a wave before Cale was looping his arm around your shoulders and directing you towards the kitchen.

“Who was that?” Gianna asked, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

He looked up at her with a simple answer. “One of our friends.”

Gianna kissed him and for the first time since he met you, Nate thought about what it would be like to kiss you instead. He brought her to EJ’s in a pathetic attempt to right the way he was feeling about you, but it only made it worse.

---

“Nate was weird last night,” Mel murmured after Cycle the next morning. You were waiting for her to say something. Since all the guys made comments the night before, you knew Mel was next. “Did you guys fight?”

“Fight? Me and Nate?” you repeated, stalling for time. “We didn’t fight.”

“What did you think of his girlfriend?”

“I actually didn’t get to talk to her,” you answered. You shrugged, giving the illusion that you didn’t care all that much even though you were fuming. After all the help you’d given him, he couldn’t be bothered to introduce you to her? And that wasn’t all. He hardly spoke to you all night, only entertaining conversations with you when someone else was around. You ended up spending most of the night with EJ.

“My sitter just bailed for tomorrow.” She’d been tapping away at her phone for a few minutes, no doubt panicking to Gabe. You watched her a moment longer as you wondered what her plans were for the next day. Then, it occurred to you.

“There’s a game tomorrow, right?” you asked. She nodded, still typing out messages to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “I can watch Linnea tomorrow. Don’t worry about finding a sitter.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” She waved you off absentmindedly and continued talking, “Besides, I thought Nate had a ticket for you or something. Didn’t he ask you to go?”

“Tomorrow?” you said incredulously. “No, absolutely not. Isn’t it like a WAG game? It would make no sense for me to be there.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “I just thought that he told Gabe,” she paused and noticed your set jaw. You were clearly not Nate’s biggest fan at the moment, so she decided to tread carefully. “You know what? Nevermind. I would love it if you could watch Linnea.”

---

As expected, Linnea was an angel the next day. You spent the time lounging in their living room with the game on TV while you played together. She took a bottle in the middle of the game and you brought her to her nursery once she’d been burped to rock her to sleep. But, you couldn’t quite peel yourself from the chair to put her in her crib. She was sleeping so peacefully and for the first time in a while you felt calm, so you stayed with her in your arms long after she’d fallen asleep.

You didn’t know what time it was when Gabe and Mel got home, but you heard their car doors close. You waited for them to happen upon you in the nursery, so you were surprised when it was Nate that knocked at the door.

“Hi,” he whispered, stepping into the room. He studied the decorations as he approached the rocking chair you were sitting in. When he stepped up beside you and admired Linnea, you tried not to look up at him. You knew it wouldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach, but you did it anyway. He was smiling down at the peanut in your arms. “Mel and Gabe are in the kitchen. They saw you on the baby monitor and told me to come get you.”

“Okay, I’ll put her down and meet you in there.”

“I can wait for you,” he said, stepping away. You stood, cradling Linnea to the crib and then craning to put her down in the center. Nate was watching you intently from the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.

He stepped out into the hallway first, but he wasn’t walking towards the kitchen. He stood, waiting for you to stepped out into the hallway and look at him. You gave him a half-assed smile, still feeling a little hurt that things had been so weird between you two, and he asked, “Are we okay?”

“We’re fine,” you answered. He wasn’t convinced, but you reached up and shoved him lightly to get him to move down the hall. He didn’t budge, hand coming up to grasp yours against his chest. The beating of his heart sat right at your fingertips. “How was your game?”

“It was good,” he answered. “I wish you were there.”

“Well, then, you should’ve asked me to come,” you said, quite boldly. His lips parted, but whether it was to speak or not you wouldn’t know because you were continuing down the hallway without him.

You slipped into the kitchen to find Mel, leaving the men on the couch in the living room. The moment you stepped in, she was turning to greet you with a smile. You hissed, “Are you behind this?”

“I mentioned you were babysitting, his eyes lit up, and Gabe was the one to invite him over.”

“Team effort?”

She feigned an apologetic smile before ushering you out to rejoin the boys. Gabe got the fire going and Mel curled in his chest once he settled back on the couch. You sat on the other end, legs extended towards Nate in the corner. You felt his eyes whenever there was a suspended silence. You knew he was thinking about you, and selfishly you relished in the attention.

“YN, did you know that Nate’s parents were visiting next weekend?” Gabe asked during a lull in conversation. Nate glared at him, but the Swede happily ignored his buddy at the center of the couch. His eyes cut to you.

“I didn’t,” you answered. “But that’ll be fun. I know how much you missed them.”

All he could offer was a stupid ‘yeah’ before Mel swooped in to save the entire group from a very awkward moment.

Nate was going to kill Gabe. He was going to kill Gabe, but first he had to make a decision. He knew exactly what he had to do. It felt like you were a thousand miles away, not only physically but emotionally. Gabe should’ve kept his mouth shut. He was going to have you meet his parents, he just hadn’t gotten the chance to ask. Now, he looked like a dick. You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I was going to tell you about my parents,” he said, practically chasing you down the driveway after you ducked out while he was in the bathroom. To his surprise, you stopped walking and waited for him to catch up. “Seriously.”

“It’s getting hard to believe that, Nate,” you said. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head.”

Nate felt his heart sink. He began to rack his brain for a way to salvage the conversation, but it was too late by the time you reached your car. You stopped before opening the door to look up at him.

“You’re thinking too much.”

“I just—I know you’re upset with me,” he began. “I want to make it better. We haven’t really talked since EJ’s, and that’s on me.”

“Were you going to invite me today?” you asked. He gave you a curious look. “To the game. Mel mentioned something about it at Cycle. That you told Gabe you were thinking about giving your ticket to me.”

Nate ran his hand over his face. The Landeskogs had really gotten him into some trouble here, and he wasn’t sure it was accidental.

“You’re the one I wanted at the game,” he admitted. “I wanted to invite you, but I knew how bad it would look if I didn’t ask Gianna.”

“So, you invited her,” you concluded.

“No.”

You looked at him in shock, mouth agape, and asked, “You’d rather no one go than give the ticket to her?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” he grumbled. You threw your arms up in surrender, hoping the words would sink in. “I don’t know, YN.”

“Yes, you do,” you argued. He kept his mouth shut at that, knowing you had enough. You sighed heavily, allowing the conversation to roll off your back. “When are your parents going to be here?”

“Saturday morning.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“They’ll be at my game in the afternoon and then I was getting us a reservation for dinner,” he trailed off only momentarily. “I haven’t made it yet because I was going to invite you, but Gabe beat me to the punch in there.”

“What about Gianna?”

“YN, if I didn’t want her at my game, why would I want her to meet my parents?” he asked. He made it sound like you were asking the stupidest question in the world. But, he wasn’t answering the most important one. Was he breaking up with her? You wanted to ask, but part of you didn’t want the disappointment. He worried while you thought.

“I’m around on Saturday,” you answered. He smiled, and you forced one back. You hated the feeling between you two. The air between you had never been so stuffy and you wanted to clear it. “Anything else you wanna tell me before the Landeskogs do? Is Sid actually your long-distance girlfriend?”

Nate laughed loudly as he stepped away. He answered your question cryptically, “No, nothing to tell you right now. Not yet.”

---

Lesson #4: Meeting the Family

You planned to meet Nate at his apartment before dinner since his parents had gone to the hotel upon arrival. On the way, you picked up a box of pastries from your favorite bakery. You were taught to do little things for important people, and anyone who was important to Nate felt important to you. You tried not to think about the implications of having dinner with his parents, but it was hard to shake the nerves.

“What’s this?” he asked as soon as he opened the door. His finger slid over the logo on the top of the pastry box, eyes catching on the word bakery. When he looked up at you, his eyes were shining. “For me?”

“For your family,” you told him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I thought maybe you heard about my break up and you were trying to comfort me,” he said like it wasn’t breaking news. “I’ll put these in the kitchen.”

“You broke up?” you asked, following him to the kitchen. You stopped in the doorway as he put the pastries on the counter. He nodded simply as he cleared some clutter from the countertop. You could see his muscles moving beneath his navy polo. Guiltily, you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the way the sleeves hugged his biceps or the wide expanse of his back and shoulders. “What happened, Nate?”

“We can talk about it later, alright?”

“Are you single or not?” you asked. Nate caught the frustration in your tone and he’d be lying if it didn’t make him want to kiss you right then. You needed to know what was going on with him, and that made him feel good about whatever was going on between you two.

Nate started to exit the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway beside you. You were crowded against his chest as he smiled down at you and answered, “Yeah, I’m single.”

You released a breath once he stepped out of the doorway. He slipped his shoes on while you stood nearly the front door. He caught the look on your face, a little scrunched up as you spaced out. You were thinking too much, worrying about what happened with him and Gianna. When he walked back over to the front door, he took you by the hips and said, “We can talk about it later, if you want. Right now, I just want to be with you and my family.”

---

“I’m nervous,” you admitted as Nate pulled up to valet outside the restaurant. He looked at you in shock. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you,” he promised. He reached over and dropped his hand to your thigh. You pouted at him, and his first instinct was to lean over the center console and kiss it off your lips. He knew better than to risk it all just before dinner, so he grabbed your hand and dropped a kiss to your palm instead. “You’ll be fine. No need to be nervous.”

A heavy sigh left your lips as he stepped out of the car. He rounded the front and opened the passenger door for you, grabbing your hand as you stepped out. After he handed his key to the valet, he laced his hands in yours and led you into the restaurant.

The MacKinnons were already at the table that had been reserved for them. There was uproar of cheers when they saw Nate walk in. You stole a peek at his face and the pure joy on it set your heart aflame. He dropped your hand as you approached the table to hug his parents and sister. They introduced themselves to you as well, sweeping you up in tight embraces like they had with Nate.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” they spoke as they hugged you.

Nate pulled your chair out from across his mother and then situated himself beside you. The menus were passed out and Nate whispered suggestions in your ear while his family members debated their own meals. She took the time to calm her nervous. Parents loved her, so there was no reason to freak out. Eventually the drinks were handed out, orders were taken, and the chaos at the table stopped.

“Now, how’d you two meet again?” his mom asked. You looked at each other, stupidly, both stammering in response until Nate got his shit together.

“We met through friends,” he answered simply. Then, his lips curled up and he said, “She yelled at me.” You dropped your face into your hands, embarrassed by the picture he was painting of you, but they took it in stride, laughing at your expression. “It wasn’t that bad.”

He continued, “As you guys know, I’ve been very unlucky in my personal life.” Sarah snorted at this. Their mother smacked her knee as a scolding. “I literally suck at being romantic and all the guys were joking around about it after I’d just been broken up with. YN called me out, so I asked her to teach me how to be romantic.”

“Well, what’d you learn?”

“How to cook a meal other than my pregame types, and I also have a new favorite florist,” he said. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and flipped it open to slip out their business card. You didn’t realize he grabbed one. “There are some other things, like her wine rule.”

“Wine rule?”

“Nothing good ever happens after the third glass of wine,” you explained. They laughed at that, though they seemed bewildered by your reasoning.

Nate elaborated, “It just means that if your date stays for a fourth glass, you’ll probably get lucky.”

This earned him a smack on the arm from both his sister and yourself.

Nate’s family was just as kind as he was and it was clear how much they all adored each other. You fit in seamlessly, at least that’s how it felt, and when they asked the waitress to take a picture of them, Nate tugged you into his side to keep you in the frame.

“Take one without me,” you urged him. He just shook his head, gazing down at the picture on his phone. He passed it off to his parents and sister for approval. “Nate.”

“I want you in the picture,” he whispered to you. His hand came up to the back of your neck and he pulled you in to place a chaste kiss to your temple. He pulled away, like kissing you in public and on the forehead was normal now, and asked, “How was your food?”

When you got back to his place after dinner, you presented his mother with the pastries and earned a hug and kiss on the cheek as a thank you. They settled into the kitchen as he made drinks, chatting as a family about the people back home and his life in Denver. You slipped out to go to the bathroom, and give them some alone time.

“I like her,” you overheard his mother say as soon as you slipped out of the kitchen. You slowed your steps on your pursuit to the bathroom even though you knew it would be best to keep walking. You couldn’t help but be a little nosy.

“That’s good to hear,” Nate said. You smiled to yourself. “I like her, too.”

---

Nate’s family only stayed for another hour before you were bidding them farewell from his front door. They squeezed you and thanked you for the pastries, and then began inviting you to visit before Nate had to shut it down. Your heart felt full after spending the night with them, but sitting alone in Nate’s apartment in anticipation of what was to come was scaring the shit out of you.

Your hands were a little shaky and your palms were definitely sweaty. There was change coming, change that was already present, and you were both excited and terrified for it. Nate reentered the apartment not long after. When he saw you sitting on the couch, he released a breath he’d been holding.

“Are you going to stay for another glass?” he asked after locking the door behind him. “That one’s only your second.”

You eyed his smile, heart beat stuttering a bit beneath his gaze, and lifted the glass to your lips to finished what was left. You nodded and followed him into the kitchen. While he filled both your glass and his, you picked yourself up onto the counter like you’d done so many times before.

“I did a bad thing,” he murmured after handing your glass back to you. You raised a brow at him as he reached over to one of the cabinets and opened it to reveal two pastries in a Ziploc bag. “I stole two of them from my mom.”

“Nate!” you exclaimed. He chuckled at your exasperation. “I can bring you to that bakery whenever you want! Your parents don’t live here! It was a gift!”

“And they have the other eleven pastries,” he argued. “They’re not going to miss two.”

Reluctantly, but still with a smile, you took a pastry from his hand. You bit into it at the same time, eyes lighting up at the taste. At the sight of each other’s faces, you were doubled over in laughter before you had the chance to swallow what was in your mouth. You looked away from him to regain composure and only looked back when you were sure you wouldn’t choke.

“Those were fucking good.”

“Only the best for your mom.”

“Thank you,” he spoke. “For the pastries and for hanging out with my family today. I’m sure you had other things to do, but it meant a lot. They’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

“I had a lot of fun with them,” you said. His smile was soft, shy even, and he watched you carefully as you sipped from the glass in your hand. “It was nice to meet the people who made you who you are.”

“Wait until you meet Sid.”

You decided to move from the kitchen to the living room in favor of more comfortable seating. He reached his hand out behind his back, and you linked your fingers with his lazily so he could lead you to the couch. You slowed to a stop as he sat down, legs spread to pull you between them. Your hesitation caused a look of confusion to flash over his features.

“Can you tell me what’s going on inside your head now?” you asked, placing your glass down on the table beside the arm of the couch. He followed suit, then placed his hand delicately at your hip to urge you closer.

“Sure, I can,” he answered. He pulled you into his lap. You looped her arms around his shoulders as he flattened one hand against your back and curled the other around your thigh. “I don’t want to waste those romance rules on someone I don’t really like all that much.”

“You really didn’t like her?” you asked meekly. Of fucking course he didn’t like her, you were thinking. You were in his lap, not her, but you still couldn’t wrap your head around it. “Why?”

“The only reason I looked forward to going on dates with her was because I got to spend time with you before,” he confessed. You felt it all through your body. “I broke up with her the morning after we were at Gabe’s together. After you called me out on my bullshit, I knew I was being stupid.”

“Why me, though?”

“Because you deserve the world and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

It was only natural for you to lean in and capture his lips with yours. After all this time spent waiting and beating around the bush, you didn’t want to wait a second more. It was passionate, and new, and exciting. His hands held you close while your fingers curled into the back of his hair, but he wasn’t close enough.

You swung your leg over to straddle him, not caring that you were wearing a dress with just panties underneath. His hands flew to your hips as you grinded against him. You gasped against his lips at the friction as he held you tighter, teeth nipping at your bottom lip until you covered his mouth with yours again. He guided your hips to grind against him once more, but you braced your hands against his chest to push away.

“I’m not staying for a fourth glass,” you said breathlessly. He smiled up at you, eyes falling to your lips that were red and plump from kissing him. Kissing him! He leaned in, tongue swiping along his bottom lip, and pulled you down by the back of the neck.

He murmured through his kisses, “You didn’t even finish your third.”

At the challenge in his voice, you reached over for the glass on the side table and finished what was left. He held you close, laughing against the crook of your neck. You giggled along with him until you felt his lips against your skin again and a gasp fell from your lips.

“You gotta leave before I pour number four,” he warned, breath ghosting over your neck. He kissed your neck again, this time sucking lightly enough to earn a strangled moan. You pushed back against his chest and stood, flustered as you adjusted your dress and your hair. Nate couldn’t help but smile as he watched you cross the room for your purse. He grabbed a pillow and held it over his lap to hide his hard-on.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked as you put your heels on the end of the couch. He was admiring your flushed cheeks and your wild hair as you busied yourself. You fastened the strap on each heel before looking back at him. It took everything in you to not go back over there and unbutton the rest of his shirt.

“Nothing,” you answered as you stood. He followed suit, adjusting his dress pants just a bit so he was comfortable and making you giggle in the process. He stepped up beside you and pulled you against him again. He placed one, two, three kisses against your neck then your jaw then your lips.

“Let me make you dinner.”

---

Nate wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself. He knew that the second you walked out of your room in that little black dress, but he was really trying to be on his best behavior. It was technically only your first date and he wanted to impress you. You just weren’t helping very much. As soon as you were in his car, you were grabbing his hand and lacing it with yours to drop them into your lap.

He was a little nervous that he wasn’t going to be able to pull this off. He was sure that he’d fuck up somewhere and you’d go running. And, truthfully, you could tell that he was overthinking every little thing he did. The tension in his shoulders as he moved about the kitchen to prepare everything for dinner was clear.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked.

He gave you the most pathetic shrug and shake of the head as he tried to wave off your concern with a soft, “Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” you called him out. “You look stressed.”

“I mean, I am a little stressed,” he admitted, diverting his eyes from yours as he headed over to the fridge. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Before he knew it, you were standing between him and the refrigerator. You flattened your hands against his chest and slid them up until your hands were linked behind his neck. A slight tug on him was enough to get him to kiss you. He finally relaxed, arms dropping from the refrigerator door to grip your hips.

“You’re not going to fuck this up.”

“I don’t have a very good track record.”

“You do with me,” you said softly. He looked skeptical, not quite understanding what you meant, so you pressed against him as his arms enveloped you. “You gave me a sunflower the third time we were ever around each other. You’ve cooked me dinner already. Sure, it was under different circumstances, but it counts. Nate, you know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t overthink it.”

“Go sit,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You managed to calm his nerves better than anyone he’d ever known in a matter of seconds. “I’ll plate dinner and then I have to grab something for you, okay?”

Nate entered the dining room a minute later, placing both plates down across from each other before disappearing to grab wine glasses and another bottle of wine. Then, he was off down the hall to his bedroom. Your eyes followed him curiously, wondering what else he could possibly have up his sleeve. He’d already impressed you enough by cooking a meal you didn’t teach him.

“Oh, wow,” you breathed out when he appeared in the hallway with a bouquet of flowers. “Nate.”

“For you.”

You stood to take them from his hands and kiss him in thanks. When you pulled away, your fingers danced along the petals of the roses tucked between the sunflowers and baby’s breath Nate had grown to love too.

---

You filled your glass for a fourth time as inconspicuously as possible after your last bite of dinner, but Nate caught your eye over the bottle as you poured and you knew he knew what you were doing. He tried to stifle his smile unsuccessfully, picking up his own glass to cover it. One sip and his third glass was done.

“More?” you asked, extending the bottle in his direction.

“Four glasses?” he teased. “What do you take me for?”

“Okay, more for me then.”

Your voice was low, eyes dark as they settled on him, and suddenly he was lunging forward to grab the bottle and pour another glass for himself. Your giggles filled the room. He wanted them to echo off his walls forever.

“I want to take a picture with you,” he said. You gave him a curious look, though your stomach was doing cartwheels at the suggestion. “I keep thinking about your empty picture frame and I want you to have something to put in it.”

“We can take a selfie,” you suggested. He was quick to shake his head, pushing away from the table to take your hand and lead you to the patio. He pulled the phone from his back pocket and set it up against the couch. He removed the glass from your hand to place it out of view of the camera.

“Now, this is quite the set up,” you murmured as he moved furniture out of the way so there was ample space to take the photo. Denver’s city lights were sure to be the perfect backdrop and having Nate beside you wasn’t too bad either.

“Well, it has to be perfect if it’s going in your office.”

“How do you know I’ll even want to put it in the frame?” you asked. Nate pressed the timer and turned to walk back at you, smirk on his lips. You were teasing him, but you were playing innocent with those doe eyes. He curled around you, arms pulling your back against his chest to pose for the picture.

“After tonight, I’m sure you will,” he murmured in your ear. “Smile.”

The audacity of a man who tells you to smile after igniting your entire body in goosebumps.

The camera went off in a sequence, five pictures for the one timer. You smiled twice before he reached up to turn your face to his for a kiss. The sound of the shutter had you pulling away from his lips with a giggle. He smiled down at you for the next photo as laughter spilled from your lips, and then he was kissing you again.

When you finally pulled away from him, all giggly and handsy, Nate dragged you along with him to his phone. He curled around you as he flipped through the photos, each one cuter than the one before.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t put that in your office?” he asked. His breath tickled the back of your neck. You were just trying to tease him before, but with the lack of space between you and the way he was looking at you in these photos, you just couldn’t tease him anymore. His fingers trailed up your arms, goosebumps rising in their wake once again.

“How’s that fourth glass of wine treating you?” you asked. Nate tucked the phone in his back pocket as you turned to face him. His hands were on you once they were free, curling over the curve of your ass.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it,” he murmured against your lips. “I’m trying to be good, but it’s impossible to keep my hands to myself.”

“What if I don’t want you to keep your hands to yourself?” you against, arching your body to press against him. You could feel him hard against your hip and knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. You pressed your lips to his and, as you pulled away, you took his bottom lip between your teeth and sucked on it.

A growl ripped through his chest as he lifted you into his arms. Your legs came to wrap around his waist as he carried you into the apartment and slammed the patio door shut behind him. He dropped you onto the bed, one hand coming to tug you towards the end by the ankle. His hands spread your legs so he could step between them and they slid up your thigh, pushing your dress up as they went.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmured in your ear as his hands reached your hip, dress bunching around his wrists and revealing your lace panties to him. “Stealing touches in a crowded room just doesn’t compare.”

You lifted your arms as he guided the dress over your body and tossed it to the floor. At the sight of your match set, Nate pushed you up the bed and crawled over you. He peppered kisses along your skin from your collarbone to your chest. He worked his way down your stomach until reaching the top of your underwear. In on swift movement, your thong was on the floor and he was spreading your legs.

“So pretty,” he murmured, fingers spreading your folds. You moaned out as he slipped his finger in. “You like my fingers in your pussy, baby?” You could only manage to nod because he’d already slipped a second finger in. He curled them while he pressed a kiss against your inner thigh. “How about my tongue?”

Nate licked a stripe up your center and you gasped, hands flying down to curl into his hair as he continued to eat you out. He sucked on your pussy, continuing to thrust his fingers into and curl. He dragged moans out of you, obscene words dripped from your lips, and the filthy sound of his tongue filled the room.

“You taste so good.”

You tried to grind against face for some more friction, but he held your hips down and continued. You whined, tugging his hair and arching your back as he brought you to orgasm.

“Nate, I’m gonna cu—” you moaned, toes curling at the feet of his lips around you. Suddenly, cool air shocked your core and your orgasm retreated. You sighed as your whole body sank into the bed at the absence of stimulation. Nate crawled up your buddy, licking a stripe up your neck before attaching his lips to yours.

“Sorry, baby,” he said. He nudged your knees apart and situated himself between them, hand falling to his dick as he lined it up with your entrance. “I just need you to cum on my cock.” You moaned as he pushed his head between your folds. “YN, as long as you’re mine, I’ll never make you feel like you don’t deserve all the most romantic things.”

You answered with a moan as he bottomed out inside you. He watched your face as you adjusted to his size and smiled as you whimpered, pulling your teeth between your lips. You felt so good around him and as he began to pull out and thrust in again, your nails dug into his biceps.

You knew he was trying to take his time, but you could hardly take it. As far as you were concerned, Nate would have all the time in the world to take it slow with you. Tonight was not that night.

“Fuck me harder.”

When you sounded like that beneath him, how could he say no? His previously slow and calculated thrusts became sloppy at your request. He relished in the sound of your moaning and the way you called his name like a prayer. You were unraveling beneath him and he wanted to get you there. He adjusted your leg over his shoulder so he could hit a new angle.

“Come on, baby,” he moaned against your lips. “I wanna see you cum for me.”

He reached down and placed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in circles as he pumped into you. You screamed out and your body arched as your orgasm ripped through you. Nate pumped into you a few moments more as he chased his high while listening to your whimpers. He spilled out into his condom as a string of curses left his lips, then collapsed onto of you to catch his breath.

Your fingers immediately found his hair as your breathing evened out together. His body was hot on yours and a sheen of sweat covered both of you. Nate’s fingers curled around your waist and into your skin, squeezing you like he needed to get closer but couldn’t. Finally, he pulled out of you and sat back on his knees.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighed, hands rubbing up your stomach to cup your breasts. You shivered at his touch. “I never want to leave this bed.”

“Not even for shower sex?”

“Okay, maybe for shower sex,” he murmured. He picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder to carry you to the bathroom.

---

A few hours (and orgasms later), you were clothed in Nate’s sweats and t-shirt and waiting for him beneath the covers in bed. He was cleaning up the glasses you left on the patio and running the dishwasher, though he was quick to finish it up and return to you. You looked so cute propped up against the headboard that he couldn’t stop smiling as he got ready for bed. He pulled on a pair of sweats, but remained topless as he slid under the covers. Instead of pulling you down to rest on his chest, he dropped his head onto your stomach and pulled you tightly to him. Your fingers carded through his hair.

“Thank you for tonight, Nate,” you spoke. “This was the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’m counting this as our fourth date,” he responded. You laughed at him, slapping his bicep lightly at his teasing. “Let’s be honest, I was trying to impress you this entire time anyway.”

“Consider me impressed.”

Nate pulled you down to eye level with him, heads on your respective pillows, and then turned to shut the lamp off beside him. When he turned back, he pulled you against his chest. With your ear to his chest, you listened to his heartbeat and his breathing as it evened out. His fingers scratched your back ever-so-slightly as if soothing you to sleep.

“Are you happy?” he asked. You looked up at him with a curious gaze. Could he not tell how happy you were?

“Of course, I am,” you answered. “Are you?”

“How could I not be?” he asked. “You’re so far out of my league.”

“No, I’m not,” you groaned. You covered your blushing face with your hands at his words, hoping that he couldn’t feel the beat of your heart. Nate was quick to tug them down, holding them against his own chest. He didn’t care if you felt how hard his heart was beating. In fact, he wanted you to know. He wanted you to know the effect you had on him.

“You feel my heart, right?” he asked. You nodded. “You did that. You do that to me every single time I’m around you.” Your eyes began to water and you tried to pull your hand away from his to wipe the water pooling in the corner. Nate grabbed both your hands with one of his and wiped it with his own thumb. “I’ll never let you go to bed thinking I don’t love you. I’m going to shower you with flowers from our favorite florist and buy you pastries from that little shop you like, and I’ll never make you feel like you need to stifle yourself and who you are on account of me.”

“Nate.”

“Just listen to me, alright?” he asked, voice soft. You nodded. “Your ex stuffed you down and he didn’t appreciate you. That’ll never happen with me, and if you feel like it is, you need to tell me, just like you did when we first met.”

You tried to stammer through some type of coherent response, but words failed, so you kissed him. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you flush against him and your legs intertwined. He was intoxicating, you couldn’t get enough, but he felt just the same. He wondered how anyone had let you go before and simultaneously thanked them for the gift that was you.

That night, Nate vowed he’d never let you go to bed unhappy and he’d never let you feel any less than perfect. He waited forever for a partner like you, honest and kind, and he finally had it in his hands, in his bed. And you promised that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved him. You just knew it.

#nate mackinnon imagine #nate mackinnon fic #nate mackinnon #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic

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bigspoonstyles · 4 years ago

Text

lesson learned

pairing: Harry x OC (unnamed) challenge: @meetmeinfleetwood‘s to lovers fic challenge -> exes to lovers

warnings: the beginnings of maybe smut?

In his near thirty years of life, Harry has admittedly fallen victim to many a fleeting lifestyle phase, and he’s decided the club scene is one he’s tired of. The music is loud, the drinks are weak, and even for a post pandemic world there are far too many people for his liking.

He’s sitting in what once was his usual booth in the corner of The Nice Guy and the ice in his tequila is melting quickly, the crystal tumbler too warm in his hands. Harry��s eyes fall to the far side of the makeshift dance floor once again and he willingly accepts that he could never tire of her.

He’s caught her eye only once but is more than happy to just watch, their last run-in awkward and stale and over a year ago. She’s been quiet the past year, having gone off the grid for most of quarantine citing in one of the few interviews she’d given, her choice to ‘live in the moment’.

And god, he’s missed her.

She, like Harry, would prefer to live without constant public scrutiny, but while they’ve both gone through great lengths to protect their privacy and relationships, he knows being sequestered has been hard on her. He recalls the last time she’d locked away with Harry in his LA home, accessible to only each other and the select few who were allowed through their phones’ Do Not Disturb feature, and his lips tip into a small smile. Their dishes littered his sink for days, her toothbrush leaned against his on his bathroom counter. There was a wet spot that adorned his right shoulder nearly every night after she’d fallen asleep mid-movie, freshly showered. But he knows the sore difference between waking up each morning wrapped around her with his face buried in her hair, and a yearlong forced isolation, very much alone.

He watches as she closes her eyes, arms above her head and face to the ceiling, laughing, dancing around the elite group with which she’d arrived. Judging by the way she moves carelessly through the crowds of people, he knows she’s feeling confident. She feels beautiful. She’s not worried that she’s laughing too loudly or taking up too much space, and he suddenly finds himself grateful for the few people who’ve kept her trust and privacy despite her climb to fame; even if they were the same friends he found quite insufferable to be around.

He downs the last of his drink before Jeff joins the table, phone in hand, answering his final email of the evening. “Ready to head out, man?” he calls out over the music. “Glenne’s home and I’m not inclined to keep her waiting too long.”

Harry grins knowing if he were in Jeff’s shoes, new bride waiting up into the early morning hours, he’d have already called the evening. But there’s no one waiting. So he shakes his head no and returns his gaze to the center floor; to his dismay, she’s gone.

Jeff follows his eye line and hides a smile. “She’s by the bar,” he points to the L shaped marbled counter top to their left.

Harry spots her right away, back to him, pulling her wavy locks into a mock ponytail and away from the back of her neck. Her friends lean in for hugs goodbye and she’s left alone waiting for the bartender to return with a drink – a fruit infused vodka soda no doubt. “I think I’m saying fo’ a bit,” he answers without breaking gaze. “Can call a car.”

Jeff returns attention to his phone, forwarding Harry the number of a newly contracted car service. “Ted’s on call tonight. Just call when you’re ready. They’re all vetted and they’ve signed the privacy agreements.”

Harry throws a quick final glance to the table and booth and makes his way to the bar with his empty glass.

He arrives just as the bartender slides her drink across the counter, adorned with a skewer of colorful fruit and a fuchsia blossom garnish. She accepts with a smile and her eyes close in appreciation as she sips from the side of the glass. Harry bites the inside of his cheek to stop from remarking when the bartender lingers longer than he deems acceptable. With a palm to the warm, exposed skin of her lower back, he gets his point across and the man disappears to the back with an armful of nearly empty liquor bottles.

She turns slowly and tilts her head as she faces him, clearly unsurprised by the hand lingering at her side or the man attached to it. “Hey,” she offers quietly with a half-smile. “Wondered how long it’d take you.”

Her cheeks are tinged pink and expression glassy, and he pulls out a chair gesturing for her to sit. She has rarely over-indulged in alcohol publicly for obvious reasons, but he’s always found it endearing when she’s had just one too many. He liked her happy and carefree. And honest.

“Left alone, eh?” his head bobs toward the front entrance.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sagging slightly into the seat. “They’re headed downtown,” her thumb juts toward the Fairfax District, “and I’m staying down by the Marina.” She pulls the dark petals from her garnish distractedly. “Headed back to New York tomorrow. It’s just easier.”

“’t’s a good half hour ride,” Harry glances at his watch. “Leaving soon? Someone comin’ for yeh?”

She smiles into her drink at his concern. He’s genuine, and she gazes up fondly, finding his brows knit together awaiting an answer. “I’ll call a car in a few. Don’t worry about me, H.” She straightens and smooths out the creases in her cotton dress. “I’m sure I can get myself back to the apartment just fine.”

“But can you get up the stairs?” he asks, only half-jokingly. His arms reach easily out to steady her as she loses footing, his left hand returning to the small of her back, his right gently cupped under her elbow. He clears his throat to conceal his smile when she gazes up at him sheepishly. “What time is your flight?”

“Two, I think.” Her answer lacks conviction, eyes narrow in concentration. “Either two or two-thirty.”

“Could come home with me,” he shrugs. “Only a few minutes from here, ‘nd could get yeh back with plenty of time to catch your flight.” He ushers her closer as patrons abandon their stools and head for the exit. When he gazes down at her, she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Come on,” he urges, hands coming up quickly to her eye level, fingers outstretched to show a hands-off approach. “Can take the couch if you want.”

She laughs airily, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “An empty offer from a man with two guest suites.” She finds it harder to keep balance in her heeled shoes and uses Harry’s left arm to steady herself. “If you could just get me into a car, I’ll be ok.”

Harry’s lips turn into a thin line, and he shakes his head in refusal. “Not shovin’ yeh in a car alone. ‘t’s up to you – my place or yours?”

She looks up at him through heavy lids and a slightly fuzzier mind than when she had embarked on this conversation. A part of her is instantly relieved by his straightened back and hardened features. He’s always been on the right side of overprotective and she knows she’s nothing but safe with him.

But there’s an innate fear that causes her chest to tighten and her eyes dart towards the door. “They can’t see, H,” she whispers, unease seeping through her tone.

He knows that the idea of walking with him through the throng of paparazzi just outside the entrance is enough to cause a breakdown and, even without seeing the panic set in her eyes, he’s already fishing his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “’ll take care of it, pet,” he says slowly.

And she believes him.

Harry slips her through a rarely used back door, his jacket stripped from his back and used to shield her from prying eyes, just in case. He holds the back door of the black SUV open and guides her into the plush seat, relaxing only once fully shielded by the black tinted windows.

She tucks herself into his side, head lolled against his shoulder; his right arm stretches out behind her, hand gripping her would-he head rest. She accepts the water bottle he pushes on her but forgoes drinking from it, afraid the inevitable spill would give away how dizzy she truly feels.

Harry helps their driver navigate the back streets to ensure the fastest way to his place, silently checking on the girl curled into him, knees knocking with each pothole and turn.

“Look pretty tonight,” he murmurs in her direction. “Always liked this dress.” He musses the soft fabric of her skirt between his fingers. His right arm abandons the back seat to fall against her shoulders, pulling her in just close enough that he can smell her. He welcomes the scent, inhaling deeply, but it’s an unsolicited reminder that it’s been long washed from his sheets, and his life, for well over a year.

“I know,” she smiles, eyes still closed. “Took a shot.”

His chest vibrates with deep laughter, “Minx,” he accuses playfully. “Not quite playing fair, eh?”

She can feel his eyes on her, but she’s far too tired to even think about moving. “I’m sorry, H,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. Said we’d call.”

“Both did,” he answers gruffly. “Phone works both ways.”

She smiles dreamily. “I never said congratulations. The Grammys?” She wraps her arm around his waist and nuzzles in a bit closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m so proud of you.”

His cheek rest atop her head, “I know.”

“If I’d called,” she asks into his chest, “would you have answered?”

His mouth falls open in shock. “Hey,” he tilts her head up to meet his gaze. “Of course I’d answer.”

He’s staring down at her in disbelief, and she feels so small, nerves getting the best of her; she’s afraid she’s started a conversation she’s not ready to have. At least - not in the backseat of a foreign SUV, plastered against him, her palms burning to feel his skin through his thin button down.

His lips are slightly parted into a pout and he looks determined to get something out of her, but she chooses instead to let her eyes fall to the two black swallows that peek out from behind his collar. “You can’t kiss me,” she says tiredly. Her head lolls back against him silently cursing herself.

She’s a coward.

“Never said I wanted to, love.” His attention turns to the streetlights through the light-blocked window. His grip on her however, doesn’t falter.

“I wanted you to,” she sighs softly, her face burying back into his side.

But it’s just loud enough to make him feel like a proper dick.

___________________

She wakes up warm, the sun seeping through the thick open slats of the faux wood blinds, and in soft sheets that glide across her bare skin like silk. Her head doesn’t throb as she’d expected, but she imagines it’s because of the aspirin and nearly empty bottle of water she finds on the bedside table. No doubt Harry had coaxed her to take pre-emptive measures before putting her to bed. She can almost hear him softly begging, “For me?”

She takes in the room, her dress neatly hung on the back of the bedroom door, and takes stock of her current state. She’s dressed in a pair of her old boxer shorts, and a long-sleeved henley, both of which she recognizes as garb she’s long ago stolen from Harry. She smiles to herself as she picks at the small wear holes scattered around the checkered flannel fabric; she’d worn these boxers almost nightly for months.

After a full body stretch and check of the time, she begrudgingly abandons the sheets in search of her phone and hopefully a much-needed shower. She finds her phone charging on Harry’s bureau propped up against the small crystal dish that holds his most commonly worn rings. There are too many notifications on her lock screen to worry about, but the most recent one is a text from Harry.

Don’t leave. Getting coffee. Be back soon.

- H

She rolls her eyes at his automatic signature, as if anyone he’s texting doesn’t have him programmed in their phone; she leaves the myriad of other messages unread. Her flight doesn’t board for hours, so she justifies taking advantage of Harry’s water pressure would be time well spent.

There’s a small pile of folded clothes on the bathroom sink counter, the shirt Harry’s, but the shorts hers. Clean towels are hung by the shower head.

His shower is as amazing as she remembers, the hot water beating out kinks in her neck that she swears have been there for months. His facewash and hair products are readily available for use at the corner of the tub basin and she revels in the smell. Everything he owns is luxurious, down to the lather of his shampoo. She had always been grateful that when her time was split between the east and west coasts she’d never worried about traveling with self-care products.

In truth, she’d never felt more cared for than when she was with Harry.

She hears the front door close and the faint beep of the perimeter alarm arm from the en suite, so she dries off and dresses quickly, joining him in the kitchen still squeezing her hair dry with a fluffy white towel. When she sees him dressed casually, bustling barefoot around the kitchen island with iced coffee and a to-go bag with what she assumes carries breakfast options, her breath hitches. His hair is still damp from a shower and a stubborn curl is threatening to spill into his face.

“Thank you,” she says reading the printed tag on her cup; the milk and sweetener options are right down to a t. She tosses her wet towel on the back of a tall kitchen chair, opting to hoist herself onto the bare counter space to the right of the sink, blessed coffee in hand.

“Sleep ok?”, he asks, moving to wash his hands.

“Very,” she sighs, arching her back in search of that desired pop to relieve her lower back tension. “Miss that bed.” Her eyes widen the second the words leave her mouth, and she nearly chokes. “Sorry,” she mumbles, completely flush with embarrassment.

Harry shrugs it off with a chuckle, “It’s a good bed. Cost a small fortune.”

“Is that breakfast?” she asks, desperate for a subject change. “I’m starving. I completely skipped dinner,” she admits.

“It is,” he confirms. “Guess that explains a bit about last night then?”

“Too much pregaming and not enough carbs,” she groans. Her eyes follow his hands as he dries them on a white dish towel, paying close attention to the rings adorning his fingers. “Will I ever learn?” she feigns exasperation.

“And who’s gonna drag you home from your late nights back in New York, hmm?”

She breaks her gaze to roll her eyes, “I’ll be fine, H.” She takes to absently chewing her straw as he rests a hip against the counter to her left. “Been on my own for bit.”

He sees her face fall at the mention of her sole failed relationship since Harry. “I heard,” he discloses. “’M sorry. What happened?”

Her eyes narrow and she tries scrutinizing his motives, but she knows he’s never been insincere. “Didn’t want the same things, I guess,” she shrugs. “You know, marriage, kids. Important things.”

Harry’s jaw clenches, bitter, knowing he’d quite literally run to the altar if she’d let him. “He’s an idiot. He’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Her eyes fly up to his, mouth slightly open. “Wait no,” she denies. “Not him. Me – I didn’t want,” she pauses in search for the right words, but fails on an awkward huff. “I didn’t want those things.”

“Since when?” he challenges. “I distinctly remember agreeing to a ‘no bolo tie’ rule not that long ago.” He’s teasing, but she’s white knuckling the counter’s edge and completely ready to run. He moves to block her exit, unwilling to let her take an easy out, stance wide and demanding.

His head dips low enough to catch her eye and she looks defeated. “With him, I guess,” she whispers. “Didn’t want those things with him.”

Harry exhales loudly, but when she peers up at him his face is soft and searching. “What’s the plan in New York? Back to work?”

“No plans,” she concedes. Her legs uncross, a once silent invitation for Harry to join her, and she adjusts herself to sit straighter. Taller. “I’ve got a dinner planned next Wednesday with management. Just in time to get reamed for whatever pictures surface from last night, I’m sure.”

“No paps,” Harry shakes his head with confidence. “Called Jeff. Made sure there’s nothing comin’ down the line. ‘S all good.”

She stares at him with admiration, overwhelmed by the gesture. She slowly extends her hands, palms up, in a token of appreciation. He eagerly accepts, taking a single stride into her cautious embrace; she’d always fallen short with verbal expression, but Harry had never been one to deny her physical touch. “Thank you,” she smiles softly, her hands slowly inching up the tanned skin of his forearms, her glossy, pale nails stopping just short of his tattoos. “I think I should get going, though,” she stammers. “Still have to pack up my stuff, and my stuff is everywhere.” She nervously runs her fingers through her damp locks and clicks her tongue as she works out a knot. “I’ll take a bagel for the road though,” she winks.

“Could stay,” he offers lowly. Harry watches as her breathing goes shallow and he tenses. If she denies him now, it just might kill him. “Said you hadn’t any real plans, so, could stay…if you wanted.”

She’s acutely aware that his face is inching closer to hers, and she blinks slowly as his hands grip the counter on either side of her, taking the final step between her parted knees. “You want me to stay?” she asks quietly.

“Not really a fair question,” he counters. “Didn’t exactly want you to leave in the first place, now did I?”

She lets her gaze follow her hands to his chest with a sigh. “That’s not fair, H,” she argues gently. “It wasn’t working. It was too much.”

“Could be different now. Could be better.”

“You think?” she questions, her bottom lip tucked behind her front teeth. “How?”

“Been talking to Cass, have loads of ideas,” he beams proudly. His therapist had been his saving grace during the pandemic; he’d mostly done phone meetings with her, but they’d had a limited number of in person meets.

“You still talk to Cassie?”

“Not as much since things have gone back to normal, but I make time to call her a few times a month.” Harry had always been open about his self-help regimens, therapy included. “Like that wet towel on my chair,” he shrugs his shoulders coolly, “no big deal. Leave it there. See if I care.”

“Oh yeah? You like that?” she laughs as he nods excitedly. “If you like that, you should go look at the bed I didn’t make.” She throws her head back in laughter, wincing only slightly when it collides with the wooden cabinet door behind her.

Harry’s hand flies up to soothe the sting at her crown, callused fingers massaging away any hurt. “Could stay,” he repeats, fingers slowing. His other hand tucks the stray hair behind her ear and his fingers linger on the delicate skin above her collarbone. “Could stay with me.”

Every part of her is waiting to be kissed, her eyes closing slowly, and Harry drops his mouth to hers with the lightest of kisses. She accepts with a smile, making no moves to deepen it, but her hands reach up to clasp together at the nape of his neck, fingers playing with the baby curls he’s been growing out for months. He drops a final light peck to the corner of her mouth before slowly moving downwards, her head falling back further into his hand allowing him ample access to kiss the soft skin on the column of her throat.

She mewls and it encourages him further, and he finds the soft spot below her ear where he can feel her pulse quicken against his lips. “Shut up,” she gasps when he smiles against her, his day old stubble the dead giveaway.

When he kisses her again, she lets him into her mouth on a hum, but Harry pulls away suddenly with a quirked brow and a cheeky grin. “Did you use my toothbrush?”

She opens her mouth to counter, but just buries her face in her hands in embarrassment. “My teeth were filmy!” she whines.

He’s laughing wholeheartedly at her, utterly happy at her perceived level of comfort in his home. “What’s mine is yours, love,” he pulls at her hands to expose her and reattach his lips to her. He moves to pull her closer to the counter’s edge and bring her body flush with his before his hands travel to the exposed skin of her thighs.

“Keep going,” she pleads breathily.

Harry groans as he pushes the loose fabric of her shorts aside and finds the warmth awaiting his fingers. “Always good for me,” he breathes out, head falling to her shoulder. “Too good for me.”

“Please.” She bucks closer to him, her body aching for release.

“So you’ll stay,” he decides. He’s leaving open mouthed, wet kisses down her throat in between words, his fingers slick with her, curling easily into her core in the way he knows drives her crazy. “You’ll stay. Can take your drawer back if you like,” he bargains. “If you’re nice t’ me, might even get you your own toothbrush.”

Her hands tighten and grab at his curls as he continues his assault on her surely bruising skin. “If you didn’t have two fingers inside of me right now,” she stutters, “I’d kick you in the shins.” Her words are void of any real threat and he can feel her fighting for control, her legs tightening around his hips, breath ragged in his ear.

Harry withdraws his touch, smiling when she complains at the loss of contact. He straightens her shorts and extends a hand to help her off down from her perch. “Time to learn how to make a proper bed, pet.”

She jumps down on a huff and walks straight by him down the hall leaving Harry’s mouth agape. “I think,” she muses playfully, “we should start right at the very beginning, right? Gotta strip the sheets off and start from scratch?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he follows like a puppy at her heels. “Whatever you say.”

__________________

A/N: welcome to my initial venture in writing for this fandom. I haven’t written fiction in literal years, so this one was a feat. But I had fun, so thank you Sadie for the challenge! I made the deadline with literal seconds to spare. :)

-MK

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #to lovers fic challenge #my writing #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Humility

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, mentions of misogyny; this story will get darker as it progresses. Words: 1380. Summary: Everything was too different now. He fell out of time, and he didn’t need another reminder about that. P.S. Yeah, I know Sam in this one is more like Anthony Mackie, but this man is just incredible! And yep, the question Bucky asks the reader is the exact question Sebastian Stan was asked during one of his interviews. _____________________________________ Bucky never felt so stupid in his entire life. Sitting at the counter in probably the fanciest club in New York, he stared down at his glass filled with whiskey. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, and all those ridiculously dressed people around him didn’t make him feel any better. Bucky had no right to object, though, since he felt he was even more ridiculous than any of them. He wore that expensive black suit Sam got him – they spent the whole fucking day trying to find something that would fit his massive body – as if he were a businessman of some kind. He let out a dark chuckle when Sam said it out loud. Bucky didn’t look like a businessman, he looked like a bloody mob.

It was Sam’s idea to get him acquainted with NY nightlife when he learnt Bucky was going to the same small bar close to his house after every mission. Barnes didn’t protest much thinking it might be a nice change, but it was not even close to be as good as he had imagined. It was nothing like before. The music was wild, too rhythmic, thundering, getting on his nerves. How could they dance to this? Although the way people moved was making him sick too. Yelling, spinning around themselves, shaking their asses – it was utterly disgusting. The only good thing was lack of light since Bucky couldn’t see all the sodomy.

He expected everything to change, but it was like a completely different planet. Where were all those nice slow dances? Where was the intimacy between the dancing couples, gentle touches, and humble smiles? These people behind his back were grinding on each other like fucking dogs.

Bucky emptied his glass in one shot and looked at his expensive watch he got from Natasha and wore for the first time. This place was getting on his nerves, and he intended to leave in the very next minute after paying for his drink.

“Enjoying yourself, man?” Sam’s jolly voice forced Bucky to turn around and see him with a group of pretty women, all wearing flashy revealing outfits and shiny jewellery, their hair and makeup done as if they were some fashion models.

Though in his time models looked way more reserved than that.

“I do.” He said in a firm voice, and Sam immediately read through the lines. “Didn’t know you were a ladies’ man.”

Women he brought started laughing at his remark, their skin glistening in the warm light coming from pendant lamps above the counter. One of them had her hand on Sam’s arm just above his elbow. Were they prostitutes? Bucky watched them intently.

“It’s all my natural charm,” the man winked to the girl close to him, and she sent him a smug grin.

God, females became too full of themselves. Bucky didn’t hate bold women, but there was a huge difference between a girl like Peggy Carter and these narcissistic sex-obsessed furies.

“Don’t be fooled by his façade, this gentleman over here is a great guy and my best buddy!” Grinning, Sam patted him on the shoulder. “His name’s Bucky, we’ve been serving together for quite some time.”

These women started saying hello and introducing themselves, but he didn’t care for any names. His memory was too precious to waste it on this.

Then they were talking about some stupid things like why they were here – one of the girls got a promotion, and Bucky was almost sure it had nothing to do with her being a hard worker – and what they did for a living. Sam briefly mentioned both of them were in Air Force before but didn’t push it. Then all of them had more drinks, and then they talked again, and drank again. Bucky thought he was rather unlucky: if he could get drunk, he wouldn’t need to listen to all this bullshit.

“Hey, let’s go dance!” The woman Sam took liking to pulled him by the arm gently, and he smiled at her. “Are you coming, girls?”

“Sure!” Most of them were ready, leaving their empty glasses on the counter. “Are you, Bucky?”

He shook his head apologetically, thinking of nothing but leaving this place and never coming back again. Everything was too different now. He fell out of time, and he didn’t need another reminder about that.

Most of women had already left when he ordered his last glass of whiskey. There was one of them sitting close to him and smiling to her friends dancing. Apparently, she drank too much to move from her spot. When she realized he was looking at her, she suddenly got all red and turned away from the crowd, staring in her half-empty glass of champagne.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” She said slightly embarrassed. “I just don’t dance much.”

“You’re not bothering me.” Bucky replied shortly and made a sip of whiskey, burning his throat again. Her closeness almost annoyed him. “Why don’t you dance?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t feel very comfortable.”

Interesting. He glanced at the girl in a long sequined dress, her knees covered by a strange shining fabric. Her cleavage wasn’t on display either. Although her outfit was too extravagant to his tastes, she looked the most modest among her friends. She was probably the humblest one, too, since he couldn’t remember her speaking much.

“Besides, I can only waltz. I don’t think I can fit in here with my dancing skills.” She laughed a little and took her glass, watching the little bubbles going upwards inside.

Waltz. He remembered dancing a waltz with his mother when he was a kid, stamping on her feet constantly. Regardless how clumsy he was, she kept teaching him until his legs were sore, but he was grateful for her lessons later. Girls loved dancing with him.

“Me neither.” He smirked, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “In fact, I’m not a big fan of places like this.”

The girl smiled again, and he find himself smiling back at her. Maybe coming with Sam wasn’t as bad as he thought. Beautiful women like her never payed him any attention in normal circumstances.

In the next few minutes, he found himself talking to her about some small things like favourite music and movies the two of them watched not so long ago. To his pleasant surprise, she liked old Hollywood movies – the ones that came out after he had been captured, but still old – and their charm. She said those movies had a soul, and Bucky couldn’t agree more. Sam took him to the cinema multiple times, but most modern blockbusters, thrillers and fantasy movies felt empty and too unreal to relate.

“My most favourite one is “12 Angry Men”, I think. Have you seen it?”

“Guess I did. It’s about 12 juries deciding upon whether a kid is a murderer or not, am I right?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Her face was glowing, and he found himself staring at her excited expression. “Don’t you think it’s impressive that almost all the action took place in one small room? It was nothing but pure actors’ skills that made this movie so good. It had neither special effects nor big budget comparing to movies today, and yet nothing could compare to it.”

For a few seconds he was just watching her, her cheeks pink from slight embarrassment and the alcohol she had. He strangely adored the way she spoke and how she looked at him while explaining why she was so passionate about the movie. Maybe she had too much makeup on her face, but he could easily wipe it off her face. He could take her fancy dress off and see her perfectly human body, no different than any other women’ of his time. She would moan beneath him like a few of them did, too. And the next morning he could give her another dress and dance a waltz with her like all those years ago.

“What is the first thing you see in a person?” He asked abruptly, and she blinked, seemingly uncomfortable but still ready to give him an answer right away.

“Humility. And… and kindness.”

He chuckled. She was definitely the one.

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier

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teenage-mutant-ninja-freak · 4 years ago

Text

Lividity

Mob boss! Donatello x fem! reader

Summary: After a long night drinking you get approached by a shifty stranger who asks you if you want any work doing things below the law. It’s only after you agree that you realise exactly what you signed up for. You are captured by the turtles and tortured by Donatello himself for information.

Warnings: torture (graphic), NSFW, Stockholm syndrome, alcohol mention, mentions of murder, blood, gore

((A/N I’ve never written anything like this before so it’s a first for me. Just another warning, if you don’t like blood and gore, don’t read this))

It was a Friday night in up town New York and you were sat drinking and bitching to the bar tender at your local place- The Crown and Thistle. It was a smoking bar so a heavy fog hung above the heads of those who were reveling and dancing, simply celebrating life in that dimly lit bar. You couldn’t, however. Your last 30 bucks had been spent on the 5 beers sitting before you and you had to admit that you were beginning to feel it, your head felt like it was doing somersaults without your body’s permission and you could tell you were swaying side to side.

“It’s not fucking easy to keep a job, you know what I mean, Jack?”

“It’s Josh” the bartender curtly replied

“Whatever. I just mean, if I wanted some 9-to-5 bullshit that just further stuffs me into this capitalist system that only values me for my labour and doesn’t even want to give me a fair wage, I would go and work for my father but, that’s no life!”

Your conversation had picked up the attention of the man sitting next to you, he leaned in a little to catch what you were saying better.

“And I’m not a 9-to-5 kinda gal’, you feel me?” you slur to Josh who had long since stopped listening

The man at your side places a tequila shot in front of you, he had messy black hair and was wearing an expensive looking leather jacket with studs on the shoulders. He looked like he meant business.

“So, you’re looking for work I hear”

“What’s it to you?” you hiccup

He smiles at you making eye contact and gestured for you to take the shot sat before you.

“Let’s just say I know something that pays well and shouldn’t be too hard for a pretty girl like yourself. I get the feeling that a girl like you must be good at getting into places she’s not supposed to be”

With that, he explained his proposal; you were to seduce the Turtle boys who were a infamous mob family in upper New York, considered some of the most suave and dangerous men in the city, and retrieve whatever information you could back to him. He never gave you a name, only a time and location to meet as well as your first half of 3 grand. ‘Easy money’ you thought

Their house was disgustingly exquisite, they had a courtyard, rose thickets lining the driveway, as many cars as you could count, 3 swimming pools, hand crafted Venetian statues who’s eyes seemed to follow you around. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go renegade and decide to break in instead of following the creepy guy at the bar’s advice, but you were no whore and you weren’t going to let him pimp you out to 4 turtles just for some information. You would find it your own way. Besides, you resented them. Crime only ever got you a night in a cell or flirting with a cop to get out of it, for them it was a lavish lifestyle. Of course, the turtles weren’t criminals in the eyes of the law, no, to the cops these boys just ran a luxurious hotel empire which supplied them with riches beyond anyone’s imagination. What was going on behind the scenes was another story, however. Guns, drugs, women... You name it and they sold it to every gang member in New York.

You got down on all fours and crawled along the side of the house when you saw a light on in one of the rooms and kept crawling until you found and open window.

“Idiots” you muttered to yourself

shimmying your hips and climbing through the window you land surprisingly delicately for someone as drunk as you are on the other side in what appears to be an office. There were filing cabinets and a desk with 3 computer screens and a monitor on it. You began your work, rifling through the drawers and files to find anything that looked like it could be useful. The room smelt of cigar smoke and Gucci men’s cologne which was a shockingly manly and desirable scent. With no luck finding a paper trail you decided to try your luck at the computer. You weren’t a stranger to hacking and so you figured this couldn’t be too difficult if they were dumb enough to leave a window open it’s hardly like they would encrypt their technology, right?

That’s when you heard it, footsteps coming down the hall quietly but fast. Someone obviously didn’t want you to catch on that they knew you were there. You hid behind the desk and covered your mouth with your hand to steady your breathing, maybe if you just stayed still they would walk in and go away. The door flung open and you could hear footsteps walk slowly over to the desk where you were hidden. ‘Shit’ you thought. A dry laugh echoed through the room before, in a flash, you were pulled off your feet by your hair and were hanging in mid air, face to face with Michelangelo. He was grinning at you, the sick bastard.

“Found ya’“ he mocked.

He dragged you out of the room by your hair, kicking and screaming the entire time he pulled you through the halls of their vast mansion until he reached the living room where his brothers sat around drinking and smoking.

“I found a new toy, Donnie!” he practically trilled.

The one in purple didn’t look too impressed, he just kind of stared through you with a blank expression that was hard to pinpoint what was going on behind those eyes.

“It’s a shame, she’s pretty” he finally said

“For now” Mikey corrected.

And that was how you ended up here, tied to a wooden x that was nailed up to the wall, half naked and bleeding at the mercy of the one and only Donatello mutant turtle.

You try and thrash your arms as he ties you down, there’s no way he’s getting you without a fight but it’s no use, the bonds are fixed around each of your limbs and you are well and truly stuck.

“There’s no use struggling” He states blankly “these are Tautline Hitch knots, the more you pull, the tighter they get.”

Great, so now you were getting a lesson from a boy scout as well, who the fuck knows about knots? You pull at them anyway but he’s right, they simply get tighter and the rope stings your delicate flesh turning it a burning red colour from its roughness. You make a sound of discomfort and Donatello simply looks right through you.

He turns his back, for a moment, to sort out some things on a table that’s in the corner of the room. You take this time to get a good look around. The floor and walls are all lined with plastic white tarps and certain chains dangle miscellaneously from the ceiling. ‘You’re fucked. This is a torture room and Dexter over there is going to fuck you up 5 ways from Sunday’ you think to yourself. Some more clanging comes from the corner as he pulls a meat cleaver out of the bag and places it on the plastic wrapped table. You gulp.

You watch the muscles on his back as he lifts heavy chains from another bag and places them on the floor next to him, he’s quite the specimen. Tall, around 6′7 and he’s lean but muscular as all hell. His shirt can barely contain his biceps and his thighs are just to die for. ‘You can’t can’t be thinking about this now’ you snap yourself out of it but still watch him because you can’t help it.

Eventually he turns back around and is holding a pair of pliers in his left hand and a large hunting knife in his right.

“Now, I think I know what you’re going to pick, but I figured I would ask anyway. Do you want to tell me who you’re working for and what they sent you here to do? Or do you want to get hurt?” there’s a chilling coolness to his tone. Not a single sign of stress or anxiety that he was going to have to hurt you, if anything, he seemed almost bored.

You owed nothing to the foot clan but that wasn’t why you kept your mouth shut. This was obviously a trick, everyone knew what happened to traitors when the Turtle boys got their hands on them and you had a chance of making it out of here alive if you could work a little charm on him.

“Where would be the fun in that?” you reply

He tilts his head to one side as if in thought and then continues towards you, knife in hand. He drops the pliers at your feet and brandishes the knife, making a slit along the seems of your black skinny jeans and t shirt in order to remove them. Now, just in your bra and underwear, you felt deeply exposed but, in a very strange way that you were almost ashamed to admit to yourself, you liked the power play here.

“If you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask nicely. I would’ve done it for a handsome guy like you”

Donatello gives you a wry smile before taking one step back and then lunging forwards fist first to punch you in the face. His fist connects with your jaw and you can hear your teeth scrape against each other in your mouth from the force of it. He has a solid right hook, you’ll give him that. It takes a moment for you to come back to reality but once you do, you look him dead in the eyes and spit blood into his face. This produces a genuine smile from him, one that screams “I love it when they put up a fight”.

He wipes the bloody spit from his cheek and takes a few more steps closer to you until you’re almost nose to nose and he places the blade of the knife of the knife at the base of your neck. He drags it down slowly and you can feel it scrape into your collar bone as he pulls it closer to your sternum, you mewl in pain. This wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever experienced but it certainly hurt. Thick droplets of blood begin to roll down your chest and soak into the material of your bra, turning it from a beige to a muddy red colour in patches. Donnie retreats to he table and picks up a container of something white. He picks it up with his hand and rubs it into the cut on your chest. ‘Salt’ you quickly realise and it stings like hell you make a “Gah” sound of pain and he doesn’t flinch, he simply returns the container to the table and picks up the pliers he left at your feet.

Donatello takes one moment to remove his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his shirt, he commands a lot of authority with this action and you watch intently.

“Why not just take it off completely, I wouldn’t any to get blood on that lovely shirt of yours” you tease.

He looks up at you with no expression but you think you can see a hint of amusement in his eyes. He sets upon you again and pins your nose shut forcing you to open your mouth to breathe, that’s when you feel him slide the pliers in and get them gripped around one of your lower back molars. You scream out in pain as he shakes the pliers side to side to leverage out your tooth, your mouth filling with a coppery taste you know all too well was blood. You try to bite down to stop him but the metal of the pliers won’t allow you to close your mouth at all and before you know it the tooth has some loose and he’s ripping it from between your lips.

He stands back and looks at the tooth with a sense of accomplishment.

“Tell me who sent you” he commands once again

“Look” you begin “As much as I’m enjoying our time together....” a thin bead of blood slips from your mouth and drips down past your chin “you know I can’t tell ya’ that. No matter how handsome you are or how much you hurt me”

“Hmmm” he replies simply.

Donatello walks forwards and places one hand under your chin to lift your head up to look at him

“You’ll tell me eventually, sweetheart” He places a chaste kiss on your lips and when he pulls away you can see you’ve left a small drop of blood on his mouth which he just licks away without another thought.

He continues his work for what feels like forever but the clock in the corner of the room tells you was only 3 hours. Pulling off your fingernails, cutting you, taking a few more teeth and all the while rubbing salt into the wounds. You were in agony and hung your head down with exhaustion.

Lifting you by the hair, Donnie holds your head up to look at him once again and with his other hand caresses the tear stained skin of your cheek with so much tenderness you almost feel like he’s going soft on you but know that’s not possible. He looks into your eyes and the corner of his mouth lifts up into a half smile.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow” he says

“Bored of me already? Amateur” you stutter out through heavy lips. He had really fucked you up in your short time together.

He places a lingering kiss on your lips which you return before pulling away abruptly and leaving the room. ‘How the fuck am I gonna live through this?’

_____________

It’s early the next morning, at least, you assume it’s early as Donatello walks in yawning and stretching with that just showered smell to him. You had barely slept, being tied to a giant wooden x that was upright on a wall didn’t make for comfortable sleeping but you still smile brightly as he walks in the room.

“Morin’ handsome” you chirp. He may have broken your body but you were never going to let him defeat your spirit. That was your one form of rebellion against him, your positive attitude.

He approaches you and begins to stroke your hair, his head tilted to the side a little to get a better look at you. You know you look like shit, your face must be puffy and swollen from the teeth he took out, your eyes are bloodshot and you’re caked in blood and sweat; there’s no way you look cute right now. None the less, he smiles at you and gives you a gentle kiss on your temple before turning away. Still with his back to you he says

“You know, we can end all of this now if you just tell me who sent you”

You snort in response, “And miss out on this horror film experience? Never”

“As you wish, I do like it when my toys have a sense of humour. It’s usually the first thing to go when when I start cutting”

You wince when he says this but he doesn’t see, luckily. You know you’re in for a world of pain but his company is... Strangely comforting. You don’t like that you enjoy having him around.

He turns back to you holding a knife and you huff. He approaches and places the knife in your mouth with the blade touching the skin of your cheek.

“Tell me who you work for and why they sent you” He demands again

You say nothing and he rips the blade from your mouth, splitting open your cheek in the process. It’s agony and you would clutch your face if your hands weren’t tied down. You didn’t understand how all this blood couldn’t make him queezy, You aren’t a pussy but the metallic smell alone was overwhelming. Blood pours down your face and chest and you begin to cry in pain. Donnie leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a bucket full of water and a plastic bag.

He places the bag over your head and you struggle to breathe a little, that is, until he begins to pour the water over the bag and you can’t breathe at all. It feels like your drowning and you begin to panic, shaking your head from side to side in order to get away from it but it’s not use. He takes off the bag and sticks your head down into the cold water where you splutter and gurgle. He lifts your head and out and looks at you.

“Tell me who sent you and what they wanted”

“You know, waterboarding has been illegal since 2009. You’re a very bad boy” you say breathlessly.

He responds by shoving your head back into the water where it overflows and turns a red colour from the blood pouring from your face.His grip on you is too strong and you can’t get your head out for air. That’s when everything goes dark.

When you wake again, Donnie is stitching up your face with expert precision.

“Why” you manage to get out

“Can’t have you dying of blood loss before you tell us what we need to know” he states in a matter of fact way.

The stitches don’t hurt as much as the actual wound but it’s still not pleasant. He places a hand on your opposite cheek and looks deeply into your eyes. His eyes are beautiful, golden coloured with thin black rings around the pupil. You get lost in them for a moment before returning to reality. Using his thumb, he rubs it up and down your cheek like a lover comforting you would and you sigh at his affection.

He leans in and kisses your wet lips so gently that your heart almost melts. These mixed signals he’s sending you are messing with your head. You start to get that feeling that maybe he does like you, but this is something that he just has to do to protect him and his family. ‘That makes sense, right? I mean, what wouldn’t you do for family?’ He takes a step back

“We could end this all right now if you just talk”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see that gorgeous face anymore” you splutter

Reaching out, he runs his hand down your chest between your breasts and over the cuts on your stomach until he reaches the hem of your panties.

“This what you want?” he asks

“Yes” you reply

He turns around and walks out.

_____________

Donatello wakes you up by walking in and the door slams shut behind him, you can already tell he’s not in a good mood. He wastes no time picking up a pair of pliers and coming over to you with them.

Normally he would say something to you, maybe kiss you but today he simply goes straight to your hand and rips off one of your few remaining fingernails. You scream in pain as he drops the nail to the floor and goes back in to get another

“No no no please” you beg

But your cries fall on deaf ears, he takes the nail of your ring finger on your left hand and rips it off in one pull. You cry out again.

He returns to the table in the corner, throwing the pliers down and placing his hands at either end on the surface of the desk. He bows his head.

“Rough morning?” you inquire still trying to calm yourself down from what just happened.

“Nothing that concerns you, just family shit”

He turns back around abruptly and walks towards you, his lips crashing into your and he kisses you passionately, his hand tangles in your hair as he does. When he pulls away you’re breathless.

“Let’s get started” He says.

He goes back into kiss you, taking a knife out of his pocket as he does and he slices along the bottom of your belly, you call out against his lips but he doesn’t retreat, he just keeps kissing you and cutting at will.

Finally, he pulls away again and looks you up and down, admiring his work.You can feel the blood dripping down your stomach and seeping into your panties and you stare at him with wide eyes full of fear.

Without missing a beat he throws a punch that hits you in the cheekbone, splitting the skin open and a trickle of blood runs down your face, you can already feel the swelling beginning to set in and he grabs your chin in his hands and looks at the cut

“That’s going to need stitches” He says as he places a kiss over it and begins to trail them down your face and onto your neck.

“I think I love you” you mutter but he says nothing.

You continue like this for another hour, cutting and biting and stitching you up and kissing all the places that hurt. He was like a demon from hell but you wanted him to like you so badly. Occasionally he would say something interesting to you or tell you how pretty you looked bleeding and crying but never much else.

You were falling for him and you knew it, but you couldn’t help yourself. Today was especially rough because of whatever was going on behind the scenes and he was desperate to take it out on you.

“I think we’ll call it a day” he finally says

You sign with relief, there wasn’t much more you could take but somehow he never ran out of ways to hurt you. He slaps you in the face and then places a chaste kiss on your lips before walking out.

_____________

It’s been 4 more days to your count of endless torture and gentle kisses. You’re going loopy in the head. You would do just about anything for this man aside from talk. You had had a few conversations. He always asked questions about your family and hobbies, even seemed interested when you brought up taking classes for veterinary school but, you never gave him what he wanted so the pain never ceased.

Today he walks in with his brothers. They all stand around you in their suits admiring his handy work.

“Is she dead?” Raphael asks

Your head is too heavy to look up at them but you are most certainly alive....You think. You have to be.

“This is your last chance” the one in the blue suit begins “last chance to tell us what you were doing here”

“Make this easy, pet” Donnie chimes in

“Or we start taking fingers instead of just the nails” Michelangelo cracks his knuckles

You can’t do it anymore. Your entire body burns with pain and you think the cut on your chest is beginning to get infected. They want you to talk so have it their way, at least when they kill you for it you’ll be free of this torture.

“I don’t know his name” you whisper.

They all come a little closer to hear you better and Donatello lifts up your chin to help you see them.

“I don’t know his name” you repeat “But he wanted me to meet him at 9:30pm at the bar The Crown And Thistle to tell him what I had found out about you. He’ll be there tonight. Dyed black hair, leather jacket with spikes. You can’t miss him” you barely manage to speak those final words you’re so weak.

“Take her down, boys” Leo commands

Raphael unties your legs while Donnie sets to work on your arms. Once free you collapse down onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“That’s it, pet. It’s all over now”

You sink your head into the crook of his neck and pass out. __________

When you awake, you’re all bandaged up in a beautiful bedroom. There are fitted wardrobes along the wall facing you and a desk in the corner with a laptop on it. You can’t sit up but you know you must be in Donnie’s room. As if on cue, Donatello walks in, the sleeves of his light purple shirt are rolled up and he’s carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and cup of water on it.

He doesn’t speak to you, only sits down next to you and takes a spoonful of the soup and brings it towards your mouth. You haven’t eaten in a week so you gratefully take every bite he gives you before polishing it off with the water. It was nice, to be taken care of, especially by him. He leans in and kisses you so gently but you place your hand on the back of his head and hold him there to deepen it. You had been wanting to do this since day 2.

His hands trail down your body, missing all the gauze and bandages as to not hurt you and settle on your hips before he puts his tongue in your mouth and you accept it with a small moan.

“Just treat me like I’m made of glass” you beg

He responds by lying you back down and getting on top of you, his hand between your thighs slips under the material of your panties and begins to rub circles over your clit. This sensation is more than welcome after the days of nothing but pain from his hands.

He pulls away and removes your underwear with ease, tossing them across the room and onto his desk in the corner. You reach out for him again and he comes back down to continue your kiss, undoing his flies and stroking his dick as he does. He places himself at your entrance and looks into your eyes as if you ask for permission and you nod in response. Then he’s inside you thrusting slowly but deep into you at a gentle pace.

He brushes the hair out of your face, lightly tugging at one strand and rolling it between his fingers as to admire it before his attention turns to your chest. He leans down and takes on of your nipples in his mouth and begins to suck at it and nip gently with his teeth. You moan out and he doesn’t stop but goes from breast to breast to further the sensation. He’s so tender with you it’s a contrast from the last week but you don’t mind it. You have him now and are getting exactly what you want.

His pace quickens a little and you bite down on his shoulder to stifle your moans which he seems to enjoy as he kisses the top of your head. Your head falls back to the pillow and he wraps one hand around your throat while looking into your eyes and begins to squeeze a little- cutting off the blood supply to your brain.

“you’re doing so well” he praises in a low, raspy voice.

He pulls out and turns you over so your belly is down on the bed, it stings a little but you ignore it. You’re entire body aches in a different way now, now you’re aching for his touch rather than to be rid of it.

He gets between your legs and places himself back inside you, kissing the back of your shoulder as he does and you cry out as he fucks you harder.

You begin to claw at the pillows and sheets at the pleasure he’s causing you. You’ve never had anyone like him before and you never will again. He fills you so well that you want to cry and almost do, there’s such a mix of emotions going on inside you right now. Pleasure, pain, despair, hope.... But he keeps pumping into you and you’re beginning to get close.

You turn your head to face him and he kisses you with passion, expertly pushing his tongue in and out of your mouth and he tastes like whisky and cigarettes.

“Tell me what you need” He says as he ends the kiss

“I need you to make me cum, please please just do it”

He picks up the pace at that and you can feel the ball of tightness in your stomach release as your orgasm crashes over you and you nearly see stars. His thrusts get sloppy and faster as he nears his own release. A few moments later he cums inside of you and rolls over. You get close to him and rest your head on his chest and place your arm over his torso.

Donnie carefully pushed the hair out of your face and rests his hand on your cheek.

“I love you, Donnie” you say

“I know” he replies.

Fin.

#mob! au #mob au #mob boss donnie #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #stokholm syndrome tw #blood tw #gore tw #violence tw #lividity #my fic

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marshmallow-phd · 5 years ago

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

The beams of sunlight fell down from the wide open sky, placing warm yet gentle kisses on your cheeks and nose. It was rare for the weather to be so nice this time of year. Usually, the bitterness of winter was still holding on. But today, spring was reminding you that it was just around the corner. The heavy, feather-stuffed coat could be kept in the closet, at least for today. The striped flannel was more than enough protection from the slight breeze though you barely noticed its touch. Above you, the sky was a dazzling pastel blue with only a few puffs of white here and there.

You fingers itched down by your side where they kept you steady on the stone table where you sat. It was truly a beautiful day, too beautiful for late February. The lighting was too perfect to be ignored. With enough coverage so the shot wouldn’t be overwhelmed….

“What are you plotting?”

Your eyes snap open and you look down at your best friend. The thought had only just popped into your head. How she could read you so easily was truly terrifying at times. “Nothing,” you lied coolly. “I’m not plotting anything.”

Willa rolled her eyes. “Please. You had that smirk on your face and your fingers were practically dancing on the table. You’re easier to read than you think.”

“(y/n), please tell me you’re not going to go out into the woods again?” Erik looked up from his tablet with pleading eyes. His wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, giving him a childlike quality. The wind ruffled his sandy hair. He squinted up at you with concern. You were a bit surprised that he’d caught the conversation, given how concentrated he was on his drawing. “You remember what happened last time.”

Of course you did. You were there, weren’t you? Sure, to say that it wasn’t a slightly scary experience would be a lie. But it was something you’d expected to happen eventually considering your outside activities.

A branch knocked loose by the storm from the night before had fallen from its perch, hitting you in the head. While you remained conscious, you were disoriented and had trouble finding your way back to the city. It was nearly dark by the time you made it to your car, but you had no issues driving yourself to the emergency room. The doctor declare you fine beyond the small gash atop your head, however he still preferred someone else to drive you home. Poor Erik nearly had a heart attack when he found you sitting in a hospital bed with dried blood on your face.

“It was a freak accident,” you reassured him. “Not likely to happen again.”

“But the odds still exist,” he argued. You “hmphed” at him. Why was he suddenly spouting statistics at you?

“Not to mention, there have been more wolf sightings,” Willa added, earning a glare from you. Wasn’t she supposed to be on your side?

But you couldn’t stay mad at them for long. Your brain was too logical, too in tune with being able to understand people to ignore their side of the argument. Hopping down from the table, you gave in. “Alright, I get it! You guys are saying no ventures into the trees where I get the most beautiful photographs I’ve ever taken. Noted.”

“You are such a city girl,” Willa said teasingly. It was true, though.

Throughout your childhood, your exposure to nature was the local park with its scarily overweight squirrels and hordes of annoying ants. It was a shock to your family when you chose to go to college outside of the city you knew and loved, electing to attend a smaller campus surrounded by woods and a good two hours from the nearest airport. They didn’t think you would be happy so far away. But you needed the change. You wanted to challenge yourself. Besides, if you hadn’t come out here, you wouldn’t have met Willa or Erik. And they made you very happy indeed.

Swiping up your bag from the bench, you gave Erik a quick kiss goodbye and waved to Willa. “I’ll see you guys after class.”

Willa grimaced. “Actually, I have to work.”

Erik looked equally as guilty. “And I’m meeting with Don to help out the theatre department.”

Perfect. “Don’t worry about it,” you said with feigned of disappointment. “I’ll survive. Maybe take some pictures of downtown. I’ll see you guys later.” With both of them occupied, there was no one check in on you. And you hadn’t exactly promised either of them….

Your light steps from the free evening grew heavier as you came closer to the building that the math-related classes called home.

Truly, this was your own fault. No one should have allowed you to pick your own schedule. The first two and a half years of college were spent taking all the fun, digital art major-related classes you could. The idea that you would eventually have to take the general studies classes was a problem for future you to handle. And that’s what brought you here: almost to the end of the finish line and now you were stuck taking all the subjects that you weren’t good at in order to actually graduate on time next year with your bachelors and qualify to move on to the masters. You hadn’t pinned down exactly what you would focus on when that time came, but it meant staying here, with Erik. And you loathed the idea of being left behind while your friends moved on with their lives.

The main hall inside was buzzing with voices as dozens of students hung about, arguing over answers and whining about what they would do once the weekend had finally arrived. Words mixed in with the clacking of keyboards and the faint scribbling of hurried pencils that didn’t do the homework the night before. It always amazed you how loud this place could be. Your earlier assumptions had made you think that this hall would be a second library, with stressed out students shushing each other so they could concentrate. But really, it felt more like the cafeteria; a social hangout before life interrupted again.

The classroom was mostly full by the time you arrived. Rows of crooked desks filled up two-thirds of the room with just enough space for the GTA to stand at the whiteboard and not be uncomfortable or crowded. Taking your normal seat near the front – which was unsurprisingly empty for the most part - you took out your notebook and pencil, ready jot down the main points of the day’s lesson. Until then, you scroll through the endless stream of social media on your phone.

While you were normally a friendly person, you’d elected at the beginning of the winter semester to stay serious and not give in to any distractions during this period. Because you knew yourself and you knew that you would give in to any temptation to not pay attention during this hour and a half, including talking to the shy freshman girl behind you who looked desperate for some form of friendship.

Two minutes before the class was scheduled to begin, the GTA walked in, a binder tucked under his arm and a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. None of the conversations slowed down as he unpacked his laptop on the old desk situated in the front. Even as he opened it up and cleared his throat, the whispered chatting went on. It didn’t help that he wasn’t the most authoritative-looking person. He was on the shorter side with a friendly face that made him feel more like a peer than a teacher. Or maybe it was just because he was closer to your age that made you feel that way. It certainly didn’t help that he asked to be called by his first name rather than the typical formal address that you’d been raised with.

Sungkyu smiled brightly as he stood up. The marker made a pop when he uncapped it. “We’ll start on page ninety-nine, chapter four part two.”

That was how he started each class. No hello or good afternoons with mumbled replies. Straight to the lesson without forcing everyone to pretend like they were excited to be there or demanding a more energetic reply. Perhaps that was the one advantage of having a GTA. They knew what nonsense to skip.

An hour and a half later, you were free. Sure, your brain felt a bit like mush from concentrating so hard on the algebra equations, but now you could relax. Since that was your last class of the day, you were back to that lightness, with that spring in your step. The sun had somehow become brighter, even more inviting in the small amount of time you’d spent indoors. How could you ignore the call now?

Back in your dorm, you unloaded your backpack of the unneeded supplies for your venture. Out came the textbooks and binders that were neatly organized. In their place came a water bottle from the mini fridge you and Willa kept between your beds, a couple of granola bars you stashed away for emergencies, and the leather bound sketchpad Erik had given you for your birthday last year that housed all the photo ideas that randomly popped into your head throughout the day. Checking your watch, you assumed that you had a good three or four hours before your absence was discovered. A slight sense of adventure tingled in your chest as you slung your bag over your shoulder and scooped up your camera case from the foot of your bed.

You didn’t look back as you left the dorm and headed for your car. When – because it was a matter of time, not if – Erik and Willa found out, they’d be sure to lecture you until the end of time. But you had a feeling that it would be worth it. What was that famous saying again? Better to ask forgiveness than permission?

As much as you appreciated their concern and understood where they were coming from, the trees were calling out to you, begging to be captured within the lens of your camera. The photographer that lived inside urged you on. If they were really that upset, you’d make them dinner to make up for it.

Minseok wasn’t hiding per se. He simply needed a quiet place to grade these papers and with eight other rowdy wolves coming in and out of the house, “quiet” was not exactly an easy thing to find. So… yes, he was sort of hiding in his car in the detached garage. It wouldn’t be for much longer; he only had two or three more assignments to look over and, at this point, he had the answers memorized, meaning he didn’t have to stop and look at the key every five seconds.

Blowing out air, Minseok ran a hand through his black hair as he leaned back. Sometimes he wondered why he took up this position. He didn’t need to. It wasn’t required for him like it was in other masters degrees. But the offer was given and he took it. Maybe he liked the excuse that he was busy so he couldn’t go out with the younger wolves all the time. Unlike the extroverts who knew every restaurant and bar in town like the back of their hands, he preferred it out here, in the woods. Homebody felt like an understatement.

Finally through with grading, he neatly packed the papers away into his bag (divided by clear plastic folders labeled by class) and got out of the car. He left the garage with a smile on his face. Before his feet could hit the first porch step, his name rang out in the field.

“Minseok!”

He half-laughed, half-sighed as he shook his head. He shouldn’t be surprised that he was discovered the moment he left the safety of the garage.

Running towards him as he turned around were the three goofballs of the pack: Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and Jongdae. Their faces and clothes were covered in mud, making Minseok take a step back.

“Where have you been?” Chanyeol asked when they came to a stop in front of him. Thankfully, they kept their distance. Now Minseok just needed to keep them from going in the house.

“Grading papers,” Minseok replied. He wasn’t going to reveal where he was grading them.

“That sounds boring,” Baekhyun said with an expression that made it seem like he’d smelled something bad. Although, given his current state, that was quiet possible.

Jongdae whipped his hair, sending tiny droplets of muddy water everywhere. Minseok jumped back in an effort to dodge them, which sent the former into a laughing fit.

“Come on, Minseok,” Jongdae waved his hand through the air, still trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. “You know, wolves aren’t supposed to mind getting dirty.”

“Wolves, no. Humans, yes.” The eldest wolf eyed the three of them. “Well, most humans, anyway.”

Smiling broadly and unbothered, Chanyeol made a move towards the porch.

“No,” Minseok said firmly, blocking the giant’s path. Putting his bag down on the porch he pointed to the side. “Go around and use the hose. You’ll get mud everywhere.”

“We’ll clean it up,” Jongdae whined.

“Not to his standards,” Baekhyun chuckled. Completely unbothered, he followed orders and ran to the back of the house. At first, Chanyeol pouted as well, but then he must have found the fun in the idea because only a few seconds later he was ripping his shirt over his head and running after his best friend.

Jongdae gave one last look of pleading. “Can I please go inside and take a shower?”

Minseok nodded. “After you use the hose.”

“But it’s cold.”

But wolves don’t get cold. Minseok went to pat the poor guy on the back, but then stopped, remembering why he wasn’t letting him inside in the first place. “Rinse off and then we’ll go for a real run to dry you off.”

Jongdae mulled over the offer. Grinning, he said, “Deal!” He was back behind the house in the blink of an eye.

Looking over at his bag, Minseok contemplated his options. He could leave it there and risk one of the guys forgetting the “hands-off” rule or he could take it upstairs to his room, leaving those three alone with the water hose for five minutes. It might not sound like a terrible option, but Minseok had known them long enough to understand that they could find trouble without even looking for it.

He decided to go with the second option anyway, knowing his students’ papers would at least be safe.

Just inside the living room, Sehun was glued to the TV screen, controller in hand. He was pressing down on the buttons with more force than necessary. The maknae would never admit it, but he was too competitive when it came to video games. One time, Minseok walked in on Baekhyun whacking Sehun on the head with the plastic controller because he was getting beat so badly. Thankfully, this time Sehun was alone. If he remembered correctly, Jongin and Yixing were in class while Junmyeon was conducting his office hours. At least the four of them took school seriously.

Minseok didn’t bother greeting Sehun as he made his way through the living room and up the stairs.

His bedroom, pristine and magazine-worthy – was at the end of the hall, near Junmyeon’s master. It was a good thing that Junmyeon’s great-to-however-many-degrees-grandfather thought to build a large farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. The alpha didn’t think that it had ever been quite this full since it had mostly been just his family that occupied the walls in the past, but the foresight to think of a larger pack down the line had been there. Each of the wolves were able to have their own rooms, their own space. Given how sloppy some of the others could be, Minseok was thankful. It hadn’t always been that way, but those days were long gone.

Near the beginning when Minseok first officially joined the pack, he’d tried living alone in his parents’ old place in town. The call to be together, with his brothers, was too great. It was an uncomfortable feeling. To this day he wasn’t sure if it was the wolf’s nature that caused it or simply the fact that, as the eldest, he worried about the younger wolves and preferred to be around where he could keep an eye on them. That meant that the peace and quiet was over, but sacrifices could be made and he was much happier here, anyway.

Placing his bag on the desk, Minseok sighed to himself before heading back downstairs where trouble waited.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Chanyeol, Bakehyun, and Jongdae had turned rinsing off into a full on water war. Pretty much all the mud had been washed away, but that didn’t stop them from stealing the hose from each other and creating new mud in the backyard. They were all without their shirts, showing they were in this for the long hall.

At one point, Jongdae had snuck behind Chanyeol, who currently had possession of the garden hose, and twisted the rubber tube to stop the flow of water. Confused, Chanyeol looked directly in the mouth to discover the reason why. Which meant he fell right into Jongdae’s trap. The troll let go of the hose and the water came rushing back, spraying like a geyser in Chanyeol’s face.

Jongdae fell backwards onto his butt with how hard he was laughing. Chanyeol whipped around to get him back, catching Minseok in the crossfire.

Chanyeol cringed guilty. “Oops. Sorry.”

Minseok chuckled it off. It was just a shirt. “It’s alright. I promised Jongdae a run anyway. It’ll be dry by the time we get back.”

Baekhyun perked up. “A run?”

Minseok nodded. “Yes, you can come, too.” He was already undoing the buttons, folding the shirt and placing it on the ground once it was off. Maybe this run was what he needed. He wasn’t sure what difference it could possibly make. He’d been on hundreds of runs in the past. But something told him to go now. So, once he was ready, he shifted onto all fours and ran after the other wolves who’d already almost reached the tree line.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #untamed wolf universe #Catching Rain

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ratedbangtann · 5 years ago

Photo

𝐅𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 | 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙋𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

"𝙵𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍..."

Pairing: Jungkook/Plus Size Reader Word count: 8.1k Warnings: size kink, body worship, spanking, switch!jk, oral sex (f), finger fucking, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: any and all teasing directed at Jungkook in this fic is merely friendly banter. i DO NOT believe any of the boys have a problem with plus size girls, and they do not in this fic either. any teasing is simply banter directed at Jungkook to make him shy and blush. they would tease him just the same if he had a thing for girls with piercings etc.

in no way are any of the comments made meant to hurt or offend anyone. this fic was written in the hope that it would boost some people’s confidence and be inclusive of larger framed girls (like myself!)

"Seriously, you want to watch this again?" Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as Jungkook excitedly presses play on the remote, sitting back down on the couch between Yoongi and Jimin with his bowl of mixed candies.

"You're obsessed," Yoongi states with a monotonous groan.

"It's a good movie though, Jin hyung; back me up!" Jungkook tries to gather support from his hyung. Luckily, Jin was also a fan. In fact, it was he who insisted the group watch it to begin with.

"I'm with you, Jimin. I love it. Remember when we played Wembley in July? I had to do Freddie's thing!" Jin slaps his knee as he laughs at himself, the others smiling and shaking their heads at their elder.

Yes, the boys had been coerced into watching Jungkook's favourite movie, Bohemian Rhapsody, for the nth time. He was mesmerised by Queen, completely in awe of Freddie's stage presence and his ability to control a crowd, but also by the way he had dealt with all his demons and never showed it professionally. He often repeated the show must go on in his head in times of stress or hardship.

Scene after scene played out on the screen, song after song that Jungkook sang along to, word for English word. He knew them all; he'd listened to them enough. He understood now how international army had the patience to learn their lyrics when they didn't speak Korean; when you love something enough, you'll find the patience it takes.

And while the others had protested originally at the thought of watching this damn movie again, by the end, they were all feeling that same inspiring emotion elicited by watching Freddie prancing around at Live Aid, knowing full well he was dying. Both Jin and Jimin had joined Jungkook in wiping away tears before they had fallen, whilst Taehyung hadn't bothered to hide them. The poor boy was sobbing as he clutched onto Namjoon's arm.

"I never get tired of this, damn," Jungkook smiled.

"What's your favourite song then, Kookie?" Jin asked. Jungkook thought for a moment, musing over the various tracks he knew and loved so well, until he settled on one.

He wasn't sure he should tell the truth, it'd be easier to say it was Bohemian Rhapsody or Another One Bites The Dust, because he knew he'd be made fun of for his real favourite. The song that hypnotised him into lewd imagery in his head that he so badly wished he could experience. The song that, quite frankly, played up to one of his biggest fantasies.

"Fat Bottomed Girls," he had said timidly, avoiding eye contact from his hyungs for fear of their reaction.

Hoseok broke the silence that followed, unable to contain his giggles. Damnit, Jungkook thought, I knew I should have lied...

Namjoon nodded in understanding, smirking to himself at the admission. Tae barely paid attention, still trying to calm himself. Bless him, he never could get a hold of himself once he started to cry... Yoongi barely reacted, a simple "hmm," escaping.

"It's a damn good song," Jimin agreed, slow clapping with approval.

"It is, a big butt is appreciated in this christian household," Jin laughed, but he meant what he said sincerely. He loved a large, perky butt.

Jungkook however, loved a little more than that...

"Aw Kookie, you're blushing. Someone's got a thing for a big girl, huh?" Hoseok continued to laugh, never meaning any harm of course but teasing the younger like he would a little brother.

It was true though, Jungkook loved big girls. He was hypnotised by them; just how their bodies moved, the little jiggle of their curves with every step... He dared to imagine how a big girl would feel under his touch; the squish of her flesh, able to grab handfuls of her as he worships her from head to toe. The ripple of flesh as he'd spank her bare behind, fucking into her from behind... The after-sex cuddles, nuzzling into her soft, warm flesh so comfortably. God, he loved the thought.

The boys teased Jungkook mercilessly after that evening; even when he had thought they may have forgotten about it. Nothing would be mentioned for a few weeks, until a larger girl was walking past their table in a restaurant, or a big girl appeared on their television; it gave each member ammo to tease poor Kookie until he was a brilliant shade of beetroot.

His hyungs never meant to upset him, and they certainly had nothing against anybody who was plus sized, nor did they ever mock anyone for their weight. They knew, of course, that beauty goes much deeper; but it was so fun to watch Jungkook blush.

Weeks passed since his half-admission, and Jungkook still adored the song that triggered his fantasies. Every time it came on shuffle, his mind was filled with images of beautiful big girls, dancing to it in a bar with their friends, singing to it at karaoke, humming it whilst cooking breakfast for the him after a long, hot steamy night, moaning out sinful expletives to it as it played as he ravaged them...

"JUNGKOOK!" Namjoon banged on his bedroom door, scaring the shit out of him as he lay on his bed, palming himself through his sweats to the song and his imagination. "Stop jacking off to the Michelin man and get out here." Shit.

Jungkook paused the music on his stereo and waited a moment in order to conceal the very obvious hard on he had given himself with his own imagination, and made his way out to the living room, dragging his feet in a sulk.

"What?" he grunted.

"Pleasant greeting, especially seeing as we're about to give you your birthday present," Jin scoffed, an envelope in his hand.

"S-sorry... Birthday present? It's not for a week?" he rubbed the back of his neck, confused and still slightly groggy from his earlier states of consumed lust.

"Yeah but, we need to give it to you now..." Jin held the envelope out in front of him, and the younger gladly took it, opening at as the rest of the boys looked on in anticipation for his reaction.

"No way..." his eyes widened, reading over the words on the page over and over. "London?! We're going to LONDON?!"

"Yeah, all of us. We've never really done any real touristy things there, and well, seeing as you're totally obsessed with Queen we thought you might like to spend some time where they came from? Visit some of their history, if you will?" Namjoon smiled, giddy with glee at the younger's happiness.

"I'd love to, yeah. Whoa... London," his eyes gleamed with joy as he continued to stare at the plane tickets in hand. "We leave tomorrow? Jesus it's so sudden."

"Yeah, so you should get packing. Two weeks, Kookie, Pack for two weeks," Tae shooed him back into his room. Jungkook went to turn, but decided to run at the group and pull them all into a ridiculous and awkward seven-way hug.

"This is awesome, thank you so much."

The brothers loved seeing him so excited, each wishing him an early happy birthday and patting him on the back or ruffling his hair.

And then Jungkook scurried back off to his room to find an empty suitcase and stuff it in the most chaotic organised mess known to man.

***

Jungkook spent days dragging the boys through London to different spots of significance to queen's legacy, giddily jumping from target to target. Along the way, they hit up bars, a couple of typical tourist spots, but the majority of the time was spent doing what Jungkook wanted; this was his birthday trip, after all.

But today, was Jungkook's birthday. And the boys had something... planned.

9pm rolled around, and the boys had eaten and gone back to their hotel rooms, telling Jungkook to dress up relatively smart ready for a night out.

Where, he had no idea. But he trusted his brothers, and knew whatever it was would be fun.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in the ensuite of his room, Jungkook was pleased with his outfit. His black jeans clung to his muscled thighs, the maroon silk shirt he was wearing tucked into the waistband with the top two buttons undone, revealing a little skin and a gold key pendant. His long hair drooped in front of his eyes, parted in the middle.

He fiddled with the strands, seeing if they looked better tucked behind his ears or not; he couldn't decide.

A knock at the door to his room stopped him messing with his hair, knowing full well it was his brothers ready to take him to wherever they had in mind.

"Jungkook, open up! Come on!" It was Jimin, yelling through the door.

He grabbed his leather jacket that he'd flung over the end of his bed and made his way to the door.

***

"Please say you're joking..." Jungkook whined in the back of the cab, looking out at the neon light that spelled out 'Burlesque' flashing above a staircase leading down into a basement club.

"Nope," Hoseok grinned, opening the door and letting out the four of them. Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi had followed behind in a separate cab.

Jungkook stepped out last, reluctant and shy.

"Hyung, seriously... I'm not so sure about-"

"What, you shy? Embarrassed? C'mon, this is like, British at it's best, right?" Hoseok encouraged.

"I thought it was French?" Jin argued, coming up behind the group.

"Actually the term started in Italy, like 400 years ago..." Namjoon, ever the intellect, started to reel off a history lesson.

"Okay fine I'll go in, if it'll stop this," Jungkook waved his hand in Namjoon's general direction, making a bee line for the door to the steps. The others followed, grinning and giggling at Jungkook's already flushed cheeks.

They had done this on purpose. He was surprisingly coy about anything sexual with them; the others? Overtly sexual. As open as you could be. But Jungkook never got over his shyness. He . could have a laugh and a joke but the second it got serious, his cheeks would flush, his hands would get clammy and his heart would race.

Perhaps, because he was a kinky little fucker, and he didn't want people to know just how much...

But the boys still liked to mess with him. He was the baby, after all. So, burlesque club it was...

When Jungkook reached the bottom step, he stopped at the cloakroom, seeing a man in a booth waiting to take admission.

"How many, sir?" he had asked. Jungkook looked at the man for the moment; a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a red waistcoat, black lined eyes and a small tuft of hair sticking out from under a black bowler hat, reminiscent of the kind Charlie Chaplin wore.

Jungkook thanked his lucky stars that he'd been paying attention to his English tuition lately, not wanting to wait for Namjoon to translate. In fact, he'd gotten pretty damn good at it... Fluent, even.

"Uh, seven please."

"Have you booked?" he opened a diary.

"Yes, we have. Under the name Kim," Namjoon appeared beside Jungkook, smiling kindly and offering up ID of his passport. The attendant nodded, striking the name off the book.

"Okay, booth number four, front and centre," he grinned at the group of men that had now gathered, "Enjoy!" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Jungkook had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He was just doing his job after all.

The men wandered into the club, Namjoon finding the table with the golden number four at the edge. The men settled in the booth, with Jungkook placed strategically in the middle. The cloakroom attendant had been right; front and centre.

The lights to the club were dim, a spotlight trained on the stage at the front. Large red velvet curtains with gold trimmings hid most of the stage from view, waiting for the first act. Waiters and waitresses, all wearing black dress shirts and red waistcoats like the doorman, wondered the floor freely, taking drinks orders from the tables that were sat waiting. Punters were sat along the bar, mostly middle aged men there alone, or couples who hadn't booked a table.

Almost every table was full, both men and women alike. Groups of women were just as frequent as the men; girls' nights and bachelorette parties side by side with working class men out of an evening and bachelor parties too. The atmosphere was likened to that of a concert, before the lights go down and the artist walks on stage; the dull hum of conversation and anticipation filling the space.

A waitress came to take the order for the table, hurriedly scurrying off to collect their drinks and returning around 5 minutes alter, a tray perfectly balanced in her hand.

The boys got chatting, passing the time before the real show started. Jungkook sat nervously, an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure about all this, he felt so vulnerable. He understood that burlesque was a beautiful art form and not just stripping; this was different. But something in him just felt uneasy about watching girls dancing and stripping, and he was sure it was because his hyungs were there to make fun of him for it.

He watched the time on his watch, ticking closer and closer to 10pm; he was sure that was when it was due to start. It must be...

And he was right. 10pm, and the bar lights dimmed, the spotlight shone, and the curtains slowly drew back, revealing a stage covered in beautiful girls, poised and ready to move as the music began. Their outfits were damn near sinful, and had all of the boys drooling into their cocktails; the beautiful red rhinestones that covered every inch of their bras, corsets and panties, the huge black feathers that fanned out behind them and stuck out of the top of headdresses, the black fishnet stockings held up by the red suspender belts, the classy red heel pumps... All were taken off one by one to the music, leaving each beautiful lady stood in underwear, stocking and vibrant red nipple tassels, swinging around suggestively.

The audience clapped and cheered as they finished the introductory number, the first act done with after 15 minutes of teasing, dancing, contortion and stripping.

The next act was introduced by a host; a male dressed like a ringmaster, of all clichés. This was acrobatic; two beautiful blonde women, performing beautiful movements in aerial routines, backflips, front flips, splits, cartwheels and using each other's bodies to create shapes the natural body should never be able to form.

Jungkook was of course, in awe at the show, watching as act upon act did their thing after the host's introduction; dances, teasing, acrobatics, lip sync routines, live singers; it was incredible to watch. And yes, very, very sexy.

He couldn't help but let his mind wander, much like every other person watching. What would it be like to be with one of these dancers for an evening? What would it be like to have someone put on a show like this in private?

Another show ended, and all seven of the boys clapped in appreciation of the group of girls who had just finished their rendition of Marilyn Monroe's 'Lazy'.

The host wondered back onto the stage, clapping too.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Well, next up is the girl you've all been waiting for... Ms. Devereaux!"

The place erupted.

A standing ovation as the lights went down, cheers and whistles filled the air and Jungkook and the others sat in quiet confusion, clapping and waiting for something to happen on the stage to explain the incredible reaction from everyone else in the room.

The noise died down, people sat in their seats once again, and the music began...

"Aaaaaaare you gonna take me home tonight?"

Jungkook sat bolt upright, suddenly very aware of himself and surroundings.

"Oooohhhh, down beside your red fire light."

He had to be hearing things.

"Aaaaaaare, you gonna let it all hang out?"

Nope, this was happening.

"Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round!"

The spotlight hit as the familiar guitar started to strum, landing on you, your back to the audience, shaking your hips and tapping your foot to the guitar's rhythm.

Jungkook could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing full well that every pair of eyes at his table were now focussed on him, and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from where you stood on stage. He hadn't even seen your face, but god, he knew you were beautiful.

Your outfit was all black, elegant and yet so delectably scandalous. You wore a steel boned corset, moulding your delightful rolls into an hourglass figure to be envious of. It was black, laced at the back by black ribbon with small ruffle details alone the top. It dipped at the front, a clear v-line to show off the deep cleavage create by pushing your breasts together. From the hips to the back was covered in a feather train, cutting off at the back of your knees.

Suspenders hung from a garter belt hidden underneath the corset that attached to simple black stockings, the stitching running up the back of each of your legs following every little bump of cellulite and the natural curve of your calves.

Black satin panties covered your most important areas, the material shining against your beautiful round ass as you shook it in the spotlight to the music. Shiny black pumps stomped on the stage to the beat, along with a fancy cane you were holding in your right hand. Gloves made of the same sheer material as your stocking covered your forearms up past the elbow, an air of such sophistication added to your ensemble. And finally, a top hat with a couple of black feathers sticking up from the back.

Jungkook's jaw was hanging open, a comical 'o' shape of absolute shock etched into his face. The rest of the boys mimicked him, except they were looking at him, not at you on the stage.

The song continued, Freddie's oh so familiar voice singing out about beautiful big girls while you strut across the stage, flirting with the table in the front, dancing and hitting every beat, using your pure sexuality to entice every member of the audience as they whistled and clapped with glee.

"I've been singing with my band, across the wire, across the land, I seen every blue eyed floozy on the way, hey!

But their beauty and their style, went kind of smooth after a while. Take me to them dirty ladies every time..."

Jungkook was bewitched, watching as you continued your number; so sexy, swaying your hips and using your cane as you slowly took one glove off, followed by another. He loved the red lipstick you were wearing, imagining it smeared across his own neck with you biting and nipping at his skin to leave purple bruise marks... He watched you slowly taking off the smaller accessories of your ensemble, wishing so damn hard that it was him who would be able to do it instead.

When the chorus kicked in again, the club erupted to sing along. Skilfully, you undid the bow in the ribbon lacing your corset together, and started to undo the clasps at the front with one hand as your twirled your cane with the other. Before you let it fall, you threw it to one side, twirling so the audience didn't quite see your bare breasts covered only by black nipple tassels. You had more to take off before you finally revealed yourself...

At his table, the other members were getting rowdy like the rest of the club. They knew the song well, thanks to Jungkook, so sang along where they could, waving their arms around and dancing in place. But Kookie sat still, staring, mesmerised and imagining all the sinful activities he would just love to do with you.

He couldn't help himself; watching the way your hips swayed, your ass bounced, your thighs jiggled... It was turning him on to no end, and he was so desperate for you. To him, you were an absolute goddess, everything about you so beautiful. He'd never seen anyone like you before.

As the song neared its end, you were practically nude; the heels had been kicked off, the stockings taken off with the garter belt following, the top hat discarded and flung into the audience.

You kept yourself fairly concealed, your back to the crowd until Freddie shouts "GET ON YOUR BIKES AND RIDE", and you span around dancing to the guitar and Freddie's ad-libs as the song drew to a close, the tassels spinning and swaying, every beautiful roll of yours jiggling so perfectly.

Jungkook watched in awe as your danced around with your cane, practically nude, showing off your beautiful body. He could feel himself hardening, straining against the tightness of his jeans that he was grateful were so tight, there was no way anyone would be able to tell he was actually hard...

He had to meet you. He had to. If nothing else, just to tell you how beautiful he thought you were.

As the number ended, you posed at the edge of the stage, looking front and centre at Jungkook. Everybody in the room was cheering, clapping, whistling, all on their feet. But Jungkook stayed in his seat, and it caught your eye. You noticed just how dark his eyes were, how hooded they looked. You knew that look; it was lust. He was totally under your spell. So, being the showgirl you were, you smirked at him and winked, with a little blow of a kiss in his direction, before the lights went out and you exited the stage.

You had a few other numbers that night, a couple of different songs to do; some solo, some in groups, but each time you noticed Jungkook still staring, still spell bound. You found it quite amusing; such a handsome, muscled yet lean guy, incapacitated by a plus size burlesque dancer.

Cute.

The final number included all the performers, wrapping up the night in a beautiful display of acrobatics, live vocals, contortion, dancing and of course, mild nudity amongst a blur of feathers, rhinestones and tassels. You took your final bow with your colleagues and friends, and made your way backstage to turn yourself back from Ms. Devereaux into y/n, ready to step back out into the club to mingle with the regulars and staff you knew and loved so much until closing.

Back on the floor, Jungkook felt almost like he was floating. It may have been the precarious amount of cocktails he had sipping on throughout the night, but he was sure that it was you he was intoxicated by.

As his brothers sat chatting and continuing to drink, enjoying the night - and occasionally making jabs at Jungkook for his reaction to your numbers, - Jungkook sat dipping in and out of the conversation, he attention elsewhere. He kept looking over to the corner of the club, a door with a 'stage door' sign on and a man clad in all black with an earpiece in one ear standing watch outside. He had to try...

He excused himself from the table, Namjoon and Tae having to stand to let him out of the booth. They assumed he was on his way to the bathroom, until they watched him head straight for the stage door.

"What the hell is he doing?" Yoongi asked, confused.

The others shrugged, watching intently.

The bouncer at the door held a hand out to Jungkook, who stood awkwardly, hands plunged into his pockets

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, hands crossed in front of him.

"I-I was... um, is it possible to speak to one of the dancers?" he asked, nerves making him stutter over his words.

"Which one?"

"Uh... Ms. Dav-Daver..." he couldn't quite remember your name completely

"Ms. Devereaux?" the bouncer knew who he meant, thankfully. Jungkook nodded. "I'll let her know she has a fan," the man smirked, pressing a button on a radio he pulled from his back pocket and speaking into it, "Mr. Vandross, I have a gentleman here who would like to speak to Ms. Devereaux." The radio beeped and static poured out.

"Okay, 10 minutes," a male voice came back through the device.

"Now worries," the bouncer replied, shoving the radio into his pocket again. "10 minutes, sir. If you'd like to wait by the bar. Ms. Devereaux's will have a mojito."

"O-oh, okay..." Jungkook wasn't sure exactly what just happened, or what he expected to happen, but he turned back towards the bar and took up an empty stool near the end, ordering a drink for himself and your favourite cocktail. He watched the hands of his watch tick by minute by minute, anxiously tapping his foot against the bar stool, until he saw movement beside him, taking the stool next to him.

"Hello," you smiled, taking the mojito that Frankie the bar tender had brought to you as you sat down and taking a sip. Jungkook was taken back a little bit, still very much in awe of your beauty. You had kept your make up on, but now were wearing a knee length bodycon dress that hugged you in every place you had so proudly shown off throughout the night.

"H-hi..." Seeing you up close like this, being able to take in every feature of your face as well as your body, created a tsunami of nerves Jungkook hadn't expected. You were even more beautiful now, if that were possible.

"I was told you wanted to see me. What can I do for you?"

So much, Jungkook thought.

"I just wanted to say that... well, um- y-you're really beautiful and very talented." He played with the cocktail stirrer in his glass as he spoke. You smiled sweetly at his kind comment. Clearly his first language was not English; you could tell by the way he paused between words to think. It was endearing to you, something so cute. He was trying so hard, trying to talk to you as best he could.

You could tell you were making him nervous by the way he bit his lip and fiddled with his long hair, pushing it back and letting it flop back into place.

"What's your name?" you asked, curious to know more about this absolutely gorgeous man who looked like such a confident soul by appearance, but was downright terrified now he was in front of you.

"J-Jungkook," he stuttered again. Aw.

"I like it," you mused, and he hung his head as he smiled at your compliment. "Jungkook, you seem nervous," you placed your hand on his knee, feeling just how tight those jeans were. His eyes darted to your hand, electricity sparking at the contact.

"S-sorry, Ms. Devereaux. I just think you're so..." he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Beautiful wasn't enough; in fact, he was sure he didn't have an English word in his repertoire that could describe how gorgeous you were.

"Please, Ms. Devereaux is my stage name. I'm y/n, call me by that," you removed your hand from his knee, taking hold of your cocktail and taking another sip. "I'm flattered you think of me so highly. I noticed you, y'know. On stage I mean. The way you looked at me..." you leaned a little closer to him, so close he could smell the perfume you had sprayed before meeting him, "like you just wanted to fuck me," you whispered.

Jungkook's head snapped up, making eye contact with such shock...

"I-I'm sorry?"

"The look on your face, it was...primal. You wanted me, you were thinking about it, picturing it. Were you not?" you challenged, leaning your elbow on the bar and leaning into him a little more, keeping your voice low and so god damn seductive he was falling deeper and deeper into that imagination again.

"I-I..."

"It's okay, you can say it..." you teased, pressing your free hand against his thigh and feeling the taught muscle straining. Wow, you thought, those thighs... You would be more than happy to let him use those thighs against you however he liked. "Do you want to fuck me, Jungkook?"

He took a moment, thinking carefully of the pros and cons of this situation. Not that it mattered, he answered without paying attention to either.

"So much," he practically growled. You smirked, watching that darkness return to his eyes.

"Then why are we still sat here?"

Immediately Jungkook took your hand, downed his drink and without a thought to the rest of his brothers - who had all been watching from their booth in awe - took your hand from his knee and pulled you out of the club.

On the surface, you hailed a black cab down, climbing in the back with Jungkook in tow.

"My place or yours?" you had asked, and Jungkook barked the hotel name at the driver.

The whole car ride was laced with so much sexual tension. You had a moment of what the hell are you doing, y/n? that you brushed to the back of your mind. No, this wasn't like you. You had never taken a punter home before, never slept with anyone you met at work. But this guy... You couldn't pass this delicious specimen up.

You placed your hand on his thigh once again, a little higher than before, squeezing the muscle as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, using the close proximity to nuzzle your hair. Whatever shampoo you used was intoxicating to him. You could feel his hot breath on your ear, taken by surprise when he started to nip at the lobe and suckle lightly.

He wasted no time when the cab pulled up outside the hotel, passing far too many notes to the driver as he pulled you out with his arm around your waist. Already, he loved the way it felt under his touch, the squish just as delectable as he had imagined.

The both of you had been holding back since the cab ride but when he finally got you in the elevator alone, he couldn't stop himself.

Catching you off guard, he pushed you into the corner, looming over you with such animal lust you thought he might take you right there and then. Instead, he crashed his lips down onto yours, finally getting to taste you. His hands groped at your hips pulling them closer to his own in an attempt to grind on you, but the tightness of his jeans meant the friction he desired was further away than he thought.

The elevator dinged and doors opened on Jungkook's floor. He was too caught up in you that he didn't move; you had to push him with a giggle and direct him out into the corridor.

"Which room is it?" you laughed, looking both ways as if the room would be basking in a golden glow and obvious to you if you just looked hard enough. It wasn't.

"This way," he pulled on your hand in the direction of his room, digging in his pockets for his wallet and key card to get in.

Pulling you into the hotel room, he slammed the door shut behind the two of you, kicking it shut. You surprised him by pushing him up against it now, getting him back for trapping you in the elevator.

You kissed him again, going a little slower than Jungkook may have liked, but you wanted to savour the moment. Besides, you had been teasing all night; it was your job. Why would you stop now?

Using your tongue to lightly graze against his lips, you silently told him to open up, diving in further to deepen you kiss. Jungkook chuckled to himself; you tasted like your mojito. He pulled back for breath, resting his head back on the door and looking down at you through his lashes.

Your red lipstick had barely smudged, only the slightest trace he was ever there. I'll have to try harder, he thought.

A few deep breaths and Jungkook resumed the kiss, cupping your rounded face with one hand to create an intimate moment between you. It was sweet, but you were running out of patience and the lust was building and building.

Grabbing hold of his leather jacket, you slipped it off his shoulders, throwing it to the side. Grabbing fistfuls of the silk shirt, you pull him as you step back further into the room until the edge of his bed hits the back of your knees. Your hands make light work of the buttons on the shirt, undoing them and exposing his chest and abs. Holy shit, the abs.

Untucking it from his jeans, he rips the material from his torso for you, his lips never leaving yours as they moulded together so desperately.

He breaks you apart once again, spinning you round to have you stood with your back to him. His hands trace from your hips, up your waist to the zipper at the back of your dress. Slowly, he dragged it down, undoing the material to expose the bra straps and flesh hiding beneath. You pulled the sleeves off your arms pushing the material off you, down your hips, wiggling them as you slipped out of it. The dress hit the floor, and you're now stood in front of him, your back to him, in simple lace lingerie; a stark contrast to the rhinestones, glitter and feathers from hours before.

Jungkook's hands slowly lifted from beside him, slipping around your waist to feel you, needing to touch the beautiful ripples of flesh around your hips and tummy.

"You feel so soft," he whispered into your ear, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands wandering over your body. You reached behind you, unclasping your bra to drop to the side of you, leaning back into Jungkook's touch as his lips trailed back up to your neck, suckling on the skin.

His hands raised from your waist to meet your now free breasts, loving the way they felt in his hands. And you had to admit, this was possibly the most erotic foreplay you'd had in a long time. Jungkook was skilled with his hands, and you core ached to find out just how good with his hands he could be...

You turned to face him once again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you, pressing your bare chests together as his arms enveloped you, loving how squishy you felt.

Your lips reconnected, your tongues doing that same familiar dance as before as he pushed you again, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed below him. You crawled back, enough so that he had space to kneel between your knees on the mattress and hover over you, his long hair tickling the skin on your forehead and his key pendant dangling between the mounds of your breasts.

He kissed a line of wet, sloppy kisses down your neck again, suckling and biting but using his tongue each time to soothe the sting of his teeth. Before long his mouth was on your breast, suckling at your sensitive nipple with an outrageous amount of care. his actions elicited the first real moan of the evening, unable to contain your pleasure any longer.

His lips continued their assault south, leaving little red marks along your chubby tummy that you were sure would turn purple given time. He spent time there, simply kissing, biting suckling at your chub, and despite the intimate actions, you never felt at all insecure about your weight like many other sexual encounters had made you feel. In fact, you felt empowered.

He was worshipping you, in all your beautiful rubenesque beauty.

Your core was aching for him, the wetness pooling in your panties the longer he spent adoring your body. You wriggled a little under him, uncomfortably aroused. He must be feeling it too, the strain against his jeans getting too much to bare, but he soldiered on, only caring about you and your wellbeing. He wanted to please you so much.

His kisses lowered again, reaching the space where your tummy protruded the most just above the lace of your panties. He looked up at you again through his lashes, his eyes as dark as they had been when you were performing. He was asking - begging - for your approval... And of course you gave it, spreading your legs wider for him to settle between.

His lips touched your thighs, peppering the flesh with kisses. He loved the way they jiggled a little with every small movement you made, every squirm under each kiss.

Suddenly, his kisses concentrated on your lace covered pussy, the heat of his breaths sending such wonderful shivers up your spine; finally some contact. He pulled the fabric to the side, revealing only part of where you needed him most. He kissed the bare skin, your juices coating his lips in a beautiful gloss; it suited him well.

He sat up momentarily, pulling the fabric off your legs before he lunged forward, pouncing on you like a cat on its prey. He had tasted you on his lips and immediately needing more. He couldn't stop himself.

His lips covered your mound, his tongue darting out between your folds to lap your juices up, tasting that sweet taste oh so completely. Your breath fell short as your back arched, the warm wetness a brand new sensation that you could only describe as emphatic.

"J-Jungkook," you whined, breathless as his tongue circled your clit, the nerves reacting accordingly.

"Mmm," he hummed from between your thighs, using his strength to hold them down, squishing at the flesh. He knew how to used his mouth, and every damn part of it; his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, grazing the bundle of nerves gently to elicit another reaction.

"Oh, fuck, it feels so good..." your hands bunched in his hair, pulling at the long strands. The sting he felt only spurred him on, loving the feeling of you controlling him like this.

One of the hands clutched around your thighs let go, snaking around to plunge two long fingers into your entrance. The intrusion was surprising, but most welcome, stretching you out so well as his mouth continued attacking your clit. He curled them, tapping up on the soft cushion inside you that made you pulse with need. Fuck, he was too good at this.

That delicious feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach, your pussy throbbing rhythmically as he brought you closer and closer to the edge; tapping and curling his fingers, working his mouth harder, sloppier on you.

"Sh-shit... Oh, my god. I'm- I'm gonna..." you weren't making any sense audibly, but your body's reaction was translating enough. Jungkook knew you were close, and somehow, he kicked into high gear as he fucked your pussy with his fingers harder.

Something inside you burst, like someone has gripped a full water balloon tighter and tighter until it exploded. The metaphor was spot on, the sheets completely soaked as your pussy got over-excited, squirting more arousal around Jungkook's hand and dripping down his chin.

No one had ever made you do that before; even Jungkook seemed shocked as he sat up, wiping his mouth, watching you regain some modicum of stability.

"H-how? What did you do?" you asked. "I didn't know I could do that," you laughed, trying to gain your breath back.

Jungkook just grinned in response, a shit-eating, smug grin, before he was attacking your lips with his own again, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You'd barely had any time to recuperate, but you absolutely were not going to stop him.

Now it was his turn for some relief.

He wasted no time undoing the leather belt on his jeans and popping the button and zipper. You tried to help, your hands getting in the way a little but eventually taking lead to pull the tight material from his hips, exposing the thighs you marvelled at earlier that night. He scrambled to remove the rest, pulling off his boxers as he did so. Versace, you noticed. Very nice.

But now, he was like you; completely nude, completely exposed.

As soon as you saw the size of him, your cunt ached again. You needed him, to feel full. He was of average length, but certainly thicker than any man you had been with before. You could practically already feel the stretch...

"Turn over," he demanded, all worship lost on you and now, he needed this; his fantasy. You did as you were told, flipping over onto your stomach and raising your ass into the air for him, giving him a delicious behind view of your pussy and outrageous bubble butt. "Fuck," he whispered as his hand grazed the skin of your cheek; this is what he wanted, what he'd always wanted.

Gently, he tapped the flesh, testing the waters but watching as the skin rippled, just as he had imagined it would. His cock leaked a drop of pre-cum at the sight.

When you giggled a little in response, he took that as the consent you had meant it to be to spank a little harder. When he did, you squeaked a little, reacting to the sting. You loved it. you wanted it harder. You wanted branding.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he said, lining his head up with your entrance, ready and dripping for him again already. The delightful stretch you felt as he pushed into you was euphoric, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your arms almost giving way underneath you. His fingers dug into your ass, his nails creating little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

It took all his willpower not to lose control right then, knowing you'd need a second to adjust having only been used to two of his fingers before. You silently thanked him, and when you were ready, started to bounce your ass against him to gain the friction you both needed.

Jungkook needn't move; you were doing the work for him, every pound of glorious jiggle bounding in front of him. He watched in amazement, feeling nothing but pure pleasure as you moved on his dick, but he could only take it for so long until he needed control back.

He needed to pound into you the way he had imagined. And so, he did.

Gripping onto your love handles, he pulled your hips back onto him, his balls slapping hard against your pussy. It felt fantastic, and god, did you love being controlled like this. You cried out at the movement, egging him on to please, please keep doing that.

He pulled his hips back again, before slamming back into you with force. Your ass rippled at the action and my god did he love it. He needed to see more of it, that beautiful jiggle.

As he fucked into you from behind, his hand collided with your ass check with much more force than before, sure to leave a red hand print like you had hoped. You cried out, biting down on the sheets underneath you to keep the screams from getting too loud.

With him spanking at your ass and drilling into you with such ferocity, you knew you wouldn't last long. Especially after the first powerful orgasm he had given you.

But he pulled out of you completely, using all his strength to flip you over again. He crawled back on top of you, positioning his hip in-between your thighs before pistoning his hips forward and impaling you on his length again. Jungkook had decided he needed to see your beautiful face, your fucked out eyes and your pink flushed cheeks when you came around his cock. He wanted the intimacy back that you can't get from behind. He had got his wish, and now he needed to be close to you.

The sweat on his forehead had gathered and matted his hair to his face, making him look even more fucking god-like than you even thought possible. You pushed the hair out of his face as he thrust up into you, grinding your hips together as he did. His eyes were glazed with lust and staring straight into yours that you could barely keep open. He loved how you looked, how you bounced under him.

Your hand moved from tugging his hair back to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips desperately as the two fo you got so close to your untimely end. You wished you could both go for longer but there was too much to get excited about, too much to turn you on to be able to prolong the inevitable.

"Y-You're so beautiful, y/n. So, so fucking beautiful," he mumbled against your lips between groans and grunts of animalistic nature.

"K-Kookie," the nickname rolled of your tongue without thinking, followed by a moan that told him you were getting close again. He knew he wouldn't last much longer the second your walls clenched around him. But he didn't want you to miss out on your second high, not on account of him.

"Touch yourself for me," he instructed, "please..." his begging tone was surprising but so charming, and you'd be evil to ignore him. You slipped your hand between the two of you, drawing pleasant circles over your clit as he continued to fuck into you.

With the new sensation, you had seconds left. Your back arched up into him, pressing your bodies together. You couldn't control your squirming anymore, knowing that what was coming was going to be earth shattering.

Jungkook growled as you clenched again, lowering his head to your breasts and biting gently down on one of your nipples, kneading your breast with his hand. Too much; it was all too much. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure beneath him.

Your nerves seemed to to catch alight, like a burning ember had met gasoline inside your body. Your breath hitched in your throat silencing your moans and every muscle clenched tightly as it all hit at once. As stage one of your orgasm played out, stage two came in what felt like electric shocks hitting you multiple times, rocketing through you and pulsing. Your legs convulsed, muscles twitching and the like someone had pressed unmute on you, you let out the most tremendous moans of bliss.

Jungkook kept thrusting, losing his rhythm as he watched you come undone. It turned him on so much, and when your pussy started to pulse around him that was it for him; beautifully warm spurts of cum painted your walls as his body went rigid. He grit his teeth, a long, low grunt erupting from the very pits of his stomach.

It took you both a few moments to regain some sense, breathing hard and heavy. Jungkook had to use all his upper body strength to keep him from collapsing on you, still reeling from the most intense orgasm he thinks he had ever had.

"Shit..." he huffed, looking up to see you beet red, panting and completely fucked out. His arms ached so much he couldn't hold himself up anymore, collapsing into your soft body and snuggling into you with exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" you asked, still panting away like a dog in ferocious sunlight. He nodded against you, still breathing hard himself. "Well... that was- that was incredible. You're incredible."

"Thanks..." he chuckled. "I... I'm here for another week, y'know..." he looked up at you, waiting for a response. You hummed in approval.

"Thats at least another... six or seven shows," you grinned. If he was insinuating that the two of you were going to continue these little hotel escapades for the remainder of his stay, who were you to say no...

"Tomorrow, you're bringing all that shit back here with you." He wanted the feathers, the rhinestones, the glitter, and he wanted it littering his hotel room floor. "And that cane, too..."

"A private show, huh? I'm sure we can arrange that. Any song requests?" you teased.

"Fat bottomed girls," he replied. "Absolutely, every fucking time. Fat bottomed girls."

#bts #bts au #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #jungkook #jeon jungkook #smut au #plus size #plus size smut #plus size au #size kink #burlesque

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georgemackayhey · 5 years ago

Text

Like Real People Do

“Hii can you do an imagine, "Your first time with George" maybe as an insecure/uneasy reader"

"Can you pleeaaassse write more nsfw stuff? More Than A Night Out gave me my rights"

Alright yall, heed the 18+ warning!

Seriously, I really don't want to block anyone (I love yall!) On that note... I wouldn't say this theme is my strong suit, nor have I been in a good headspace, but boy did I try my best ♡

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You didn't date.

You called off meeting up with strangers in bars and listening to them tell half-assed life stories, embellishing in hopes they'd get to have their way with you in the same evening.

You were happy to mingle among friends on weekends and at parties, but going home alone felt safe. Keeping to yourself was the best bet, having learned your lesson by now. You recalled more unpleasant domestic experiences than ones that left you daydreaming of more. So you simply stayed single.

Some of your friends didn't regard your limits, tricking you into double dates and the like. Other friends understood but still gushed over their brothers and cousins in hopes you'd be intrigued by their qualities and demand to be introduced with wedding rings on standby.

And then there were the friends who never asked or bothered you about it at all. George was one of those friends.

He was your ride to your friend groups monthly movie theater meet up's. And he always let you take home his leftovers after dinners he wasted chatting with your mutual friends about books and culture.

In turn, you let George borrow your favorite albums. And you'd always saved him a seat in the back of bars you had to show up to for friend's birthday parties, while they threw themselves between strangers on the dance floor. Times like then were when you got to know George best.

And during the last month of summer, George invited everyone to take over a beach house big enough for your ever-expanding group and more. Apparently some of his distant family owned the property but were hardly ever in the area to enjoy it. So they gave George a spare key, and insisted he treated the place like his own.

And thankfully, then, between your friends racing to the shore in the witching hour, and when everyone split up into pairs for the evening, George kept you company. You made a habit of joining each other on the rickety front porch, sharing a drink, and usually sitting in silence.

But there were nights you talked about the constellations you could see above the roaring ocean. And where you'd like to live if you had an unlimited budget. Where you'd come from and what you wanted, and didn't.

You went home to the most dreary September of all time. You used to adore the solitude of your dull apartment. But you missed waking up to your friend's laughter, having someone, if not many more, to enjoy market runs and mealtimes with. You had never felt more lonely. And you couldn't stop thinking of George.

When he came round to give you a lift to the movie theater, your usual ride together was quiet. The silence between you was heavy- you wondered if he noticed. You sat together in a boring film. Or maybe it was the best of all time. You could only focus on how close George was to you, how you'd recognized the feeling of his company. You wondered how to ask him to come around more often, without sounding pathetically desperate.

Luckily birthday parties and Halloween bashes kept coming. And you kept finding quiet places to listen to George tell his stories. And he would always share his drink, and ask about your family, and how you were doing.

One night when he invited everyone around to his flat and only a couple of your friends managed to show up, they headed out soon after dinner. You were left alone in George's kitchen to help clean up and wonder what to do with the rest of the early blue evening.

And even though your heart beat in your throat, and everything you thought to say sounded stupid in your head, you determined it was time.

During a much too easy card game at Georges table, when a conversation about some of the horrifically silly things George had witnessed you manage in the past; you decided to stop testing the waters, and address them.

"I can't believe you put up with me." You grinned, peering past your hand of playing cards to the guy sat beside you.

"I just like you," George answered simply, his ocean eye flickering up to meet yours for a beat.

"Really?" You asked, pushing for him to say more, hoping he got the hint.

"I really do." George grinned shyly, turning his attention back to his hand of playing cards he kept accidentally giving you glimpses of. You watched George bite his lip and fiddle with the cards as if he were arranging them just so.

"What if... I like you too?" It wasn't just his tousled yellow hair, or the way his smile was warmer than a ray of sun. It was his lame jokes. His soft answers. Him.

"You don't date." George rose a brow, keeping his eyes turned away. He wasn't bittered or mocking. He was accepting. George laid down his cards, to a game you weren't focused on at all anymore.

"I like you, George." You admit in a hush. His stunning eyes met yours. He seemed to consider your words, and much more. He started to speak a couple of times as he searched your features.

"So maybe... we can start slow..." You offered. You had never planned on opening up to anyone. But George had stuck around. He was always there when you needed him even when you hadn't known what you needed. He didn't make fun of your unreasonable anxieties and he always laughed at your jokes. Even the ones you knew weren't funny. You hadn't expected to ever let anyone close enough, you hadn't trusted anyone could feel like home. But before you could even decide, it was as if your heart grew a mind of its own and lept right out of your chest into George's orbit. So since he already seemed to have you, it seemed like common courtesy to at least let the guy know.

With a shy smile, George bore his brilliant blue eyes into yours, searching them for assurance. As you looked to each other you felt his knuckles brush yours, the back of his hand nervously creeping closer. George took one of his fingers and looped it around one of yours while he agreed that it would be silly for two people who felt the same way about each other to do nothing about it. So you did.

George started coming around when there wasn't any reason to, sometimes bringing take away, or asking you on walks around the park. Sometimes you'd sit in silence next to your favorite old tree and enjoy that last purple swirls in the dusk sky. And sometimes you'd watch films, one after another, pausing only to argue over the ending or make silly predictions. And times like then, you curled into George's side like a sleepy cat. He'd carded his warm hand through your hair as you drifted off, content.

You got snowed into his flat when you showed up a few hours before the first-holiday party of the season; to help bake treats for everyone. As ice froze everyone's doors shut, the party was swiftly canceled but your plans for the evening weren't ruined at all.

George set up his den with extra blankets, finding the holiday channel on the telly, standing to refill your cup of tea during commercials so you didn't have to move. He kissed you that night, soft and kind, and slow. You both fell asleep on the floor among the mess of all the blankets he owned, while snow piled up and over the window sills.

You spent New Year's Eve much like the past couple before, watching your wild group of pals take shots and dance to bad music. George listened to you talk as you waited for the new year to set in, and he kept one of his fingers looped around yours almost all night long.

When the snow started to melt and your group of friends started squeezing into their cut off jeans from the year before, George invited everyone back to the beach house. He set a date and sent out invitations in the mail like it was the damn 1800's. Most every rsvp got sent back with the box labeled "going "grossly marked up.

George offered to give you a lift there, a day early so he could stock up on emergency snacks and soaps and even more DVDs in case the rains came and ruined your fun on the shore. You agreed happily and walked through the isles of a department store together, picking out essentials based on how well you knew your group of friends who might need them.

And while you laughed and helped and listened, you grew increasingly more fucking terrified. Because you'd never spent so long enjoying one person's company. You were enamored with George yes, but what's more, was- you trusted him. You never thought it was possible. But you really did. And the thing that you were most scared of, was having to accept the possibility that he didn't feel the same way.

Things like this had gone wrong before. Granted, things had never gone remotely close to this right before, either. But you still prepared yourself to hurt. It was always a possibility you were too afraid of risking. But George was different. You somehow knew even if he hurt you, it would be the loveliest heartbreak you'd ever feel.

You got to the beach house, completely abandoned since the last time you left it. You found your someone's favorite lost t-shirt in one of the bathrooms, and a lot of dust on the shelves. After clearing away some of the cobwebs and unloading all your groceries to their respective places, night began to fall.

The sky was still blue enough to admire the roaring ocean from the front porch. George brought out a couple of drinks, and you sat there together like you had the summer before. Only now, it was a little too chilly. So you said goodnight to the scenery, making a note of spending extra time to soak up its beauty the next morning.

And on your way inside you joked about how someone was bound to forget to pack something they needed, or bring one of the things George asked them to. You were wrapped up in laughter as you turned out the lights and drifted to settle in.

When you headed to the bedroom where all your bags had been discarded, you scurried off to the ensuite shower. This was the room George stayed in last year, a space you'd never stepped foot near until tonight.

And when you stepped back out into the bedroom, you realized you didn't want to leave.

George was busy turning down his bed covers to the dim night light in a far off corner. A dark shine beamed in from the moon in the window next to the quilted bed, and George never looked more beautiful- perfectly tousled hair. Kind, sleepy eyes. Yeah, you'd let him break your heart.

"What?" He laughed in a warm low rumble, catching you staring. You bit back a chuckle and crossed the room to meet him.

"I just love you. That's all." You informed, circling one of your fingers around his, gazing up to the guy.

You'd said so in passing, during game nights he helped you win and in the middle of lunches he'd managed to talk you into ordering. But nothing prompted you now, and the statement held an all-new kind of weight.

"I love you, too," George whispered in turn, raising his other hand to your cheek.

"Can I stay in here? With you?" You asked, keeping your gaze set and your voice low even though no one else was around to hear.

"I'd like that." George assured with a tiny grin.

You clamored into the big bed, pointing out the window to the moon over the ocean. George eased in behind you, gazing all the same. You tangled your hands together staring out the window for a while, giggling over nothing every now and again. He was so impossibly close, so warm next to you.

"George." You turned your head slowly, catching his attention. He looked at you, silently wondering what you wanted. But somehow you didn't need to say.

Somehow he knew to lean in for a kiss, soft and sweet. When he pulled away, you could tell he didn't want to. When George looked at you, you could tell he longed for more, but still kept his distance, kept your meek nature in mind. He was too kind, too considerate. There weren't words to convey how you felt. You knew what came next. You wanted George.

You reached for his hand, and brought it to rest in the dip of your waist. He kept his eyes steady on yours while his thumb brushed over the skin exposed where your shirt had ridden up.

"Kiss me again?" You asked, barely a whisper. George leaned in, almost before you could finish asking, to press his mouth against yours. You grabbed a fist full of his shirt to pull him closer while George let his hand travel to the small of your back, holding you perfectly against him. He kissed you slow and deep like he was trying to put you in a trance.

Whether he meant to or not, you wondered if it worked, as you melted into the mattress all while lazily pulling him almost all the way on top of you. This was as far as you'd ever taken things with George, yanking at each other's clothes while you kissed until you couldn't breathe.

So when you gently pushed George away, he started to retract back to his side of the bed without putting up a fight. But you sat up too. And George watched on in wonder when you sheepishly slid into his lap, your knees on either side of his hips.

Without a word you pulled George's shirt up, silently suggesting he take it all the way off.

When he did, you didn't relish the sight long before you dove in for another kiss. His skin was burning, and you could feel his heart hammer when your hand traveled across his chest. You moved your kisses to his neck, reveling in the feeling of being so close. George kept one arm gently wrapped around you as your teeth grazed a spot under his ear that made his breath catch in his throat.

"Y/n. Are you- Do you..." George began, keeping his hold around you all the same. You pulled away, gazing to George through your lashes while your heart teetered on the edge.

"Do you not want to?" You worried. You were so finally sure. But George might not have been. So you prepared to be let down gently, knowing George would at least be kind enough to break your fall.

"Yes." George let out a breathy laugh, reaching to hold your head in both of his hands. "Of course I want to do this. But I know how you feel and if you don't-"

"I trust you, George." You nodded, searching his eyes while a smile bloomed across your face. You'd been so nervous for a moment like this to come true. But everything was different with George. He made you laugh when you never expected to, he made you think about things in ways you'd never even considered. He was so the one for you.

You wrapped your fingers around George's wrist, bringing his plus to your lips. You watched George's eyes flutter as you planted a small kiss there, before moving his hand to your hip.

"Just go slow." You nodded, watching George's eyes open to meet yours. You leaned your forehead against his while he nodded, making you laugh.

He decorated your cheeks with gentle pecks and moved his hands under the hem of your shirt as you leaned in to capture his lips with yours again. And because you spent a while that way, you weren't nervous to act upon taking things even further.

Kisses turned seering as George wrangled your shirt off. His lips traveled down your throat as you settled deeper into his lap, shocked by how easy this was. Your kisses grew longer and sloppier while your layers started to collect on the floor.

You impressed yourself by how effortlessly you reach to pull away George's trousers. He managed to kick them aside while you kept your lips on his, laughing between breaks for air.

But when he pulled you back into his lap, when his fingers danced around your waistband, you were suddenly swept up in the realization that this was happening. Like, really happening.

"Uh, wait a second." You halted in a shaky breath. You didn't want to stop, not completely. You just needed to assess things for a moment, to catch up with this new reality in which this wasn't upsetting or dull or any of the things being with anyone else ever was.

George stalled in an instant, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. "Do you want to stop?" He asked gently, hands firmly pressed against your back, eyes glowing right into yours.

"No way." You breathed with a grin. You knew it would be better than before, with George. Probably the best. It already was, you realized with a smile, encouraging George one more time. Your hips rolled against his, causing his heavenly sigh in your ear.

He wriggled you out of the last of your clothes and made you feel like a wonder of the world, tracing the shapes you were made up of with his pretty fingers. By the time you were laid against the pillows admiring the halo of light ringing around George's waves of hair, he asked again if you were sure about this.

"So long as you are." You swallowed.

"Of course I'm sure. God, I'm so sure." George pressed a kiss to your face between sentences, making you giggle and swoon all at once. "I've never been so sure of anyone but you. I'd like to keep it that way." George rambled, peppering a few more loving, gentle kisses to your cheek. "But if you want to stop for any reason, we'll stop. Just say so."

"Thank you, George." You grinned after a beat, knowing he really meant it. Recognizing how deeply he really cared for you, watching him search your face for validation. Watching George watch you, contentedly, like he had dozens of times before now. He gave you a slowly sleepy blink, ocean blue eyes shining brighter when they opened again.

George leaned closer, hovering over you with his eyes locked on yours. He molded a kiss to your lips before anything. Then to your cheek. Then his eyes fluttered to meet yours once more.

"Slow." You rose a brow, whispering a reminder, but it was really more of a green light for him to finally take the next step.

George repeated you, in a barely audible hush, soaking up the look in your eye. A lithe grin painted his lips while you held your breath. You accounted for the feeling of his fingers loosely tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing across your temple every now and again. You'd nearly forgotten everything else while swimming in those warm icy eyes of his. He didn't break you from your reverie when he gave a small nod. The gesture only settled you further, as you responded by lacing your fingers around the back of his neck.

George kept his hand nearly cradling your head as he pushed closer. His thumb brushing across the pulse of your temple was keeping you grounded while your heart threatened to soar into the clouds. While your breathing grew deeper, while he moved as close as he could until he couldn't anymore.

"You okay?" George asked, his voice beautifully strained.

"Uh-huh." You gazed at him through hooded eyes as you adjusted everything, including the realization that this was happening. He wasn't even moving yet. And he waited until you had to ask him to, with his head buried in your neck. After a couple of breaths, you looked to George, giving him a nod. He pressed his forehead against yours and moved his hips.

A tame, steady pace set in as you stopped George from asking if you were alright, again, assuring him you were really, very good. Your raspy encouragement must have given George the sound authority to go about awing you further.

He kept one hand against your temple while his other trailed down your side, fingers deliberately pressed into your skin as he brought your leg around his hip. George's strong-arm hooked under your back to keep you secured against him. He picked up the pace as your hands tangled in his hair, around his shoulder, holding on to the moment. To George.

You wondered why you waited so long to feel this damned good, while George spoke low in your ear. He listed off all the things he liked best about you, and why. He planted clumsy kisses to your lips. He made you see stars brighter than all the far off constellations you were used to pointing out from the shoreline. You seemed to float among them, above everything. Time slowed down while your heart sped up, somehow, and while everything around you faded into an impossibly dull background, you still had George.

His weight was warm and secure. His breath was hot on your neck. His voice was saccharine in your ear. When he eventually eased next to your side in a heap, the cool of the night was still shielded by him.

You snuggled to his chest, like an old sleepy cat while he kept repeating how he loved you. You said so too, as many times as you could manage before drifting to sleep all tangled together.

The next morning came slow. You made coffee and watched the sunrise above the waves from the porch. When your friends started showing up in pairs and trios and more, they all seemed sort of relieved to find you and George attached at the hip. They greeted you as if you'd always been a packaged deal, and they didn't bat an eye when you stuck together to roam the vast empty beach. There was no fighting over choosing partners when someone broke out a new board game that night. When your friends were all gathered around the dinner table, and all the extra snacks and gifts and surprises for the summer were stored away, you still had George.

Maybe things wouldn't always be so easy. There would likely be fights and upsets and questions that didn't always have answers. But George was worth it. You had him now, you loved him and he couldn't stop reminding how dearly he loved you. Nothing had ever hurt so good before. You decided to keep it that way.

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#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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cowboisadness · 4 years ago

Text

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x F!OC} Chapter 15

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: Canon typical violence but we finally get to see some action!!

.....

The parlour wasn’t as busy as I expected. The tables and booths accommodating a few men each, all of them drinking and chatting amongst themselves after a day of hard work. I had a feeling that was soon about to change.

Hosea called out for the attention of the room, introducing himself as Melvin and Arthur, who was behind the bar at this point still looking sour, as his brother.

The whole space erupted into cheers at the mention of free drinks for the next thirty minutes. Every man and his dog now making their way to the bar at the mention of something too good to be true.

“Don’t get him mad, though. His momma made him mad and we buried her. Poor thing.”

I stood beside the bar, welcoming men over with a smile and hoped no one wondered why these strangers are just giving away shine. Not suspicious at all.

Hosea called for the music to continue loud and clear and Arthur began pouring for the punters.

Hosea made his rounds, encouraging them to drink more with his cheery smile and rousing words.

Shot after shot was poured. The reserved chatter now nothing but a memory to be replaced by blaring laughter and men slowly but surely losing their feet.

These folks will regret this by morning, that’s if they even remember what happened but it sure was easy money for us.

“You make this fine shine, Miss?” A man sneaked up beside me at the bar, his words starting to slur.

“It’s our pleasure, sir. Would you like another glass?”

Might as well go along with it “I had a hand in it for sure.” I smiled at him, leaning against the bar with one arm propped up upon it.

“Well, it is mighty kind of you to give it out like this.”

“Hmm, I sure would like a taste. Ain’t nothing better than a workin’ woman that likes to g-get her hands dirty.” He shot a toothy grin and leaned in towards me placing a hand on my arm that was at my side. I shook him off and moved back slightly but he wouldn’t give up, taking a step forward and replacing his hand, this time on my hip trying in his drunken state to pull me towards him.

Grabbing onto his arm I pulled him off, staring straight into his bloodshot eyes.

“I see you have met our dear Alice. Ain’t she something?” Hosea smiled at the man

“Touch me again and that glass will be imbedded into your face,” His brows furrowed in confusion but with the sudden crinkle around his eyes, he took it as a challenge.

Before either of us could say another word, Hosea came up beside us, replacing my hand with his and dropping the man’s arm to his side.

“S-she sure is. She your sister?”

“Sister-in-Law.” Hosea kept his smile but turned his gaze to behind the bar, me and the stranger following his eye-line. The three of us looking towards Arthur, now ceased his pouring and glaring daggers right at our new friend. I felt my cheeks begin to heat up but couldn’t stop the grin from seeing the man's reaction to this new information. His head snapped back to Hosea with a dumbfounded look. Hosea just nodded slowly.

“I’d be careful if I was you. She’s the only one he listens to and she just needs to give the word.” Hosea gave a beaming smile with his threat. Mess with her and you will have a man twice your size and with a willing thirst for violence that would do anything for his wife to deal with.

The drunkard was definitely uneasy on his feet now, his head bowed down with a quiet nod he took himself and his empty glass away from the bar.

Thirty minutes had been and gone, the quietness of the night now upon us but the parlour was as lively as it has probably ever been. Men dancing with each other like lovers weaving through tables and fallen chairs. The piano man with one leg perched upon the stool playing like it was the only thing keeping him breathing. One man passed out at the bar, another on the stairs up to the second level. Laughter and shouts bordering on deafening that you couldn’t hear yourself think. A fight was breaking out on the upper floor, one man being tossed by the other. It was chaos.

The merriment amongst these men was soon halted at the opening of the doors. The men entering with their weapons drawn brought silence. All eyes on them, some putting their hands in the air.

Hosea began speaking from his spot on the stairs looking down at the unwelcome visitors.

“It’s the Lemoyne Raiders.” I heard one man say.

Never heard of them. This another gang we are enemies with? I looked over to Arthur, he ushering me to get behind the bar with him.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Quiet libation?”

“You,” the frontman said, pointing his pistol at Hosea.

“Me?”

“You’re the bastards who stole the liquor we was gonna buy.”

“Gentlemen, we’re in advertising, come on in have a drink.”

“That’s our goddamn liquor!” The man shouted, anger brewing.

“An honest mistake”

“Boys, get ‘em!”

With that everyone began running for cover or an exit. Arthur pulled me down to cover behind the bar, hat and pipe now nowhere to be seen and both his weapons in hand. Telling me to get my gun, stay at his side and shoot if I have too.

I just nodded wildly and fumbled at my side. Bringing the gun up level with my chest with a shaky finger hovering over the trigger and watching ahead of me.

Upstairs was a bombardment of bullets, glass and broken wood. Keeping my gun in front of me ready to pull the trigger if anyone got insight.

Shots ran out between the raiders and Arthur and Hosea. Bottles shattering above the bar and glass raining down as shots thankfully missed their mark.

I realised I had a tightening grip around Arthurs’s leg when he pulled away, pulling me up beside him and over the bar towards the stairs. Keeping me behind him as he shot anyone coming through the door.

He kept me behind him, shielding me from the onslaught, men dropping all around us.

Arthurs steady hand on my back pulls me out of my sudden hesitation, prompting me to climb over and jump down. Landing with a thud in the back of the wagon and my knees throbbing with the hard contact.

“Arthur help!” Hosea calls out from the other side, in battle with another man. I raised my pistol without thinking but before I could think of my aim the man dropped, his head nothing but a spray of blood and tissue.

We made our way towards Hosea who was calling us out to follow. Arthur with his back turned facing the doors now behind us. The doors ahead, beyond the poker table, opened to a man aiming straight at Hosea.

I didn't hesitate, I couldn’t. My body in flight mode but my brain decided on fight. I shot. Two rounds hitting the mark causing him to falter and stagger back. Hosea turned at that, finishing him off with a shot to the head.

Arthur pushed me forward from where I was rooted, urging me to keep moving no matter what.

We make it out onto the balcony, Hosea already down and on the wagon.

Arthur followed right behind me not even pausing before climbing up to the front.

We were maybe a few steps into the safety of the woods when he broke the silence.

Hosea spurred the horses to move as fast as possible to get out of there as more raiders came out of the shadows. Hosea passing me one of the rifles that were at his side.

Arthur didn't hesitate, aiming and taking down three men within seconds like he was in some kind of trance.

My heart was in my throat, trying to steady my breathing as I aimed over the side of the wagon to shoot at those getting closer. Not like I was doing a grand job of it but I was able to hold them off while Arthur finished them off.

They kept coming as we travelled further out of the shitty little town. One bullet hit the few bottles of shine left at my side erupting them into flames. The intense heat meeting my skin had me pushing myself up and away but I was being dragged back too. We couldn’t stop for a moment so I quickly reloaded with whatever ammo I had left in my shirt pocket and started shooting again. A few men falling off their horses at my doing.

It began to quiet, the last few stragglers being dealt with swiftly before we turned off the road. My and Arthur left Hosea to take whatever was left of the liquor back to Mrs Baraithwaite as a peace offering, leaving me and Arthur to walk back to camp through the cover of the trees.

“You alright? Sorry about that whole mess, I shouldn’t have let you come with us.”

“I’m fine. Wasn’t like I wasn’t expecting something to happen, but almost being on fire was a surprise.” I giggled sheepishly. He stopped me then pulling on my arm “Shit i - you sure you’re not hurt?” He checked my arm and down my side, looking for any signs of burns.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’d say if I wasn’t.” I smiled at his concern, looking at him then. His eyes met mine with one of concern but that soon melted away once he realised I was truly okay.

After a few moments, he looked down, his trusty hat now covering his face. His hand still on my arm.

“Good shootin’ by the way.”

“Well, I had a good teacher. Could do with a few more lessons I believe.”

“Give me a time and place darling,” he said as he lifted his gaze from his feet and back to me

I beamed up at him then, seeing something in his eyes I couldn’t quite place. I thought back to our last shooting lesson. His hand on me, his breath fanning over the back of my neck. What almost happened as we sat under the shade of the tree. I could feel the relentless wings of the butterflies in my stomach as I looked up at him then, his hand still on me that seemed to burn my skin more than fire.

Might as well take my chance.

“I don’t say it enough but...thank you...for what you have done for me. I don’t know where I would be without you and - you and your kindness means the world to me.” I stood up on my toes then, reaching to place a kiss on his cheek, lingering longer than necessary. My hand now gripping his arm holding me and my free hand coming up to cup his other cheek before letting go.

I was ready to let that be that and to walk back to camp. But the look in his eyes when I didn’t move away had me frozen in place. My breath becoming shallow and my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. Calculating our next move.

My breath hitching as I felt his free hand on my waist.

Then his lips were on mine. Kissing with such hunger that our grip tightening on each other, like we were running out of time. But time was nothing but a distant idea at that moment.

@kashasenpai

#hang em high #hang em high fic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x fem oc #arthur morgan fic #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #arthur morgan

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

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Something Just Like This - CH25

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: NSFW, fluff, angst, violence, minor character death

WC: 4366

A/N: I had this chapter ready before I thought I would. Happy Tuesday, I guess!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Cas walks beside Y/N, she has her hand hooked through his arm, her grip’s tight around his biceps. She’s shaking. Not particularly because of Cain’s words. Well, maybe a little because he makes it sound like he could bring everyone down and he’s not afraid to do it if she gives him a reason to. She feels like she’s caught between a rock and a hard place. That’s not really true either, she feels like she’s caught between a rock and a soft place, one that is 6ft tall and freckled and she knows which one she would choose if she has to.

“I need a drink.” She mutters under her breath and Cas hears her, guides her through the mass of people and makes a beeline for the bar wordlessly, he doesn't even complain at how hard her grip is on him.

She orders something that for sure will go to her head fast, takes two shots within seconds, inhales and exhales loudly. She closes her eyes, counts to ten before opening them again to see Cas’ staring at her, a crease between his eyebrows. “You okay? Did he do anything to you?”

“I’m okay, don’t worry about it.” Y/N says, because it’s true. She’s feeling so much better already, her head gets woozy.

“I kinda have to be.” Cas purses his lips, gives her a last nod when he sees that she won’t be answering him and turns around to face the dance floor. He leans back, his elbows resting on the bar top.

There were lots of people dancing, some of them mingling around the edge of the dance floor.

They watch the dancers in silence for a while when Cas suddenly turns to her and asks, “You wanna dance?” He’s already holding out a hand for her to take, which means that he’s not taking no for an answer.

“I must warn you,” She’s laughing as she places her hand in his, clearly feeling light headed from the booze, “I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Can I tell you something?” Cas asks as he leads her towards the middle of the dance floor, dodging some other dancers as they go.

“Of course.”

He has one hand around her waist now and she places her hand on his shoulder. Cas winks, “I’m terrible too.”

They dance and laugh for a while and she’s sure that Cas’ toes are numb by now from her standing on them all the time.

“May I have the next dance?” Dean’s standing next to them, a stupid grin on his face. She wonders how long he’s been watching them. Wonders if he’s seen that they were terrible dancers. He must have. She’s blushing a little at the thought of him watching her making a fool out of herself.

“Oh my god, I’m a terrible dancer.” She says, her cheeks are flushed and she’s a little out of breath from laughing too much.

Cas’ mouths something to Dean that looks like ‘terrible’ while rolling his eyes.

“I take the chance.” Dean grins and sneaks his hand around her waist, and she places one hand on his shoulder and the other one in his hand.

Dean starts to lead and surprisingly, she’s not as clumsy as she was with Cas.

“You’re not bad.” He pulls her a little closer, his big hand is on the small of her back, his fingers span over the whole of her back. She feels safe in Dean’s hands.

“The terrible dancer must be Cas then.”

Dean laughs, “Yeah. Wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Because Cas can’t lead.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean swings her around, and it’s surprisingly smooth. She also manages not to trip over her own feet. “Because Cas’ never played the male role when we were practicing.”

She raises an eyebrow and looks up to him. “You mean ‘we’ as in you and Cas?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles at the memory. “Dad wanted me to take dancing lessons but then I got Cas’ to play the woman. We practiced so much that I’m quite good but he’s the worst.”

“Oh no, poor guy.”

“It’s okay, I think Anna’s teaching him now.”

She raises her eyebrows in question, “Anna?”

“His girlfriend.” Dean smirks.

“Cas has a girlfriend?” She didn’t know, never thought of one of them having anyone, to be honest. Feels a little guilty because of course they have their own lives too, next to the one they’re living. They must have.

Dean swings her around, avoids bumping into others on the dance floor, “Yeah, she was a GP. A few towns out. Fixed Cas up real good when things went wrong. They’ve been together since and she even moved here to be near him.”

“Awe, I Iove that for Cas.” She’s smiling, and is genuinely happy about it.

Dean chuckles, stops mid dance and leans down to kiss her. He parts after, this thumb comes up to brush at her bottom lip, lingers there too long and she bites on it, which makes Dean grin. “I taste tequila.”

“Yeah, rough night.” She breathes out.

“There I was about to ask you how you’d feel about me and you drinking a bottle of champagne on the rooftop, but now I’d rather not take the bottle with me.”

“Unless,” Y/N squints her eyes and looks up at him. He’s so cute when he has his lips pursed and there’s a hint of a smile, his dimples showing a little. “You wanna hold my hair back when I puke all over the bathroom.”

“Yeah, hard pass.” Dean says in a playful voice while he leads her away from the dance floor, his hands staying on the small of her back.

They ride up in the elevator, and Dean has a hard time not picking her up and making her ride his hard dick. Has to remind himself that they’re not home and he has to fucking behave.

Now he’s having a key to the rooftop, doesn’t even have to pick the lock. Money buys you access to all kinds of places, apparently.

He opens the door, lets her take it in first. He’s been here a moment ago, helping the employee set up the fairy lights and lounger chair.

“Wow.” Y/N walks a couple of steps towards the railing. The city light sparkles in the dark. “Did you do all that just to get into my pants?”

“Can’t lie that it’s also part of the plan, yeah,” He walks up behind her, hugs her from behind, kisses the crown of her head. “Come on.”

Dean leads her to the lounger chair, lies on it and looks up to the sky, waits for her to join him. He hates being in the city. Hates it sometimes, that the air is so polluted and the lights are so bright that he can never spot any stars.

It makes him want to move out even more. Move somewhere where they can always see stars on a clear night sky.

She joins him and he takes her in his arms, letting her rest her head on his chest.

He kisses the top of her hair, his fingers lazily stroking along her back, “Can I ask you something? From friend to friend?”

She tilts her head up, “Hit me.”

“Right,” He clears his throat, “There’s a girl I kind of have a crush on. And I kinda just bid on her at an auction. Do you think that’s creepy?”

“How much did you spend?”

“Two hundred?”

“That’s not a lot.”

“Thousand?”

“Ugh. You should tone it down a little. But I don’t know, does she like you back or is it one sided?”

“I have a strong feeling that she has a crush on me too. But now I’m afraid that she’s a little mad at me.”

“Ah,” She laughs and braces her forearm on his chest, leans down to kiss him. His heart is making somersaults. “‘M not mad. I just don’t want you to spend money on me.”

“I know, can’t promise that I won’t do it again though,” He sighs and adds, “Sorry I had to talk to Crowley in private.”

“It’s okay, Cas found me.”

His forehead creases, “Found you where?”

“Shit,” She mutters, hides her face in the crook of his neck.

“Y/N.” He rarely calls her by name he realizes, only does it when he’s a little annoyed with her.

She looks up and mumbles, her mouth still on his shirt, “Cain was waiting for me in front of the bathroom.”

“He what?” It might have come out louder than he intended.

“Yeah, basically asked me why I left him. And then he said that he’s the key to your next whatever it is and that he holds the upper hand.”

God dammit.

“Did he?” Dean controls his voice now.

“I asked him if he would rat you out and he said no because he wants the money you’ve promised him, but I don’t trust him. He also said that maybe he can win me back once he’s rich.”

“Huh,” He breathes out, “And what did you say?”

“Okay, don’t be mad at me alright?”

“Baby,” Dean cradles her face, trails his thumb across her cheeks and pulls her down, kisses her, “I could never be mad at you.”

“Well, you’ve been all shades of annoyed.”

That’s true. Can’t lie about that, but he’s never been mad.

“I told him maybe.”

“You what?” Dean shouts out.

“You’re being loud!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He says and hisses instead, “You what?”

“I don’t know, I just did it because I want him to keep hoping! So like, that he would keep working for your whatever it is! I know that it’s the worst thing to say to a stalker but,” She buries her face in the crook of his neck again, mumbles into his skin, “You’re mad.”

Dean lets her words sink in before he laughs, making her look up at him as if he’s gone crazy.

“‘M not mad,” He soothes her, smiling a little, too, “You know why I talked to Crowley?”

“No?”

“Because I want Cain out. That dude’s fucking creepy and he doesn’t fucking know his place!”

“And?”

“He’s out. He just doesn’t know it yet. Crowley said he’ll tell him tonight.”

“Wow, that easy?”

“Yeah, Ash’s been working a lot and we have another contact from the company Cain works for.”

“Oh thank god.” She straddles him now, attacks his lips and he smiles into the kiss.

“So,” Dean says when they part and she grins above him. “What do you say,” He draws figures on her dress with his fingers, “Now that we got this out of the way, can I get in your pants?”

There’s a glint in her eyes when she moves down his lap to kneel in between his thighs, her lips crooked up at the edges. “Not if I get in yours first.”

Her fingers hastily work on his belt, unbuttons his pants and pulls down the zipper, and there’s that little tongue sticking out at the corner of her lips when she’s concentrating. Dean thinks it’s super cute.

She cups his cock through his underwear, and laughs when he jerks his hips at the sudden friction.

Hooking her fingers through his waistband, she pulls it down, and he helps her, lifts his ass so she can push the underwear and pants past his ass. He strokes himself twice, feels his cock hardening at the thought of what’s to come. Not that it wasn’t already half hard before. He doesn’t think soft is a frequent occurrence around her.

Taking his dick in her hands, she licks up along the shaft, and Dean bites back a moan that’s about to escape. Fears that if he starts, he’s gonna lose it too soon.

Y/N’s grinning when she spits on his dick, strokes him one handed and lowers her head down to suck at his balls. She sucks them in, one by one and lets it out with a lewd popping sound, her fist twisting at the head of his cock.

“Baby, if you keep on doing that it’ll be over before you know it.” He’s barely able to hold himself together.

She snorts out a laugh at that and comes back up, sucks in the tip of his cock and works her mouth deeper.

That’s the thing, he usually has very good stamina but with her, that went out the window pretty fast. He makes it up to her though and sometimes, can go twice or even three times in a row when he’s really horny. Mostly his horniness depends on her neediness, and sometimes, she can be insatiable. Not that he minds, he just has a hard time keeping up.

Dean watches her take his cock, it’s not perfect, she can’t take that much in and she’s also not very experienced — mainly also his fault because he doesn’t let her do it that often. It’s a fight of dominance between them, really, because he just loves it a little bit more when he can go down on her and not the other way around.

Even though she's not perfect, she still is. Because it’s her.

She fists the part she can’t swallow, and bobs her head to the rhythm. He can clearly see that she enjoys it as much as he does, maybe even a little bit more because she likes that, likes it when she can make him lose his mind.

“That’s it. Just like that, breathe baby, don’t forget to breathe.” She looks up at him, her eyes a little teary but full of determination. “Good girl. You’re taking my cock so well. Your mouth feels amazing.”

Her lips curve into a smile around his cock and there’s a sparkle in her eyes. She’s always so happy when she gets praises and he’s not going to stop giving them. The sight almost makes him burst.

“Okay, okay, easy there tiger,” He whispers as she strokes him hard and fast while giving little pecks on the tip of his leaking head. “Come here,” His hand grips around her arm, pulling her up, kissing her hard.

“You wanna ride my cock?” He breathes into the kiss.

“Uh-huh,”

“Uh-huh? Are you even ready?” His fingers go down to her clit, rubs at it before breaching her pussy to check if she’s ready. Two fingers slip in without any problem, she’s soaked.

“Dean, please,” Y/N whines, moves her hips back and fucks down onto his fingers. “I’m ready, promise.”

He chuckles.

So needy.

“Then hop on, hold your skirt up, I wanna see,”

She grabs at the hem of her skirt, pulls it up and bunches them around her, jams it into her armpit as she slowly sits herself down onto his awaiting dick.

Dean has to bite down on his bottom lip when he feels her warmth and wetness surrounding him. “Jesus,” He pants. “Oh my god, you feel so fucking good.”

Y/N stays still for a long time, her eyes cross before her eyelids begin to flutter, a soft moan escapes her lips.

He feels her pussy clench around him, squeezing him real tight and after a couple of seconds, she starts to smile and laugh.

“Fuck, baby. Did you just come?” He looks at her with admiration as she begins to bounce up and down his length.

She’s still laughing, “Yeah.”

“Christ, I didn’t do anything!”

“Your cock just hit the right spot, don’t get ahead of yourself,” She’s breathing hard again and he spits into his fingers, brings them down to rub at her clit.

There it is, the eye crossing before the flutter of her lids. Her pussy flutters too, clamps down and grips at his cock like a vice.

He helps her ride it out, strokes her softly.

“Do you have, like, a button inside you or what is it?” He asks in disbelief. She can come easily and often but it was never that easy.

She bites her lips, grins when she hears it.

“Alright, sweetheart,” He says, “It’s my turn. Why don’t you lean forward?”

Leaning forward, they’re chest to chest and Dean keeps one arm around her waist while he pulls her even closer by the back of her neck. He kisses her hot and wantonly as he starts to move his hips, fucks up into her, his movements growing harder and faster. The sound of his wet balls slapping against her ass is loud and obscene. He has to keep on kissing her so as not to let her make too much noise. She moans into his mouth and he drinks it up, like it’s something he needs to survive, and maybe it is.

He pulls her head back a little by her hair and she’s grinning, because she’s come to love that too. Hair pulling. Another kink they found out that she likes. Likes to mix pleasure with pain and who is he to deny her something that is such a fucking turn on for him as well.

“Look at me,” He whispers, low and dark, “I want to see your eyes when I come.”

His hips still work in a wild pace, fucking up into her hard and fast, their breathing mixing as they look at each other. Dean comes so hard he sees fucking stars.

He kisses her after, holds her close as he rocks his hips lazily against her, only stops when his cock softens inside of her.

Dean couldn’t help it, laid Y/N down and ate her out right inside the limousine. That’s what she was shy about at first too, Dean licking at her sloppy and fucked out cunt, but he makes it seem so natural and doesn’t mind his own cum still dripping out of her pussy.

He made her squirt too and she doesn’t even know if the devider’s been up between them and the driver, and even if it wasn’t, she didn’t really care. He licked her clean after, though, hums his approval while doing it and Y/N still doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t know how someone can enjoy it so much. Like, he really, truly enjoys going down on her and smiles like a kid on a Christmas morning when she would let him. Dean gave the driver a generous tip, because that poor guy needs to do some serious cleaning.

They get into the elevator and Dean leans against the wall, plays with her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, not too tired.”

He raises an eyebrow in question, “You aren’t?”

“Nah, I’m in the right mindset to have more mind blowing sex.” She grins, it’s cocky, she knows, and it’s not entirely true. She’s tired but she just loves winding him up.

Dean snorts, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s really great, but I hope the sex is not with me because I’m beat.” He pulls her close by her dress, leans down a little so their noses touch, “You’re wearing me out.” Dean kisses her before they get out as the elevator signals the arrival on their floor.

They are joking around some more while Dean pulls out the key to his apartment when there’s footsteps echoing on granite flooring.

“Ah, look at the happy couple.” Cain mocks, waving around with one hand that is holding a freaking gun.

Dean’s instinct was to stand before Y/N, shielding her with his own body. His second instinct was to push at the panic button on his key chain, alerting his men. A great little device courtesy of Ash.

She doesn’t want to stay behind him though, pushes herself back to the front. “Cain, what are you doing?”

This fucking girl, seriously.

“Get out of the way Y/N. I just want to talk to your boyfriend for a minute.” Cain’s voice cracks.

Cain’s been crying, Dean can see it, the red of his eyes, his cheek, his nose.

Dean holds up his hands to let Cain see that he’s not armed and then he speaks, his voice calm and low. “Whatever it is, it’s obviously between you and me, Cain. So why don’t we let her inside. You still love her, don’t you? Do you really want to hurt her? Let her go in and we discuss the issue, whatever it is that upsets you.”

The tall man’s facade is crumbling, he’s weeping openly while he scratches his head with the barrel of a freaking gun. Somehow, Dean thinks that this won’t end well.

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Winchester. When I let her go she’ll call the police.”

“No, no.” Dean tries to calm him down, holding his hands up, fingers spread, “No police. I’m not really friends with them and she knows. You should know that, too. No police.”

Dean tries to push Y/N to the side but she stays in front of him. “Jesus Christ, baby, would you just for once do what I want you to?” He hisses through half gritted teeth.

She doesn’t even listen to Dean and takes a step closer to Cain. Dean’s so fucking close to lose his damn mind with her, “Whatever it is Cain, you can tell me too. Dean doesn’t hide anything from me. What happened?”

“What happened?” Cain laughs a laugh Dean only hears on people that are completely mad in their head. “I just got fired! Fired! Can you imagine, Y/N? It’s all because of him!” He waves his gun in Dean's face.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Dean tries to calm him down, and she tilts her head to look up at Dean to which Dean shrugs.

“What are you doing, Cain. This won’t get you your job back?” She asks Cain and takes a step closer and Dean’s not really okay with that, and walks closer to her too. If he can get his will, he’d like for her to be behind him and not wandering closer to a fucking lunatic.

Cain grins, “I figured, if I kill him, I don’t need money to change your mind of coming back to me. Am I right? You’d come back to me, don’t you, Y/N?”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Cain.” Her voice is incredibly calm and Dean’s really impressed.

“Well, I’m gonna kill him anyway.” Cain shrugs and then he aims.

It’s like Dean’s stuck in slow motion. There’s so many things happening at once. Not even in Afghanistan where he fought a war did he see things like he does now.

Dean sees the gun, sees Cain firing. It’s loud and the next thing he knows Y/N gets in front of him. The impact makes her hit his body before she slumps down to the floor. Her body hitting the granite with a dull thud.

“No!” Dean shouts, “No, no, no!” He crouches on the floor right next to her, his shaking hands touching her face before he inspects her wound.

She’s hit right below her right clavicle and Dean’s pressing his hands on the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Oh no,” Cain’s on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, the gun lies abandoned on the ground. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to. I love her!”

Dean has tears in his eyes himself. “If you fucking love her, then you would fucking pull yourself together and fucking help me here! Call a fucking ambulance! Now!”

He can see how Cain lets the word sink in but instead of helping, Cain sits on the floor and lies down, rolls himself up into a fetus position.

Dean cradles Y/N’s face with one hand while his other one still presses into her wound, his hand bloody and she opens up her eyes just a little. She’s in pain, and it hurts him even more. He presses on the wound harder and there’s a painful groan coming from her throat. “Baby, I’m sorry, I know it hurts. But stay with me alright? I got you, I’m here, I got you.”

Dean tries to pull himself together, manages to jump start his brain again to fish out his phone from his pocket and call an ambulance.

When he hangs up he hears it.

“Dean!”

A familiar voice is coming up the stairs.

“Cas! Get Sergei, pull him out of his fucking bed, I don’t care!”

Sergei is Dean’s in-house doctor and thankfully lives only a floor below him. He can hear Cas turn around on his heels and fly down the staircase.

The doctor rushes up, still in only his underwear and kneels beside Dean. “I’m here, it’s okay.” He says and takes over in putting pressure on the wound. Dean stays there as he watches Sergei work on Y/N.

Cas picks up the gun from the floor and stands back, keeping Cain in check.

Dean sits back on his heels, brushes away the tears from his face with bloody hands that are shaking uncontrollably.

He can’t lose her. Not now. Not when things finally start to look up for him! He kneels there, staring at his hands. He hears sirens in the distance.

“I-I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Cain’s sobbing voice brings Dean back to reality.

Brushing the tears and snot away from his face, Dean stands up and walks over to Cas, takes the gun from the man’s hand.

“Dean,” Cas says. It sounds like a warning at first but then Cas stands back, and nods at him.

And then everything goes so fast. Dean feels the familiar heaviness of a gun in his hand and launches forward, comes to stand before Cain, gun drawn to the guy’s head.

Dean’s still crying, his vision is blurred. His hand shakes.

“No, please.” Cain cries, “I’m sorry.”

Dean bristles with madness and anger. Knows that Cain is the fucking source of it.

“I love her,” Cain shouts. “I love her as much as you do!”

Brushing the tears away with the heel of his left hand, Dean speaks, “No, you don’t.” He breathes in and out. “Nobody loves her like I do.”

Dean pulls the trigger.

CH26

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #mobster!dean #nathalie writes

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all1e23 · 5 years ago

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Astrophile [Epilogue]

Chapter: Epilogue

Summary: Happy ever after has a few surprises.

Warnings: Astrophile fluff & and so much romantic Bucky.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s over but here we are! Okay, it’s not totally over because we still have Astrophile Files. Thanks for hanging in there with me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

July 2021 – One year later

“It’s right, Buck. She’s the one. We’ve all known it since she came to family dinner that first night. Everyone was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Bucky holds his hand up to the bartender, silently asking for another beer and a glass of water for Y/n as Steve continues right on pestering him. Right here in the middle of their friend’s wedding reception. Maybe it’s attending a wedding that makes people lose their minds? This is the first proper wedding Bucky has been to, and it didn’t take long for him to realize it makes the wedding party and the guests a tiny bit nuts.

“Drop it, Steve.” Bucky drops a few bills into the glass tip jar resting on the bartop – anything to avoid having this conversation with Steve for the twentieth time this month. Steve looks down at him; mouth pressed in a thin line and disappointment pouring off of him.

“I thought you learned your lesson? What are you waiting for, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses at Steve’s question. He didn’t know honestly. They have been dating for a year now, and it’s been good. That’s a lie. It’s been amazing, fantastic, unbelievable – it’s been the most incredible year of Bucky and Ori’s life. Y/n fits right in like she’s always meant to be a part of their lives. She makes every day brighter. She makes him better, a better man and a better father. She helps Ori with homework and school projects like she’s thrilled to do it and the kicker is, she actually is. She hasn’t missed one of Ori’s practices (because Ori picked up the violin over the last year and Y/n didn’t even flinch when the at-home practices started). And the best part of it all, Y/n’s home for dinner every single night because as of six months ago she moved into Bucky’s brownstone.

The only nights Ori spends away from home now are when Bucky takes Y/n on a date which he endeavors to do once a week. Some weeks they don’t make it out the front door, but even if they end up eating pizza on the living room floor, he makes sure Y/n knows how lucky he is to have her. Bucky doesn’t know if there is such a thing as heaven but he’s got a feeling this is the closest he can get to it here on Earth. He’s determined to spend the rest of his life, making sure she never regrets choosing to spend all of her tomorrows loving him.

Bucky truly has no idea what he’s waiting for, he’s had the ring for months now, and Bucky even knows how he’s asking, but it’s not time. The moment has to be as perfect as she is.

“It’s gotta be the right moment, Stevie. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

The table a few feet away catches Bucky’s attention. Peter Parker, a teenager interning for Tony, is sitting on a tiny chair next to Ori with a perplexed look on his face. Peter leans forward on his elbows, watching Ori color on the table cloth at her designated spot at the kid’s table with fierce determination to make her picture better than the boy’s across the table. He is trying to find the best way to ask a six-year-old something that’s been confusing him since the ceremony. Peter only met Mr. Stark a year ago, so he is still trying to get to know everyone, but he thought it was just Ori and her dad. He picks up the crayon Ori abandoned on the table between them and decides he is merely going to spit it out.

“Hey, Ori? Who was sitting with your dad?” Peter asks quietly as he helps her fill in the castle printed onto the fabric in front of them. Tony thought it would be a good idea if the table cloth at the kid’s table were a giant coloring book; entertaining for the kids and parents get to relax. He was right. The kids love it – Peter included.

Ori doesn’t look up from what she’s coloring and tells him. “That’s my mom.”

The crayon in Peter’s hand freezes, and he looks at Ori, thoroughly and properly confused now. Yeah, he doesn’t know every member of each family yet, but he does know that Ori’s mom left right after she was born.

“Uh, your mom, Ori?”

Ori drops her dark blue crayon back into the pail sitting in the middle of the table and finally looks up at Peter long enough to roll her eyes – that’s all Uncle Sam. “Not the mom who left me when I was a baby. My real mom.”

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on his daughter, but she looks so cute coloring and days like these are getting fewer and fewer the older she gets. So, yeah, he is spying, and he didn’t feel bad about it until that confession. Bucky doesn’t know whether he should faint right there at the bar or ask Y/n to marry him without a ring in the middle of Tony’s reception. He pushes the glasses in his hands into Steve’s chest, forcing him to take them and places a kiss to Ori’s forehead with a resounding smack. She giggles and ‘wipes’ the kiss from her forehead.

“Daaaaddddy!” Ori whines, half serious and half playful.

“Comet!” He says, matching her whine and grinning while he does.

Now, Bucky has someone very important to find.

He scans the crowd of people, close to five hundred showed up for the big day – not that Bucky had expected anything less from Tony, but it isn’t making finding his better half easy right now and he is itching to get his hand on her. He catches sight of her powder blue knee-length dress, covered in silver, shimmery stars and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He navigates his way through the crowd towards her; his one and only.

This morning she had panicked over her outfit for tonight. The dress was too much. The soft blue fabric revealed too much skin with the sweetheart neckline and the sheer fabric littered with silver stars covering her chest and arms made it overly fancy she had said. Bucky had stared at her for a long time when she came out of the bathroom. He was speechless. Yeah, he’s seen her dressed up before, but she wasn’t his then. This was different. He finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled into her a kiss that nearly ended with the dress torn and crumbled in a pile in its new home on their bedroom floor.

When he pulled back, flushed and nearly breathless, he told her it didn’t matter what she wore. He assured her she was going to be the most beautiful woman in the room regardless of what she picked, so if she wanted to wear the dress, then she should wear it. He was right because, shit – she looks so damn beautiful right now.

Y/n is intently listening to Sam’s tales about Oliver and how bad teething is actually going – regardless of Steve’s sunny optimism on the subject. Bucky overhears the tail end of their conversation, “You’ll see soon enough. Wait till you and Buck have to deal with a screaming baby at four in the morning after he’s been on a forty-eight-hour shift.” If his brain wasn’t short-circuiting from the last conversation he spied on, he would probably examine this talk more, and by examine he means inquire exactly what Sam had meant by soon enough.’

Bucky grabs Y/n’s waist and spins her around capturing her lips in a fiery kiss ignoring the eye roll from Sam. His left hand splays out on her lower back, keeping her pressed firmly against him as his tongue sweeps along her lips only to pull back right as her lips part. She narrows her eyes, and he chuckles, giving in to one more kiss, softer and sweeter than the last.

“Dance with me.” He whispers into their kiss, gently tugging at her bottom lip as he pulls back and walks them back to the dance floor. She doesn’t have much of a choice it looks like – not that she would have said no. The night is coming to a close, and they are down to slow dances only, trying to wind the crowd down, and she would love nothing more than to end the night in Bucky’s arms swaying to I can’t help falling in love with you.

Bucky’s hand tightens around her waist, keeping her pressed securely against his chest as they move around the dance floor. He cradles the hand that should rest on his left shoulder in his own, resting them against his chest. She has no idea what came over him, but she’s not going to bother trying to find out when he’s holding her like this.

“Did you have a good time?” Y/n asks just above the music. Bucky meets her eyes and raises his brow as if that was the silliest question she’s ever asked him. Surely, she knows the answer to that, but he can play along if that’s what she wants.

“‘Course I had a good time. I’m here with you.”

Oh, boy.

“Smooth talker.”

Bucky chuckles and kisses her lips chastely, squeezing her hand as he does. Y/n sighs happily as their lips part, and she adds, a bit of longing behind her words that Bucky did not miss,“It was a pretty wedding, though.”

Bucky nods in agreement and looks around at the bright red and gold glimmering everywhere. Pearls and diamonds in the flowers, hundreds of candles all over the place, a cake that is nearly taller than Steve and glittery table cloths. There’s even a freaking chandelier in the middle of the tent – they are in the grass for crying out, but Tony has a chandelier.

“A little flashy for my taste but it’s all right,” Bucky says truthfully, looking back at her. The wedding is gorgeous, but it’s nothing close to what he sees when he thinks about marrying the woman in his arms.

“Pepper looks beautiful,” Y/n says eyeing the strawberry blonde in her Justin Alexander ivory gown, clinging to Tony’s arm as they made their way around the cathedral tent, stopping to chat with their guests and thanking everyone for coming. Bucky never looks away from Y/n. He doesn’t need to. Pepper might look beautiful today, but she’s no Beck.

“She’s got nothing on you, sweetheart.”

Y/n grins and shakes her head, trying to hide how flustered she’s getting from such little work on his part. It’s not that she’s not used to it. Once they were official, she learned just how much Bucky had been truly holding back. He’s constantly touching her, always whispering in her ear and trying to make her knees weak. Bucky tries to get her squirming every chance he get, and it seems he can’t stop today. It might have something to do with the kiss he just gave her. Or maybe the one in the limo on the way over (Tony insisted they take a limo) or it could have been the heated makeout session in the shower before they got ready.

Something has him all worked up, and she wants to know what.

“What is with you today?”

Bucky grins, tightening his hold around her waist and dips her unexpectedly. Her giggles fill in the softer notes of the melody, and Bucky lowers his head towards her as if he’s going to kiss her, but instead he whispers, “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you. I can’t help it.”

Y/n smiles and lets out a soft, ‘I love you, too’ and Bucky knows she’s trying not to get teary-eyed in front of everyone. He pulls her back to standing, letting her arms settle around his neck this time, he asks, “you think you ever wanna have one of these with me?”

The question gives her back some of her equilibrium and her brow arches, fingers playing with the loose strands that have fallen from his bun as she finds her voice. “I hope that’s not how you’re asking me.”

Bucky chuckles, and she leans her head on his shoulder to hide the emotions twinkling in her eyes – he’s too good at reading her, and she wasn’t ready for him to catch on just yet. He places a kiss on her head and wraps his arms around her, gently guiding her around the dance floor.

“No, that’s not how I’m asking you. I’ve got somethin’ else in mind for that day.” He whispers against the shell of her ear. He can feel her grinning against his neck, and her breath tickling his skin as she assures him, “Just so you know; however, you ask, I’ll say yes.”

Bucky tightens his arms around her but doesn’t respond. He didn’t think there would be another answer, but hearing it laid out made that ring in the top of the guest room closet a hell of a lot more real. Ori comes pushing through the couples on the dance floor, ditching her dance with Uncle Steve to share one with her parents. Bucky bends down to scoop her up and settles her between them. Y/n places a kiss to her cheek, and Ori lights up in response.

“Did I miss it??” She asks, looking back and forth between them.

Yn pulls back enough to see Bucky’s face and gives him the ‘are you kidding me’ look. Bucky barks out a laugh and shakes his head, “I don’t know what she’s talking about, babydoll. I swear.”

“No, Y/n, did you tell daddy yet?”

Y/n’s eyes go wide as they have a silent conversation – it’s clearly something that’s only between girlfriends, and that’s not always a good thing when it comes to these two. Bucky groans at the thought and settles them both with the best stern dad face he has in his arsenal.

“Okay, what trouble did the two of you get in? What did you do and what do I have to fix?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison, and Y/n continues, much calmer and still very suspicious. "We were thinking… maybe you could ask Steve to paint a mural in the guest bedroom? Something with the stars. Sparkly and pretty, maybe?”

Bucky frowns, and the frown continues to deepen thanks to the giddy expressions on his girl’s faces. It was just a painting. What’s the big deal? Something is up.

“Yeah, I can ask him. It doesn’t have to be me who asks, you know? He would say yes if you asked him, sweetheart.”

“I know that,” Y/n’s fingers tighten around the fabric of his black dress shirt. “I thought you might want to be the one to tell him the news when you do.”

“News?” Bucky’s face twists into something she doesn’t recognize, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from laughter.

“Actually, we have to redo the whole room. Don’t we, Ori?”

“Yep! With lots of stars and comets and constellations!”

“Get rid of the bed–”

“Yep, no bed.” Ori agrees and adds with a shout, “and rocking chair!”

“Of course, and that old dresser has to go. We need something smaller, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and maybe a pink one!”

“Or, blue,” Y/n offers but Ori wrinkles her nose and Y/n settles her with a fond, yet scolding expression and Ori reluctantly nods her head.

Bucky shakes his head and comes to a halt, stopping their dance right there in the middle of the floor. He’s completely and utterly lost. “What are you two going on about? Painting and rocking chairs and a pink dresser but not a blue–” Bucky freezes, and his eyes snap up to meet Y/n’s who’s no longer holding her tears back.

Holy shit. He had not been expecting this.

“You mean?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean.”

Bucky smushes Ori between them and sets an attack of kisses on them both, ignoring the tears catching in his lashes. This is the moment. This right here and he’s not letting it slip away. He ends the attack with a kiss to Y/n’s lips and whispers, “Man, I’ve got a really important question to ask you when we get home.”

“Pinky promise, December?”

He grins and swears right back, “Pinky promise, Beck.”

Previous // Masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #single dad bucky #SINGLE DAD AU #fireman!Bucky #Firefighter AU #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #alternate universe #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes

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alj4890 · 4 years ago

Text

And Then I Left You

(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) in a what if to the And Then I Met You

A/N The Hollywood group throw a farewell party for Amanda. She and Thomas continue to struggle with remaining silent about their feelings for one another.

@krsnlove @my-heart-beats-for-ya @aworldoffandoms @flyawayboo @trappedinfanfiction @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @sophxwithers @kate-mckenzie @twinkleallnight

Song they dance to: I'm in the Mood for Love

Masterlist

Chapter 3 In the Mood

12 weeks in Hollywood...

Thomas straightened his bowtie and studied his reflection. Smoothing his hair on the sides, he allowed his typical frown to disappear, replacing it with one of sadness.

This is it. She's really leaving.

After tonight, he would only have one more week to spend with Amanda. Seven more days of quiet mornings spent together over coffee and tea. Six evenings spent discussing whatever topic came to mind. Six more nights being tempted to tell her what was in his heart.

As he walked downstairs, he wondered if Addison's insistence that Amanda get ready for the party at Ryan's was not meant to teach him some type of lesson. It certainly was not farfetched that she would try and show him how life would be without his duchess around.

His footsteps paused in the living room.

The silence in his house was oppressive.

There was no muffled sounds of typing. No familiar sounds of laughter. No smile being flashed his way. No footsteps hurrying to join him. No suggestions for how they should spend the evening together.

This would be his chance to return to how his life was before she arrived.

Thomas already despised it.

When he got into the waiting town car, he glanced at the empty spot next to him.

She truly has done a number on me.

**************

Ryan's Mansion in Malibu...

"You went to too much trouble." Amanda looked about at all her new friends had done.

Each room opened for the party was decorated for a specific decade. Addison had insisted they do so and dress as they did in the movies for that time period. Holly had been in charge of assigning each guest a particular decade.

Ryan had supplied the residence and made certain for this to be the party to top all Hollywood parties.

Addison was beyond thrilled that everything had gone as planned. Her excitement at seeing Amanda happy caused her bouncing to make her bow fall off her head.

With her blonde hair in a ponytail and dressed in a poodle skirt, she looked like she had just stepped out of the movie, Grease.

Holly joined them, pushing her colored lens glasses up. Her short, psychedelic dress and white go-go boots matched the sixties era room perfectly.

"This wasn't any trouble." She replied.

"Ready to see what I made?" Addison gripped Amanda's hand and pulled her up the stairs. "I designed a dress specifically for one of your favorite decades!"

While the two disappeared down the upstairs hall, Ryan stepped out of his room.

He smiled at them while flipping his brown leather jacket's collar up. "Well?" He spun around. What do you think?"

"You look like you are one of the fighter pilots from Top Gun." Amanda replied.

"Holly must have known I like to take the ladies' breaths away." He winked at them.

"I can't believe you used that movie's love song for your own sex appeal." Addison rolled her eyes with a giggle.

"It was too good to let pass." Ryan quipped. "Sorry ladies, but I feel the need, the need to host a party." He slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses and told them he would see them downstairs.

The two laughed and hurried into one of the guest bedrooms. Amanda stopped when she saw a strange man in there.

"This is Craig." Addison quickly did the introductions. "He's the most talented stylist I've ever met."

He grinned bashfully.

"I told him your hair needed to resemble the fashion of the late thirties, early forties to match your costume." Addison explained.

Amanda touched her long hair, while a smile slowly formed. "Craig, how do you feel about cutting some of this?"

Addison's eyes widened. "You don't have to. We can find a way to put it in an appropriate style without any cutting. Can't we Craig?"

"I want to." Amanda decided before the stylist could answer. "I've been thinking of changing how I look for a while now."

Craig opened up his case and showed her all the hairstyling tools he had brought, choosing a pair of scissors.

"I can't watch." Addison covered her eyes when the first lock was cut above her shoulders. "Don't cut too much!"

"Keep going, Craig." Amanda encouraged.

Within minutes, her long wavy hair was now a bunch of curls, brushing her neck and jaw line.

Addison lowered her hands and gasped.

"Your eyes are even bigger than before!"

Amanda critically studied her reflection.

"I love it!" She thanked Craig, then sat back and let him part it, and fluff it out to match some of the photographs of classic film stars.

Addison retrieved a shimmering evening gown she had designed after watching a few of Amanda's favorite classic movies.

"It's like a mixture of Judy Garland's and Myrna Loy's hairstyle." Addison added once she saw the end result. "And this dress is perfect for it."

Once Craig left, Addison helped Amanda into her costume.

"What decade did Holly give Thomas?" Amanda asked.

"The same as yours." Addison grinned at the blush on the duchess' cheeks. "Don't worry, there are other guests given that era too."

"Oh." Amanda turned from side to side to see how the dress hung. "I can't believe my figure allowed me to wear something so elegant!" She hugged Addison. "Thank you."

Addison hugged her tight then ordered her to hurry downstairs when she was ready.

**************

Thomas nodded and spoke a few greetings as he walked inside. He scanned the rooms filling up with people. Just when he was about to check outside to see if Amanda was mingling there, Ryan clapped him on the back.

"About time you arrived." Ryan stepped back and studied him. "I'm getting a definite Cary Grant vibe from you."

Thomas merely grunted. "And you are trying to be Tom Cruise."

Ryan laughed while gesturing to his back patio. "In case you were wondering, your duchess was last seen going outside."

With his signature, charming smile firmly in place, he left to mingle with a group over by the bar.

Thomas squared his shoulders and made his way outside.

****************

"Want me to freshen your drink?" Chris asked.

Amanda shook her head. "No, thank you." She had no intention of a repeat performance of her girls' night out.

She still wasn't clear on what happened the night she came home drunk. Waking up wearing Thomas's shirt had caused her to panic. She didn't know how she could ask him, let alone face him.

But she had to know.

When he knocked on her bedroom door, her immediate reaction was to jerk the covers up to her chin. Taking a deep breath, she called out for him to enter.

Thomas walked in with a breakfast tray.

"What's all this?" She asked, sitting up in surprise, thus forgetting to hide she had his shirt on.

"Something to hopefully help get you through your hangover." He replied.

She bit her lip as he prepared her a cup of tea. "That's very thoughtful of you."

Taking a sip and closing her eyes in appreciation, she forced herself to ask how badly she had behaved. She knew from the couple of times she had experienced tipsiness that her friends said she was a little more daring than usual. She didn't have her usual doubt and fear keeping her from experiences.

She eyed him closely as a slight smile formed on his lips.

"You were," Thomas lifted his eyes to meet her steady gaze, "not too much trouble. You were tired and I helped you upstairs."

Her brow furrowed. "How did I get in your t-shirt?"

Her worry grew when she noticed a slight flush to his skin.

"You went swimming to cool off." He coughed and lifted a lid off some toast he had made. "When it came time to change your clothes, you asked for one of my shirts to sleep in."

Amanda leaned forward. "That's it? I didn't do anything else, did I? Anything I should apologize over?" She closed her eyes in embarrassment. "I mean, I do apologize. I can't imagine having your houseguest come in drunk and demanding clothing."

He reached over and took her hand, gently squeezing it to get her to look at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. You," he swallowed as he glanced at the spot he had slept with her in his arms, "You went right to sleep once your head hit the pillow."

She gave him a grateful smile while turning her attention to buttering a piece of toast. "Thank you for putting up with me."

A thought that there was more to the story kept coming to mind, but she decided she didn't want to know. She already had enough to deal with over secretly loving him.

What if I let it slip?!

"I, Thomas," she rambled nervously, "I didn't, I mean I hope there was nothing," she paused, "Did I say anything that I should know about?"

Thomas stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Um," she picked at the toast on her plate, "You know, anything like something I would have said to you that might have caught you off guard?"

He refilled her teacup while debating on what all he should reveal. "You said I smelled nice."

A burst of surprised laughter escaped her lips. "Well, that is something I can say is true while sober."

He chuckled at that. "Thank you."

Her smile slowly fell. "Was there anything else I might have said?"

"You told me you danced." He stood up and motioned toward the food he had prepared. "Eat what you think you can stomach, then join me downstairs." He slipped his hands in his pockets. "We'll take it easy today."

"Didn't you want to go out to dinner tonight?" Amanda's question had him stopping in her doorway.

"Only if you feel well enough." His frown eased as he looked back at her. "Eat, while it is still warm."

"Earth to Amanda." Holly waved her hand in front of her face.

"Sorry." Amanda set her barely touched drink on a table. "Lost in thought."

"I'm always lost in thought." Shannon confessed. "Or sleep deprivation. I don't think our daughter will ever let us sleep again."

While the couple shared stories of being new parents, Amanda searched the patio and beach area for Thomas.

Shannon gripped her arm, taking her once more from her thoughts that she was always hoping to see him.

"Look who's coming over!" She whispered.

Amanda felt her lips part at an extremely popular, and extremely handsome, actor dressed in a WWII uniform.

"Chris." He shook the actor's hand before kissing Shannon's cheek. "Shannon. I haven't seen you two in ages."

He smiled at Amanda and Holly.

"Patrick, I don't think you've had a chance to meet Amanda before." Shannon made the introductions.

"Cordonia." His eyes narrowed in thought. "I don't think I've ever heard of that country."

"Few have." Amanda replied.

His smile reminded her of Ryan's along with that twinkle in his eye. He seemed of a similar height. His voice was not too deep so he would be perfect for the role she had in mind.

"Mr. Fields? Have you heard of The Earl's Undoing?" Amanda asked.

"That's all anyone has talked about since I got home." He replied. "And please call me, Patrick."

"I think you would be perfect to play Lord Carlisle, Lord Arthur's younger brother." She explained.

Chris stepped back and critically studied Patrick. He noticed Ryan walk outside and called for him to come over. "Stand by Patrick." He ordered.

Ryan and Patrick stood side by side.

"I don't believe it!" Shannon breathed. "How come we never noticed this before?"

Holly removed her glasses and stepped closer to them. "It's incredible."

Ryan and Patrick both quirked the same eyebrow while a similar smirk settled on their lips.

"I knew we were both handsome," Patrick teased.

"But not this jaw droppingly handsome." Ryan finished with a wink.

Thomas quietly joined them and looked curiously around at the group.

"We've found Carlisle!" Holly exclaimed, gesturing toward Patrick.

He narrowed his eyes in study.

Amanda slipped over beside him. "They even finish each other's thoughts."

He slowly nodded as he glanced at her. Then he did a double take. He reached up and gently tugged on a lock of her hair.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to laugh at his strange reaction to her hair.

"Is this a wig?" He asked.

"No." She laughed then shook her head to prove that it was her own. "What do you think?"

"You cut your hair?" He muttered, his expression of one of complete disbelief.

Her smile disappeared. "Yes, I did." Her eyes searched his. "Do I look that horrible?"

"No." He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on Patrick.

"Would you like to read a few lines with Ryan?" Thomas asked. "He has a copy of the script, if you are interested in joining the production."

"Are you kidding?" Patrick couldn’t believe he was being given a chance. "Just give me a second to read over it and I will audition whenever you want."

Ryan led him away, telling Thomas to come upstairs to the game room when he was ready to see the audition.

"Now all we need is Marija cast." Holly announced. "Keep an eye out."

She and Shannon excused themselves when they noticed some of their former classmates they hadn’t talked to in a while.

Amanda kept her gaze averted from Thomas. She was determined not to let him see how much his actions toward her haircut stung.

Thomas tried not to stare at her. He slipped his hands into his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to brush the windblown curls back. He couldn't help but notice the change it wrought. Her eyes that he already found difficult to not get lost in, were even more vivid. His gaze dropped to the curls that had been styled to draw the eye to her lips.

He swallowed and looked around for a distraction.

A song from the 1940's began.

"May I have this dance?" Thomas asked.

"Of course." She mumbled, placing her hand in his. "We are dressed for it."

He led her to the dance floor that Ryan had constructed on his private beach. He took Amanda in his arms and began to do a slow box step.

The romantic lyrics drifted through the night air, causing each to think how appropriate the words were when they were near each other.

I'm in the mood for love

Simply because you're near me.

Funny, but when you're near me

I'm in the mood for love.

Thomas raised his hand he had placed on the small of her back to brush her hair out of her eyes. His lips curved when she looked up at him curiously.

"This hairstyle is lovely on you." He let the back of his fingers brush down her cheek as he tucked some of the wayward locks behind her ear.

She smiled at him. "Truly?" At his nod, she relaxed in his arms. "Thank you."

Heaven is in your eyes

Bright as the stars we're under

Oh is it any wonder

That I'm in the mood for love?

Their eyes remained fixated upon one another as the song continued.

Amanda felt the overwhelming urge to tell Thomas why she had to return to Cordonia. The words were on the tip of her tongue, more than ready to tell him that though she had to participate in Liam's social season that she only wanted to be with him...that Thomas was the only man who held her heart.

She had never been so tempted to do so. The thought that when he discovered the reason for her leaving, he would simply assume she preferred Liam and the crown to anyone else. It was eating her up inside. She hoped when she confessed that he would state that he too felt something for her that wasn't mere friendship.

Why stop to think of whether

This little dream might fade?

We've put our hearts together

Now we are one, I'm not afraid!

What did she have to lose? The words were nearly bursting from her lips. The way he was looking at her as they danced...the moonlight...the romantic song...all seemed designed for such a heartfelt confession.

If there's a cloud up above

If it should rain we'll let it

But for tonight, forget it!

'Cause I'm in the mood for love.

I'm in the mood for love

"Thomas, I have to tell you that--"

He twitched then reached in his coat pocket.

His cell was vibrating.

"It's Ryan." He explained while answering. "We'll be right up." He ended the call and took her hand. "Patrick is ready for us."

She couldn't quite keep her disappointment hidden. "Then we shouldn't keep him waiting."

He tucked her hand into the bend of his arm. "What were you about to say when we were interrupted?"

"Nothing." She replied. "Nothing at all."

*****************

Patrick's audition was a success. Thomas was impressed by not only his performance with so little time with the script but also the playful almost brotherly affection already between him and Ryan.

Amanda barely paid attention to any of it. She couldn't believe that she had been so willing to not only break her promise to Liam but to also forget her pride and admit to feelings that might not be returned. She believed she wasn't brave enough to take such a risk.

I'm taking too many chances, she thought to herself. Thomas is becoming far too tempting to remain here. I have to do what I don't want to. I can't risk losing him nor ruining what we have. I can't tell Thomas that I'm in love. How could I possibly face him again once he tells me he can't return my affection?

Excusing herself from them, she went to one of Ryan's bathrooms on the second floor. She locked the door and sent a quick text to one man she knew she could count on to help her.

Barely a minute went by before her phone rang.

"Hey, Drake." She kept her voice low. "I need you to call me in five minutes and ignore how I respond."

"Okay." She could hear the curiosity in his tone. "What am I supposed to be calling about?"

Eyeing the closed door when she heard footsteps go by, she lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.

"That I have to come home immediately." She bit down on her lip over her decision. "It's time to leave Hollywood."

#thomas hunt x oc #the royal romance #choices thomas hunt #choices red carpet diaries #thomas hunt x amanda #thomas hunt #thomas hunt rcd #and then i left you #and then i met you #trr drake #drake walker #choices the stories you play #choices fanfic

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inadeepanddarkdecember · 3 years ago

Note

royal jayrus 2 electric boogaloo: The Soft Character Holding The Injured Rough Character Protectively Close With The Spark Of Protective Rage In Their Eyes

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

All Cyrus had wanted was a night on the town; they were just going to have a little fun. Jay still had so much to show him, and here, here he could be no one, just another no-good kid, just like Jay, invisible and free from the chains of the crown. They ate, they drank, they talked shit. It was nothing. It wasn't supposed to be anything. Just two nobodies, laughing to themselves.

Instead, they had become a spectacle. The bar had parted into a stage--any interference living or not to tonight’s bout knocked aside like nothing--as the protagonist tore his shirt from his back. He towered over Jay, a bull roaring steam. Their youth didn’t matter, and their intentions didn’t matter: he had backed them into a corner and he was going to teach them a lesson.

Jay had grinned when she told him to go on ahead, duck under the table and leave; she’d catch up.

He made it as far as the door before making the mistake of looking back. He couldn’t leave her. He was a terrible listener.

“He--“ the man didn’t give Jay the chance to finish whatever snark she was about to say; he swung, and she dodged. He had all the power, but she had the speed. He was drunk and clumsy--he reached wide--Jay’s shove from the back sent him stumbling. She laughed. She could win. She got bolder. She danced around him, weaving closer. She landed an elbow in his jaw and slid away.

She got too bold.

“You little bitch--“ he caught her by the hair and yanked, bringing her tumbling. Jay was off-balance now; blow after blow was landing--she’d dodge, but in the wrong direction. Blood hit the floor. Jay’s confidence was gone; her eyes darted around, looking for an out.

Their eyes met.

The man yanked Jay off her feet and threw her--hard--into the dust. She didn’t get back up. He didn’t walk away. The ice that froze Cyrus to where he stood broke suddenly as he darted forward, throwing himself over her. He clung to her as he sat up, pulling her into his lap, and with all the kingly force he could muster, he looked the man in the eye and said, “Stand down.“

The man looked at Cyrus, curious. Then, he started to laugh. “Says who?“

Cyrus had no power here. He was in disguise; he hadn’t the chains of princehood nor its power. The words started bubbling up before he could think better of them--he had to do something--he had to say something--a grin found its way across his face as he stood up. “Says me. You know, she’s not the only one with a mouth on her; she’s not the only one who thinks you’re a fish dick idiot.“ He walked a circle, drawing the man’s gaze with him. “You know what I think? I think you’re no better than a knuckle dragging troglodyte; do you even know what that means? Of course not, the cellar rats have more sense than you. You just--“

“Enough!“ The man’s hand whipped across Cyrus’s face, setting the world spinning. He stumbled, then found himself lifted into the air. He could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath as he said, “You want punishment so bad, then I got some to spare for you too.“ His fist reared back, but Cyrus had only eyes for Jay, laying limp on the ground. His heart beat against his ribs; it didn’t matter what happened to him, so long as he bought her time.

Move!

A loud crack filled Cyrus’s ears, but he did not feel any pain. Instead, he fell, and the man fell beside him, blood dripping from the back of his neck. Above them both stood a woman, stern and disapproving. She offered her hand to Cyrus, and he took it without thinking, letting her pull him to his feet as she asked, “Are you alright, Your Highness?“

His stomach clenched, frozen crackling ice. “You--who are you?“

“Hm. I’ve been at the manor longer you have, Your Highness. Your disguise isn’t that good.“

It was just a game. Of course, it was just a game. This, this thing was in his blood and bones; a pair of pants couldn’t really hide him. It was silly to think it ever did.

Cyrus followed silently as their rescuer inspected Jay. She was conscious and, after answering some of the woman’s questions, brought to her feet too, though she swayed.

Looking between the two of them, the woman said, “The two of you should be ashamed. Your Highness, with all due respect, this was reckless beyond belief, and incredibly immature. Why need you to play among common folk? The manor has your every need. And putting yourself at risk, for your body guard? She was doing her job. You’re the important one; you’re irreplaceable. and with your condition; you can’t be taking risks like this. And you--“ she turned on Jay, “I don’t know what was said to set that man off, but you are not strong enough to protect Cyrus on your own; tonight was plenty evidence of that. Look at yourself: you are still weak. What if something had happened? Already, His Majesty will have a bruise to cover. I will be taking you both home immediately.“

Every word was another brutal reminder. Jay wasn’t supposed to be his friend, just a body guard. She was replaceable; he wasn’t. Who could stand to lose such an important pawn in their game, after all?

As they both shuffled behind their rescuer--all of that, and she still hadn’t bothered to introduce herself--Jay slugged Cyrus in the arm, though she couldn’t muster up her usual force. Even her insult fell hushed: “Idiot. I told you to run.“

“I know.“

#royalty au #jay #desertfragments #drabble #can you tell which part i wrote while sick and which part i didnt #w/e im happy

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finelinesolo · 5 years ago

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Rules are Rules - a Ben Solo One Shot (AU)

Rating: EXPLICIT (smut)

Summary: You work at the busiest bar in the city, and one night Ben Solo comes in. Small talk, small talk — you two end up in the bathroom.

Notes: thank you for 600 on twitter!! xo’s - Lizzie

Maybe it was the freezing New York City air or maybe the lack of caffeine in your system was finally getting to you, but goosebumps danced across your arms frantically – sending a chilling shiver down your spine. There was nothing you hated more than working the closing shift, especially on Fridays. Being a bartender was fun at times and the money was pretty good, but having to be the one to kick the drunks out after last call and listen to them bitch and groan about their wives hating them or their lives falling apart was a chore no one wanted to do.

As hard as you begged, no one seemed to want to cover your shift. You were halfway tempted to just call in sick, electing not to out of fear of your boss raising hell to fire you.

A groan slipped from your lips when you heard the banging speakers and screaming people pour out of the door, their legs barely keeping them afloat as they stumbled down the street. Did you bring your Advil today? Better yet, would the Advil be enough to get you through this? You knew the answer was no, but ignorance is bliss – and that would be the only thing to save you now.

Popping the medicine into your mouth, you step through the door – already counting the seconds until you could clock off.

You knew wiping down counters repeatedly was only fun for so long, but anything was better than making strawberry martinis and cosmos for the bridal party that came in tonight. The minute they entered, you tossed the main bar to your co-worker, electing to take over bottle service and the occasional table wipe down. The tasks irritated you to no end, but every time one of the girls released a shriek pitched high enough to break glass, you hugged the rag in your hand a little tighter.

Before you could start on another table, you felt the seat next to you pull out - and man with a mop of black hair and an electric smile plopping down. His eyes lingered on yours - the hazel color swallowing you whole. He was cute, you hated to admit. It was easier for you to pretend that everyone who came into this place was a slob, however you had never wanted to be wrong more in your life.

“Bottle girl tonight, I see.” He said, raising a hand at the waitress to put an order in. His eyes drifted down to your legs, sitting there for a second before flashing back to meet your gaze. “Nice legs, by the way. You’re always behind the bar, I’ve never seen them before.” He cocked a lazy smile at your co-worker, lazily ordering a whiskey neat. She glanced up at you before scurrying off, swaying her hips in the process. To impress this guy, you guessed. A small giggle fell from your lips, causing his eyes to fall back on you. You tried to suppress your laughter, but it came anyways.

“Something funny?” He asked, crossing his arms across his chest. The position drew attention to the muscles laced through his arms, your throat closing momentarily at the sight. “No, not at all. You enjoyed the show, I assume?” You ask, lifting your head to gesture at your co-worker. He rolled his eyes, leaning forward onto the table. “Every time I’m in here she does the same thing - maybe I should keep track, throw her a party when she hits 100.” Oh, so he had jokes. You rack your brain to remember who he was, drawing a blank after a few moments. “You’re a regular, I assume?” You ask, dropping your rag on his table to at least try to make it look like you are working so your boss didn't chew you out. He nodded; eyes steady on the bar to track his drink. “You don’t remember me? Ouch, that stings. I’ll remember that the next time I tip.” You knew he was kidding, his tone of voice said that much. He squinted his eyes at you, studying your expression. There wasn’t much to see, clearly - his gaze returning to the line of drinks forming on the counter.

“I’m Ben, Ben Solo. And you?” His voice was loud, the sound carrying through the booming music that busted your ear drums on the daily. “I’m Y/N - it’s nice to meet you, Ben.” It was a cute name, for a cute guy. You wondered if there was something deeper here - like maybe he was a serial killer and came here looking for girls to murder. You’d seen some creepy guys come through here, but he didn’t seem like one. Creepy guys don’t dress this well – his torso was framed tightly by a black dress top, his bottom half matched with plain jeans. Black boots sealed the look, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding underneath all those buttons.

“So, Ben, what do you do?” You ask, throwing the rag over your shoulder so you could lean closer. He noticed, resting his chin on his palm to meet your distance. “I’m a pilot, but I live here. I have the next couple days off.” A pilot. This man was a rich, successful, pilot – so what was he doing in this part of town, getting drinks from the busiest dive bar in the city? “And what about you, bottle girl? Are you a full-time bartender or do you live a double life?” He smiled softly at you, the curve of his lips forcing you to return the grin. “I’m that predictable, huh? Yeah, Speech Pathology student by day, slave to the drink by night.” He raised his eyebrow, the emotion behind it was unreadable. “Speech Pathology, huh? So, you’re an expert with mouth movement, huh?” His tone shifted towards the end, the weight of it growing stronger - like it was sitting on your chest. Yes, your major included those techniques - something your friends loved to tease you about. No one you’d slept with really cared, yet here was this man already using it to his favor. “Somewhat, yes. Why? Are you looking for a lesson?” A bold statement, you knew. Normally you’d never engage a customer, but in your eyes – this man didn’t count. His face shifted to glance back at the bar, his drink still not there. You hoped they forgot to make it - that maybe you’d be able to steal him before he got it. Before you could ask again, you felt his hand land on your thigh - his fingers drawing soft circles as they traveled up towards your hip. “How much time do you have?” He asked, the heat radiating from him warming your skin.

“As much as you're willing to give me.” The distance between you two grew smaller and smaller until you were practically sitting in his lap, your leg draped softly over his bottom half. Your face loomed over his, standing up having given you the high ground. The bar grew more crowded, the hoard of dancers covering you two from the judging glances of your co-workers – something you’d remember to thank God for later. He raised his jaw, gesturing towards the one family bathroom the building had. There wasn’t a line for it, something that rarely happens. Nodding in agreement, he snatches your hand to drag you forward. His legs carried him faster than you could keep up with, and it wasn’t until now that you realized how tall he was. No wonder he could make a b-line so quick, the man was easily 6’3.

Once inside the room, Ben wrapped his arms around your waist – turning you to press your back against the door as it shut. His lips softly brushed against yours’s, the hum of your chests reverberating against each other. He had big hands, another thing you didn’t notice until now. One sprawled against your hip, the other grasped the back of your neck tightly. The air was thick with the smell of spilt liquor and sweat from the dance floor - a trait you normally detested, but with Ben this close, you could faintly smell his cologne - a mix of sandalwood and mint fluttered in your nose. You wanted nothing more than for him to kiss you, but he wasn’t playing that game this evening. He wasn’t vanilla, clearly – your heart pounded at the thought of what he was capable of.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was sweet like candy, but was still coated with that same dark tone you enjoyed so much before. His breath was hot on your skin, the bottom of his lip tucked between his top teeth for just a second as he contemplated his next sentence. “How much are you willing to do?” The question was dumb, but you appreciated it, nonetheless. “In what way, Ben?” You asked, your lashes fluttering softly to not squirm away from his touch. It was driving you crazy, and he knew it too – his hands digging a little deeper into your skin. “I want all of you, every inch. But are you going to be good and let me take my time with you or can you not handle it?” His words dripped with intensity, and you fought the urge to audibly gasp. You were on the clock, but the idea of going back to work right now sounded like an unusual form of torture. You nod, slowly – watching that same grin you saw earlier form on his mouth. He loved this, clearly. And you did too, shockingly enough. Normally you’d never hook up with someone in a bathroom, but it was just your luck that it had been deep cleaned before rush tonight.

“Any rules?” You asked, your arms wrapping around his neck. The gesture was so normal to you, yet he managed to reject it so fast – his hands grabbing yours to pin them above your head.

“Yes, a few.”

Whether it was shock or excitement that was heating your face, you didn’t care. The force behind his actions was electrifying, every move he made left you wondering what would come next. His eyes caught yours, silently asking to continue. You nod, maintaining eye contact as you twitched beneath him.

“You don’t do anything without asking. You even try to cum before I let you and I’ll pull away.” His voice got quiet as he nudged your head to get at your neck, placing soft kisses along your jaw. The pace was agonizing, his tongue dragging a small line across your skin. You groaned under your breath, the feeling causing your knees to wobble.

“You’re not allowed to touch me.” The rule was mind-boggling, and you weren’t sure how you’d be able to follow it. He was built like a marble statue, and the idea of not being able to drag your fingers across his figure seemed impossible.

“And what if I break it?” You ask, your voice faltering as he sucked on the skin below your earlobe. The soft laugh that escaped his lips sounded borderline threatening, his grip on your wrists only tightening. “Do you want me to leave you here to finish yourself?” No. No you did not.

“Rules are rules, sweetheart.” His voice carried through your ears like a melody.

Nodding, you mentally sign off on his rules. It’s not like what he was asking for was totally insane, you had seen much worse watching the people who came into this bar. His grip on your wrists changed, transferring both into one hand while he brought the other to grasp your hip. Your mouth released a soft moan at his touch, everything he did elicited a reaction from deep within you. It wasn’t long before you felt his lips on yours, the soft pillow-like texture clouding your thoughts. His kiss was unlike anything you’d felt before – like they were custom fit for yours’s, or that they had molded so quickly to fit your every movement. He turned his head to the side to angle deeper, swiping his tongue softly against your bottom lip to earn entry – and who were you to deny him that?

You wanted nothing more than to grab a fistful of his hair and pull it for strength, but that was clearly not an option now. He had open reign of your body, his free hand roaming up under your shirt to unclasp your bra.

With one hand? A talent.

Before you could realize it, your top half was exposed – he analyzed your every inch as if he was afraid, he’d miss a part. No one had ever taken in all of you like this, the nerves of being open to him causing you to shiver. He felt it, you assumed – releasing your wrists.

“Don’t move them - are we clear?” You nod, keeping your arms pressed against the door. His big hands slid up your side while he kissed down your collarbone and over the top of your chest. Hot air pounded against your forehead from the lack of AC that ever pumped into this room. You’d never had a fond memory here, but you were sure this would quickly top the list.

His lips clasped around your nipple fervently, as if he were in a rush – and maybe he was, you were at work and the risk of someone drunkenly stumbling through the door to puke was high. Your mind was racing, not able to place thoughts to actions as he dragged his tongue along your skin. The lights flickered softly, growing dimmer every passing second. It was like the further he got along your body, the darker it got. Ben didn’t seem to notice, focused on the task at hand. He stepped back momentarily, unbuttoning his shirt as fast as he could.

“You just want me to stand here like this, huh?” You asked, your wrists resting against the cold metal of the door. A kink was a kink, you guessed – but this was the first you’d met someone who didn’t want you to touch them. You’d read about it time to time, and seen it in that 50 shades movie - but this was a real person with real rules, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you broke them.

A dash of courage races through your head, your hands working for you. Ben was so lost in unbuttoning his shirt, he didn’t notice you lurch forward to place your hands on his chest. His eyes flew open, shock splashed across his face. He didn’t stop you, his eyes intently staring at your every movement. As predicted, his body was stunning. The build of his torso was like something out of a dream, soft skin draped over toned muscle. His breath was shallow as your hand fell lower – a reaction that only encouraged you to go further. Oddly enough, he still wasn’t stopping you - he let you continue your exploration, watching your fingers fumble with the button of his pants. It popped open quietly, causing the hemline to drop slightly past his hip, exposing more skin. You raise your eyes to meet his gaze, hoping he’d let you continue.

The rules. You were doing a shit job at following them, and he was either playing a trick on you to see if you’d get back in line, or he didn’t care – and Ben didn’t seem like the kind of guy to forgive so easily.

Steadily, you raise your hands in defeat – stepping back against the door as he asked to stay before. Pride washed across his face, his frame towering over you as he pressed up against you again.

“Good girl.”

He returned his mouth to yours, an exhale of relief leaving lips in the process. Your stomach did 180 flips every time he touched you, and you couldn’t help but want to run your fingers through his hair and pull. This was the point, clearly – he knew that you not being able to touch him would drive you crazy, and he was right.

Ben slapped your legs softly, gesturing for you to jump into his arms. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you had assumed that meant the no touch rule was over – clearly not, because before you could finally touch his hair, he used one hand to catch them as he strode across the room to place you on the sink. You groan in frustration – desperate to feel his hot skin against your palm. He laughed softly under his breath, hiking your skirt up to let it pool at your hips. Ben stood in between your legs, his size keeping them spread far apart. The cold porcelain pressed into your thighs, goosebumps appearing in its place. The warmth from the man in front of you was enough to suppress them, his arms returning to their place around your hips. He softly kissed down your face, stopping at your lips.

“Do you want my mouth?”

Blunt, yes. You’ve noticed that he was straight to the point, a trait you’d normally detest. But it was hot on him. Everything was.

“Yes, yes please.”

Ben smirked, getting down on his knees to place a hand on your stomach – pressing you against the mirror. The glass chilled you to your spine, a small gasp escaping your lips from the contact. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, placing soft kisses along your inner thigh to tease you.

“Ben, please.” You begged, swallowing your pride out of desperation to feel him. Nerves wracked your chest and you weren’t sure why. You’d hooked up with people before, even in public once or twice - but this was the first time you’d felt immobile in front of a man, as if your body only acted because he told it too. He noticed your trance, hooking a finger on your underwear to move it to the side. He let out a puff of cold air, the contact causing your legs to fly up. He didn’t care, leaning back a bit to prop your knees on his shoulders for a better angle.

It was a quick second before you felt his mouth on you, the pressure that was building up in your stomach immediately releasing at the feeling. Your hands found purchase on the side of the sink, the sudden thought of his rules reminding you to not grab at his hair. He licked in zig-zag formation, his tongue pressing in harder after landing on your clit. The air was sucked from your lungs, a moan forcing its way out. Ben wrapped his arms around your hips in return, holding you in place. His head rotated in small circles, mouthing at your center at a quicker pace. Every couple seconds he’d groan against you, the sound vibrating your clit in ways that made your head spin.

“You like that, huh?” He asked, pulling away shortly to press your buttons. All you could do was nod - his tongue pushing through your folds again taking away your ability to speak. He seemed to want words, his frame teetering backwards to blow cold air on your entrance. The feeling was electric, and you never wanted it to end. Shrieking, your knuckles went white from gripping the sink.

“Yes, god yes. Please don’t stop.” The words came out as more of a stutter.

“Please what? Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

He knew. He wasn’t dumb. Why did he need vocals?

“Please, I need you to make me cum. Ben-” Your breath was hot as is exhaled, the words stumbling out in an incoherent mess. “I want your fingers, and your mouth – please.”

He raised an eyebrow, pleased with his effect on you. “Fingers too, huh? Greedy little thing.” Not that he cared, of course. Ben didn’t waste a second, raising his middle finger to your entrance and pushing in. The feeling was euphoric, his pace quickening to match the rise and fall of your chest. He murmured against your center, sucking your clit while his fingers curled deep inside of you. It was almost too much, and you knew you’d only last so long.

“Oh, god yes - daddy.”

Your eyes flew open, one of your hands coming up to slam over your mouth. Why? Why now?

“What did you just call me?” He asked, his grip on your hip tightening slightly.

“Nothing. I called you nothing.” You felt like an idiot, and you were an idiot. You’d always wanted to try calling someone that, but no one ever made you feel like they’d be okay with it. That, or they were boring to the point that you couldn’t get yourself to say it. And here you were, naked on top of a sink – waiting for the one man you found that deserved the title, to decide if it was okay.

“Say it. What did you call me?” He said again, this time darker in tone.

“Daddy.” It came out weak, sheepish even. You swallowed your spit hoping it would make your speech clear up.

He smirked, the expression causing a wave of relief to wash over you. Returning to his place in between your legs, his lips kissed down your pussy – lapping softly at the skin just above your entrance. Fingers and all, this man knew what he was doing. Hunger for him raged on in your chest, and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d last like this.

“Oh, sweetheart – you taste so good. You like it when daddy does this, huh?” He said, his words pulsating against you. “Yes, yes.” You sigh, your legs starting to shake. The closer you got to finishing, the harder it was to focus. Your vision was blurring with every passing second.

“Ben -” you start, the pressure building in your stomach becoming unbearable. “Can I please cum? Please?” It came out as a plea, like your life depended on it. He looked up at you from his spot, the eye contact threatening to send you over the edge.

“Hm, not yet. Count to 10 and I’ll let you.” He says, staying close to you. You nod – confused with how 10 seconds would affect anything.

“1…”

He swirled his tongue around your clit, pushing his fingers in completely.

“2 … 3 …. 4 …”

Ben moaned against you, shaking his head from left to right to create friction.

“5 … 6 … 7 ... “

“I don’t know if I can do this Ben-” You gasp, sweat dripping from your brow as you try to hold your orgasm in. He dug his nails into your skin, signaling to continue.

“8… 9 … 10 …”

He sucked harshly, releasing your clit but continuing to push in and out of you at full force. “Cum, sweetheart. Cum for daddy.”

You felt your body wrack with shakes as you released, the power behind it causing your back to fly off the mirror – sitting straight up once again. You wanted to catch your breath, but Ben had better ideas. He stood to his feet, pulling you against his chest.

“I’m on the pill -” you whisper, his head resting on your shoulder. He nodded, leaning down to shuffle out of his pants. Pulling his boxers down, his cock was released from its hold. Your eyes flew open wide – the size of it taking away your ability to speak. This could hurt, and you almost wanted it to hurt.

He hooked one of his arms under your leg, lifting it slightly. You impulsively reached forward, grabbing his shoulders for support. This was breaking the rules, you knew that. Ben’s eyes traced your frame, nodding in approval at your position.

“You’ve been good, sweetheart – you can keep your hands there.”

You couldn’t help but feel relief, tightening your grip around his neck – your fingers finally trailing into his hair. It was just as soft as you hoped, the locks tangling around your grip. Ben groaned at the close contact, letting out a harsh breath before thrusting himself all the way inside you, filling you up. Your grip faltered, his arms catching you before you fell back against the mirror again. Pulling him closer after, your neck gave out – finding a resting spot on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, adjusting to the feeling of you around him.

“You’re so tight - damn, sweetheart.” You were, but mainly because of him - the man was stretching you as far as you could take. “You like how I fill you up, huh? Tell me how much you like it.”

Words were not coming out, an example of his effect on you. All you could manage were a few murmured words, flying out of your mouth in a haste.

“Yes - Yes, I love it, ugh.” That’s as good as it was going to get for you, his mouth curving into a smirk watching you come undone at his will. The sound of desperation in your voice only encouraged him further, picking up his pace. He holds you against him as he plunges his cock as deep as it would go, grunting and moaning obscenities along the way. Every move he made went straight to your core, the impact relentless. You wanted to scream or bang your arms against the wall – everything he did felt so damn good, and you didn’t know how else to express it. Your eyes begin to water, one hand coming in between you to rub vicious circles on your clit while the other finds purchase gently wrapped around your throat. You were fairly sure he was out to kill you, and the idea of going back to work after this was near impossible. He groans, elbowing your left leg, silently asking you to lift it just as he had it before. You oblige, the angle only sending him deeper. You make a mental note to thank your DJ for blasting the music so loud it was virtually impossible to hear anything, imagining a way to explain this to your coworkers if they caught you. His brain was on a different wavelength clearly, pounding into you relentlessly and enjoying every second.

“Don’t forget to tell me when you’re close.” He grunts, his fingers still rotating your clit deliciously. And you were, but you didn’t want this to end. How much longer could you drag this out for?

Your orgasm had other things in mind, creeping up on you quickly. You shriek, slapping his shoulder and shaking your head. “Ben, I’m so close, please-” He shook his head, slamming into you again but halting his movement, the length pressed against you causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“Cum now sweetheart, now.”

You scream into his shoulder, softly biting the skin to relieve the tension. His breath hitched quickly after yours, finishing inside of you while you continued shaking underneath his body. He slowly thrusts in and out of you to help you ride out your climax before slowing to a stop, his head leaning against yours. Your ragged breaths mixed with his, the air between you thin. The outline of the skin made your legs sore, a soft whimper of pain pushing past your lips. Ben assumed so, wrapping your legs around his hips tighter so he could lift you up, carrying you over to the small counter placed in the counter. The surface was less harsh, the surge of pain you felt before dissipating. He kissed your forehead, reaching to his left to grab some paper towels.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart.” Following his instructions, you feel him softly dab at your hairline - cleaning up the sweat forming. He did the same further down your body, wiping along your collarbone and your jaw. It was a sweet gesture compared to the way he was wrecking you earlier.

He finished, throwing the paper away and returning with your clothes. You dressed in silence, stealing a glance at him through the corner of your eye every couple seconds. Once everything was fastened, you stood on opposite sides of the bathroom, eyes glued to each other. His feet carried him in stride, his hands on either side of your face while he kissed you softly. You melted into his touch, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“What time do you get off tonight?” He asked, staring at your lips – waiting for an answer.

“I close, so around 2.” He flipped his wrist, glancing at his watch for time. It must have been around midnight at this point.

“I’ll wait for you, then you’re coming home with me.” He said with that same smirk crossing his face in the way you liked so much. That could be arranged, but you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

“Oh, really? And why is that?” You whisper against his jaw, placing soft kisses up until you reached just under his ear lobe, swirling your tongue there softly. He shuddered against you, pulling you away with his eyes squinted.

“Because I said so, and rules are rules.”

#ben solo #adam driver #ben solo smut #ben solo au #adam driver smut

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cicada-bones · 4 years ago

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The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 22: Burnout

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The following week was filled with preparations for Beltane, a night of fire and food and dancing. A night practically made for the wild princess.

Spring would soon begin to wane, the rains washing away and giving over to the wild blossoms and bounty of summer. Beltane was a celebration of this change, where all came together to honor the fire goddess, and to pray for a prosperous harvest.

Fae across the world would be laying out offerings to the Little Folk, decorating hawthorn bushes, raising maypoles, and preparing feasts. In the evening, small fires would be ignited to allow a few brave souls to jump across. It was said jumping would bring luck, and ensure a good crop or a healthy birth. Fae used it to pray to the gods for whatever they desired most, and sometimes, the gods would listen. Of course most of the time, they stayed infuriatingly silent.

Rowan had never put much stock in the idea, though Lyria had always loved the celebrations, and he had tolerated them for her sake. Not that she spent much time leaping over fires. The pair of them had usually spent the time eating and listening to music, or dancing barefoot in the grass, their fingers entwined, feet clumsy and awkward, as far from the flames as they could get. Lyria didn’t love Beltane for its fires: she loved the holiday for what it meant – the end of the relentless mountain snows and the return of the flowers in her garden.

Rowan almost flinched. It had been a long time since he had thought of that garden, since he could remember its wild expanse without the pain forcing the images away. But now he could see every lovely petal, every tenacious weed, and instead of Lyria’s screams echoing in his mind, he could almost sense her presence on his skin, almost hear her soft laugh. And though the sound unearthed an ache deep in his chest, it was not unbearable.

After her death, Rowan avoided Beltane – or any celebration, really – instead spending the time holed up and trying to forget, usually by drowning himself in alcohol. On nights like this, where so many were turning to the comfort of their partners, it was so much harder to forget that he was alone, to forget what he had lost.

Though recently, it had gotten much easier to do so. So much so that he could now even think of Lyria, could remember his time with her, without completely falling apart. Usually, she was a small hole at the back of his mind, always there – but most of the time he could get through the day without having to acknowledge it. Now, Rowan could go whole days without thinking of her, entire hours where his forgetfulness wasn’t forced, but easy. Natural.

Rowan didn’t want to think too hard about the cause of that new ease.

Aelin had spent the past few days practicing harder than Rowan had yet seen. She was throwing herself into the work, and slowly but surely, she was improving. Even if Emrys was keeping Aelin back later and later each day to help prepare the Beltane feast, making her later and later each morning.

Not that the princess was complaining – Rowan caught her sneaking extra food off of overloaded plates at least half a dozen times. The magic he had her performing was exhausting, so he didn’t really blame her. Particularly as it meant that he no longer had to haul quite so much food up the mountain to help sustain her while they practiced. It was the little things.

Aelin was improving, but not as fast as she could be. She was still far from ready to go to Doranelle, and though she had mastered her shift, those iron bars limiting her power had not shifted one inch, and she still struggled to access her magic around them. Aelin worked best under some kind of pressure, when others were dependent upon her self-control.

Beltane was a celebration of fire, and Aelin was its Heir. Perhaps Rowan could figure out a safer way to use the princess’ drive to keep others safe while learning to control her power.

···

Twilight was starting to fall over the Cambrian mountains, painting the mists golden once again. Rowan and Aelin were standing together on a mountain plateau, a mile or so above Mistward. Various Fae wandered about, setting up tables for the feast, bringing in kindling from the surrounding woods, or just mulling about, waiting for the celebrations to begin. A few were giggling and practicing dances, while a couple of musicians were placing instruments along the forest edge, preparing to play.

Over the past few days, dozens of other demi-Fae had arrived from neighboring outposts to join in their celebrations, and most of them seemed familiar with many of the residents of Mistward. Rowan recognized a few of them, mostly healers from the compound. Even Namonora had come to Mistward to celebrate.

The newcomers were all friendly, and they greeted each other with much embracing and well-natured teasing. Normally, Rowan would be unaffected by the increased attendance, as he was usually feared and avoided by other Fae. But Aelin wasn’t, and the attention she was attracting grated on him.

Rowan had caught many of the visiting males throwing glances her way, their faces open and inviting. However, they always reconsidered when they noticed Rowan standing at her side, their scents shifting from inviting to reluctant.

Perhaps if the males had known that Rowan was her teacher, they would have been less hesitant to approach the princess. But Rowan didn’t have room to feel guilty for not enlightening them to that fact – he was too busy feeling grumpy and protective and irritable. Not that he would blame Aelin for going off and pursuing some wide-eyed male. She deserved whatever pleasure she could get her hands on.

Even if he wasn’t so sure that Aelin felt the same way about him. The previous night, Aelin had actually growled at another female in the kitchens at dinner who had been looking at him with interest, and had stepped forwards as if to say hello.

Rowan wanted to be irritated at the princess for her intrusion, but he couldn’t help but be a tiny bit pleased – the deep, territorial, and entirely male part of himself secretly satisfied by it. Pleased that she had staked some small claim to him, even if it was only as a companion, or a friend.

Not that that word came easy to him. Friend. Rowan hadn’t had a person to call a friend in over 200 years – his fellow warriors didn’t really count. Not even Gavriel, even if Rowan had occasionally thought of him as one. They were all blood-bonded, connected by a lust for power and purpose, and nothing more. It wasn’t a foundation for deeper relationships to form.

And yet here Aelin was, his equal, his mirror and…his friend. Regardless of all obstacles.

Aelin had not feared him once after their initial meeting, hadn’t once flinched from him, no matter how much shit he’d flung at her. And it was starting to affect him, to change him. No matter how he tried to deny it. His conversation with Namonora had begun to open his eyes, but it wasn’t until last night that he’d really noticed.

Rowan’s scent had changed. It had lost its abrasiveness, was no longer so hostile. Just as Aelin’s had. And the demi-Fae females at the fortress had begun to notice.

Rowan didn’t really know how to feel about that.

Aelin munched on an apple a few feet behind him, the loud crunch breaking him from his thoughts. They were standing in front of three unlit fires. The central pyre was a massive pile of wood, stacked up high enough to brush the stars, but the two at its sides were much smaller – perfect for jumping. And all three of which would be Aelin’s responsibility through the night.

“I assume you brought me here so I could practice?” Aelin chucked the apple core across the field, rubbing at a sore shoulder and frowning.

Rowan gestured towards the piles of firewood. “Ignite them, and keep the fires controlled and even all night.”

“All three.” Aelin’s voice was flat, colored by a familiar irritation.

“Keep the end ones low for the jumpers. The middle one should be scorching the clouds.”

Aelin pursed her lips, anxiety filling her scent. “This could easily turn lethal.”

Rowan lifted a hand, stirring the winds around the princess just enough to ruffle her clothes and tousle her golden hair. “I’ll be here,” he said simply.

“And if I somehow still manage to turn someone into a living torch?”

“Then it’s a good thing the healers are also here to celebrate.”

She gave him a dirty look, but seemed to accept her instructions, turning towards the unlit pyres and rolling her shoulders. “When do you want to start?”

“Now.”

···

Aelin was doing well, very well in fact. Though that didn’t much settle Rowan’s nerves. Each time another oblivious demi-Fae leaped over one of the jumping-fires, heedless of the danger they were placing themselves in, Rowan could feel his whole body tense.

Not that Aelin much appreciated his anxiety. Every time he murmured for her to be careful, or to keep steady, she all but snarled at him. So Rowan did his best to keep his eyes forwards, out towards the field full of demi-Fae and away from the princess who was steadily burning at his side.

The Beltane celebrations of his childhood in Doranelle had been rigid, formal affairs. Queen Maeve hosted a banquet, which she rarely attended for more than a few minutes, and his mother always shoved him into his stiffest, most uncomfortable tunic with strict orders not to spill anything on it. There was dancing, but it was always restricted to the strict, formal movements of the traditional dances.

When he was younger, his parents had forced him to pair off with other young females to dance, and he’d despised it. It wasn’t the dancing that he hated – his family had put him in lessons, so he knew all of the movements. It was more the awkward, stilted conversation, the obligatory etiquette and proper manners that he chafed against. And it had only gotten worse as he grew older.

By the time he reached his second and third decades, Rowan’s parents were gone, and he was living in his uncle Ellys’ house alongside his many cousins, including Endymion and Sellene. Ellys had raised him well, had even given him his first lessons in swordplay. But he had been strict, and avoiding formal events had been out of the question.

So once Rowan was free of his uncle’s influence, he had avoided official celebrations and their fraught conversation as often as possible. But here, among the demi-Fae, things were different.

The dancing was much more lively, the clothing looser and more comfortable – made for spinning and whirling in the firelight. The food was less decadent, and far more delicious. Emrys’ feast had been made with love and care, and not impressing the various lords and ladies, in mind.

But most of all was the feeling of freedom and joy and excitement that overwhelmed the open space. Everyone’s scents overlapped into a cacophony of warmth and spice and vibrance. Here, people ate what they wanted, laughed when they wanted, danced how they wanted to, and even went off into the bushes together without anyone staring daggers at them.

The smell was intense, and with Aelin standing just feet away, it was almost overwhelming. Her flames and magic and the heat of her body reached out to caress him, pulling the memory of the taste of her blood to the forefront of his mind. Lemon and jasmine and fire, all wrapped up in the taste of desire that had flooded the whole of the clearing.

And the music. It was beyond words.

Violins and flutes and drums and harps and horns, weaving together a blanket of sound that swathed the whole of the field – the whole of the world. And while the music was all ancient songs that had been played in Doranelle for millennia – by the demi-Fae musicians, the sound had some other richness, some deeper emotion Rowan hadn’t heard before.

He thought that Aelin might have been just as moved by the beautiful melody, her flames seeming to twist in time with the music, the vibrant colors blinking and flashing in the starlight.

And what colors they were; rubies and citrines and tigereyes and the deepest sapphires. Over the past few weeks, the flames she conjured had shifted, becoming richer and more varied – a symphony in and of itself. More beautiful than any sunset.

Nearby demi-Fae marveled at the gorgeous fires, obviously wondering at how they burned so brightly and yet didn’t consume the wood they rested on. A few wandering eyes took note of Rowan and Aelin standing quietly in the shadows at the edge of the clearing, but Rowan didn’t think any of the watchers made the connection between the magic flames and the fire-wielder at his side.

As the night wore on, Aelin grew more and more exhausted, drained by the sustained use of magic. But the well of fire within her did not lessen. It burned on, endlessly ravenous.

Yet still, those iron bars did not burn away. Aelin’s wildfire felt strong enough to consume the entirety of Erilea, but the prison in her mind was impervious to that strength, and held fast. Once again, the image of Aelin chained up in a darkened dungeon, her child’s face twisted in anger and pain, flashed before his eyes.

Rowan’s jaw tightened. He would do anything to free her from those bars. To see the Heir of Fire unleashed at last.

Aelin shifted on her feet slightly, her face contorting in discomfort.

“Easy,” Rowan said as her flames danced a bit higher.

“I know,” Aelin spat through her teeth.

Rowan frowned. He was certain he was in control, and ready to intervene if it proved necessary. Even if he wasn’t stronger than Aelin’s flames, Rowan was confident that he was stubborn enough to repress the wildfire if it slipped Aelin’s control. But still, he only barely contained a flinch as a female took a wild leap over the leftmost pyre, giggling as she went.

Aelin shifted again, the middle bonfire twisting and arching with her as she stretched, mirroring her movements, a rippling golden reflection. “When can I stop?”

“When I say so.”

“I’m sweating to death, I’m starving, and I want a break.”

“Resorting to whining?” Rowan wanted to roll his eyes, but he was being baked alive, his linen shirt soaked with sweat and the leather blazingly hot, shrinking and tightening in the blistering heat. And the princess was far from better off; Rowan could see her limbs glistening with sweat, her clothes damp and wrinkled, face cherry-red.

Rowan sent a cooling breeze in her direction, wrapping his ice around her burning form. Aelin’s muscles relaxed and she closed her eyes, moaning softly.

Rowan became very still, desire pooling in his stomach as her scent and the taste of her blood wrapped around him, neatly wiping his mind clean of everything but the feel of her heat beside him.

He forcibly wrenched his thoughts away, thinking of something, anything other than how much he wanted to walk over to her and –

No.

After a few moments, Rowan cleared his throat and managed to say, “Just a little while longer.”

Aelin visibly sagged in relief, and a few more silent minutes passed. Rowan could feel Aelin’s thoughts drift, her gaze shifting over to the piles of food stacked on the tables across the field. Her stomach grumbled aggressively, and Rowan felt an ounce of guilt pass through him. He would give it a few more minutes, and then they could stop for the night.

Aelin began tapping her foot, her head bobbing and swaying along with the music. Her flames began to follow suit, whirling and swishing with every twitch of her fingers. They leaped higher once again, and Rowan tensed.

“Easy,” Rowan said, but then it clicked. “Music. That day on the ice, you were humming.”

Aelin nodded, beginning to hum along with the instruments. A bead of sweat trickled down her face, and Rowan sent another cool breeze her way, though this time she was burning so hotly that the air warmed almost immediately, and didn’t seem to help.

“Let the music steady you,” Rowan said, but Aelin didn’t respond. Her eyes were glued to the flames, and they were surprisingly blank, though their golden core was molten and bright.

Rowan’s brow furrowed, anxiety trickling through him. Aelin’s flames roiled and undulated with the melody, the colors deepening to rich blues and bright whites as the temperature increased.

“Easy…” Rowan said again, but Aelin didn’t seem to hear. It was almost as though she was in some kind of trance, her thoughts pulled into the depths of the writhing flames.

“Steady.” Rowan’s voice had shifted from calming to tight and insistent. But still, she did not move, her gaze utterly fixed upon the three smokeless fires now bursting with power and life and intensity.

Rowan took a step closer to her, all of his attention utterly fixed on the fire-wielder. Her power writhed and strained against her mental cage, aching for freedom. And though the pressure of the power was surely extraordinarily painful, Aelin didn’t even twitch, her scent clean and as empty as death.

Terror flooded Rowan. “That’s enough for now,” he said, grabbing her arm in an attempt to get her attention. But it burned him, and he hissed and let go. “That is enough.”

Rowan didn’t know how, but Aelin was burning out. Right before his eyes.

He had been worried about Aelin accidentally losing control and hurting other Fae, he didn’t realize that he should have also been worried about her roasting herself from the inside out.

She turned to look at him, slowly, reluctantly. And her eyes were even emptier than he had thought. She turned back to the flames, the gold around her pupils burning even brighter than Rowan had yet seen.

“Look at me,” Rowan said desperately. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn’t when she was burning so hotly. “Look at me.”

She didn’t move. “Let the fires burn on their own,” he ordered, his voice filled with fear. Finally, she turned back to face him, her scent filling with a dull, confused pain. His nostrils flared. “Aelin, stop right now.”

She was completely still, agony pulsing through her scent and tensing all of her muscles. “Let go.”

He reached out to touch her, but stopped himself when he felt the heat radiating from her body in waves. The bonfires were starting to climb, and the demi-Fae around them started to back away, murmuring in worry and confusion.

But Rowan didn’t pay them any heed. “If you don’t let go, you are going to burn out completely.” But Aelin still didn’t shift one inch. Rowan snarled, “You are on the verge of roasting yourself from the inside out.”

Aelin blinked once, then her eyes widened as her wildfire filled her up, and agony radiated from her in waves. The iron cage did not break, and instead of melting the bars, Aelin set her fire free in the prison of her own body.

The three bonfires surged, racing up to melt the stars as Aelin fell onto the grass, groaning in pain. Demi-Fae yelled, the music faltered, and Rowan stilled as the killing calm iced over his limbs.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan hissed, swearing viciously as he ripped the air from her lungs. He waited only an instant for the fires to fall and the magic to be torn away before returning her breath to her.

“Breathe. Breathe.” Rowan begged as Aelin gasped raggedly, her spine arching as her power settled uncomfortably back in its cage, its connection to the world broken. But the wildfire still coursed through her body, boiling her blood and roasting her skin.

And Rowan was running, leaving Aelin lying on the ground, where she was shaking with tearless, panicked sobs. He sprinted over to the eastern edge of the field, where he could see Namonora and another female chatting casually.

At the sight of his panicked expression, Namonora instantly shifted, her face becoming severe. “What is it?”

Rowan didn’t have time for explanations. “Come,” he said, turning back to return to the princess who might have already succumbed to the fire, return to the spark that might have finally burned out.

Thankfully, they followed him without question, and when they reached Aelin, she was still writhing on the ground.

Still alive. Rowan had to hold in a sigh of relief.

Namonora’s assessment was quick and efficient. “Can you stand to carry her? There aren’t any water-wielders here, and we need to get her into cold water. Now.”

Rowan gritted his teeth, and then gingerly stretched out his arms to cradle the princess, shutting out the pain as her skin met his, her fire reaching through his clothes and scorching his flesh. Rowan held Aelin as far from his body as he could, sprinting through the forest and back down the mountain towards the fortress, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

He tried to wrap her in his ice-kissed wind, enveloping her burning body in freezing air. But it didn’t work. Rowan wasn’t able to pierce through the heat she was emanating.

He pumped his legs still faster, hurtling through the underbrush as Aelin’s scent weakened and twisted and frayed, her grip on consciousness fading under the weight of the agony pulsing through her.

Rowan tightened his grip on the princess, unwilling to let her fade. Unwilling to let her die.

After some unknowable, endless stretch of time, the fortress came into view, and Rowan tore through the wyrd-stones, over the gate, past the courtyard, down the stairs and towards the bathing room.

“Get her into the water.”

Rowan lowered her gingerly into the sunken stone tub, but before her skin even brushed the surface, the water began to billow with steam. Rowan swore.

“Freeze it, Prince,” Namonora commanded. “Now.”

Rowan sent all of his power towards the female in the basin before him, a vast surge of ice and wind, and the water immediately froze solid. But then –

“Get her out!” Namonora shouted, and Rowan reached in and snatched Aelin from the now-boiling water, the skin on his hands beginning to blister. She had nearly boiled herself alive.

Rowan lifted her up and placed her in another tub, kneeling at its head while the two healers hovered somewhere to his side. This time, he had to be more careful with his use of magic. So instead of a quick wave, Rowan focused on gathering a steady, forceful pressure.

The ice formed again, and then began to melt. “Breathe,” Rowan said into her ear. “Let it go – let it get out of you.” Steam began to rise once again, but then Aelin took one small, shaky breath, and it dissipated slightly. “Good,” Rowan panted with the effort of fighting against the wild, uncontrolled force of Aelin’s magic.

Ice formed again, and then melted. Aelin took another steadying breath, her eyes closing as she focused on calming her panicked body.

Rowan began to sweat in earnest, the perspiration trickling over his ruined skin and stinging, salt in an open wound. While his magic was so strained, the burns couldn’t heal by themselves. But the small ache was nothing in the face of the terror currently coursing through him.

The water froze and melted in a steady pattern, like the movement of a pendulum, or breath in a pair of lungs. In and out, in and out. Frozen, then melted. Fire, then ice. The ebb and flow of the tide, pushing and pulling.

Aelin’s uncontrolled flames slammed against his steel will, over and over and over again, until the pendulum began to slow, the breaths evening out until finally, they stopped.

The water stilled, settling into a comfortable warmth while Aelin’s scent relaxed from the sharp, agonized copper tang to a dull ache. Rowan felt his own limbs begin to relax, the lack of tension leaving him feeling hollow, and heavy.

“We need to get those clothes off her,” Namonora said, and Rowan moved out of their way while the two healers leaned over the tub, carefully easing up Aelin’s head and peeling off her sodden clothes.

There was a moment of quiet while Namonora silently assessed Aelin’s condition, her eyes expertly flicking over her still form, cataloguing every detail. Aelin just lay there, eyes closed, her skin dangerously pale and her face flushed with fever.

Namonora looked at Rowan expectantly, silently asking him to speak.

Rowan kept his voice calm and soft. “Just answer yes or no. That’s all you have to do.”

Aelin nodded stiffly, grimacing in pain. Her eyes were still closed.

“Are you in danger of flaring up again?”

“No,” she responded, barely a whisper through her lips.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” Another breath of sound, punctuated with a flare of discomfort in her scent.

Rowan clenched his jaw, looking pointedly at Namonora.

The old healer nodded at him. “We will prepare a tonic. Just keep her cool.” And they both trod into the hallway, heading for the kitchens, the door shutting softly behind them.

Rowan reached over for a bucket of water and handful of washcloths lying on the floor beside him. He dipped the cloths into the water, and brought the temperature as close to freezing as he could without it turning solid and useless, then laid a cloth on Aelin’s forehead. She sighed in relief, her tight expression softening.

Rowan soaked the other cloth in the bucket, and began wringing it over her head and neck. “The burnout,” he said quietly. “You should have told me you were at your limit.”

Aelin opened her eyes a millimeter, but didn’t say anything. He wrung more water over her brow.

“If you’d gone on any longer, the burnout would have destroyed you. You must learn to recognize the signs – and how to pull back before it’s too late.” The anxiety in his voice gave way to command. “It will rip you apart inside. Make this…” he shook his head. “Make this look like nothing. You don’t touch your magic until you’ve rested for a while. Understand?”

Aelin only raised her chin, her expression pleading, a silent request for more of the icy water. But Rowan just held the cloth tantalizingly above her, refusing to wring it until she nodded her agreement.

A few more silent minutes passed, Rowan slowly cooling the princess’ heat. But the pain in her scent refused to fade, and Namonora still did not appear. The more time that passed without the arrival of the tonic, the higher Rowan’s irritation grew. And soon, he was flinging the cloth in the bucket and standing up to leave, deciding that Aelin was cool enough to survive without him for a few moments, and her need for the painkillers was now greater than her need for temperature-control.

“I’m going to check on the tonic. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded faintly, and Rowan left, the door clicking shut behind him.

He strode directly over to the kitchens, his booted feet slamming into the stones and echoing loudly through the halls. Rowan didn’t think he’d ever cared less.

He found Namonora stirring various strong-smelling plants in a cauldron over a fire, the other healer efficiently dicing several other herbs, readying them to be mixed into the pot with the others. When Rowan entered, Namonora instantly dropped what she was doing and gestured for the other female to take over, then strode over to him, her expression determined.

“I know you’re going to want to protest, but I do not care. You need those burns treated, or they absolutely will get infected.” Namonora grabbed Rowan’s shoulder and pulled him over to the counter, where white bandaging had already been laid out. Rowan opened his mouth to object, but Namonora interrupted. “Do not argue with me, Rowan Whitethorn. I’m not about to change my mind, and you protesting will only make this take longer.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, and seriously considered retaliation, but at the steel in the healer’s eyes, he relented, and began to strip off his ruined clothing. Namonora’s lips pinched in victory.

Rowan winced, groaning in pain as the cotton pulled at the tender flesh of his chest and arms. Namonora clicked her tongue and raising a mortar and pestle filled with a sweet-smelling poultice.

“That might have been the strangest almost-burnout I have ever seen,” she said, dabbing the saccharine mixture on the welts covering his left arm. It smelled of eucalyptus and ginger and strawberries.

“I’m not sure it was a burnout,” Rowan sighed.

Namonora tilted her head, a silent question. She moved to the other arm.

Rowan shook his head. “I don’t know. But her power wasn’t depleted – it was more like she…set it free. Within her own body.”

“A suicide attempt?” the other female asked politely.

Rowan flinched, and Namonora’s clever eyes narrowed, taking note. “No,” he finally replied, “She just lost control.”

“Hmm.” Namonora muttered, smearing the last of the poultice over his bare chest. “The block.”

“Yes,” Rowan agreed, nodding ruefully.

“So there has been no more progress since I last saw you?”

“No.” Rowan’s voice was curt.

Namonora began wrapping the clean white linen around his arms, seeming to be mulling something over, hesitating. “As I said before, she may never overcome it.” The healer’s eyes tentatively flicked over Rowan’s face. His expression was carefully impassive. “These things are far more emotional than they are physical. And if she does not find a way to confront whatever trauma lies in her past, she may always have this block. Instead of focusing on getting rid of it, maybe she could focus her attention on finding ways to cope with it, to work around it.”

Rowan just nodded tersely, his face blank and hard. Namonora finished bandaging his chest, and nodded slowly, giving him her permission to leave. “We will be in with the tonic in another few minutes,” she said, and turned back to the fire. Rowan carefully pulled his shirt back on over the bandages, and strode from the room without another word.

But not before overhearing a final comment from the healers, their words gliding over to him through the open doorway.

“So that was Rowan Whitethorn,” the other female said plainly.

“And the Princess of Terrasen.” Namonora responded.

“Are they together?”

“I don’t know. But I think they are well suited. Perhaps – ” and her voice faded into the background.

Rowan only clenched his jaw, shaking off their words and striding purposefully towards the bathing room.

It was lit by faint candlelight, and the tiny, flickering flames cast eerie shadows over the walls and stone floors. Various cloths, buckets, and basins were scattered intermittently across the room, filling the spaces between the sunken stone tubs. Aelin was a golden ghost across the stretch of the room, now sitting up and facing away from the doorway through which Rowan had just entered.

The door clicked shut behind him, and his feet made soft tapping sounds with each step towards the princess. Rowan was irritated, and impatient. He could scent Aelin’s pain from across the room, and he had to tell her that the tonic wasn’t yet ready.

But Rowan only made it halfway across the room before the bottom fell out of his stomach, and he stopped dead.

Her back.

Rowan’s breath was ripped from him in a ragged gasp, and there was an overwhelming silence in his mind.

Her back was a mangled slab of flesh, a mess of old scars, one on top of the other on top of the other. Marks of pain and hate and prolonged suffering. The marks of someone who had been beaten, again and again and again. The marks of someone who had been destroyed.

Aelin – Rowan’s mental voice broke over her name – Aelin hadn’t only suffered due to death and misfortune and loss, she had been broken. Broken by others.

A roaring began somewhere at the back of his mind, vicious and lethal and inexorable. He would rip apart whoever had done that to her with his bare hands. He would destroy them, would hunt them down until only their ashes remained. Would see them suffer. Would ensure that Aelin got her revenge on them before they died.

Aelin turned her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. But once she saw the direction of his gaze, her face softened in understanding.

“Who did that do you?” The words were blank, empty. Rowan’s body was so stressed, so fraught with pain and shock and fury, that the question just slipped out, barely a breath between his lips. Completely emotionless.

Aelin’s voice was tired and hollow as she responded, “A lot of people. I spent some time in the Salt Mines of Endovier.”

Rowan felt his chest tighten. “How long?”

“A year. I was there a year before…it’s a long story.” Aelin’s eyes flitted over his bandaged chest and arms, her face falling in sorrow and regret. Rowan thought that if she apologized to him, he might explode.

“You were a slave.” The word twisted on the way out, burning his throat like acid. Aelin paused, and gave him a slow nod, her eyes filled with some ancient benediction, or divine reckoning.

Rowan opened his mouth – to say what, he didn’t know. So many things were roiling inside him, aching to be set free. Questions, apologies, furious declarations, vows of revenge, expressions of sympathy. They all caught in his throat, and he closed his mouth as one small truth settled into him.

Maeve knew.

Maeve had known the princess had been a slave, had known how much she’d suffered and toiled, had known everything. And she hadn’t said a word. She’d kept it all from him.

Rowan felt himself turn from the room, and shut the door behind him quietly. He wanted to slam it, to shatter it behind him. But he couldn’t do that to Aelin. Aelin, who was sitting in the cold tub, alone and abandoned by all the world. Aelin, who had been a slave.

And Maeve had known everything, and then called for Rowan to break her, like some prize draft horse. Like an animal, or an object. Just a new flashy possession for the Queen who collected Fae like carriages or garments or jewelry. Another weapon in her arsenal, to join the row of hearts lined up on her sleeve.

Rowan flew through the clouds, soaring over the rippling forests, shaping the winds to push him onward, faster and faster, sending him towards the dark queen.

Why hadn’t Maeve told him? Why hadn’t Aelin told him?

Rowan took in the passing world out of instinct rather than interest, all of his thoughts still bent towards the image of that expanse of ruined flesh, glistening in the candlelight. It was burned into him, branded and seared. Right alongside the images of Lyria’s corpse, bloody and cold and distorted.

Aelin in shackles, Aelin in the dark, Aelin tied to a post, a pale figure brandishing a whip –

Rowan howled, his hawk’s cry piercing the night, echoing off of the sides of the Cambrian mountains, now towering before him. A chorus of unearthly howls rose in response – Maeve’s wild wolves, guarding the passes. Even if he flew all the way to Doranelle, he’d reach his queen and demand answers and…she would not give them to him. With the blood oath, she could command he not go back to Mistward.

Rowan choked the current of wind beneath his wings. Aelin…Aelin had not trusted him – had not wanted him to know. Did she think he would think the worse of her? That he would think that she deserved it?

The thought curdled in his stomach. She had not wanted him to know, had not thought he deserved to know. And maybe he didn’t.

That day – that day early on, he’d threatened to whip the girl, gods above. And she’d lost it. He’d been such a proud fool that he’d assumed she’d lashed out because she was nothing more than a child. He should have known better – should have known that when she did react to something like that, it meant the scars went deep. And then there were the other things he’d said…

Shame roiled alongside the anger in his gut.

She hadn’t wanted him to know, and when he’d found out, he’d just left her alone. Too wrapped up in his own anger and agony to notice how that must have felt. To have your secrets ripped from you, and then be abandoned.

Rowan had left her alone. Weak and defenseless, and recovering from a burnout.

Primal anger sharpened in his gut, brimming with a territorial, possessive need. Not a need for her, but a need to protect – a male’s duty and honor. He had not handled the news as he should have.

If she hadn’t wanted to tell him about being a slave, then she probably had done so assuming the worst about him – just as she was probably assuming the worst about his leaving. The thought didn’t sit well.

So he veered back to the north and called his magic to pull the winds with him, easing his flight back to the fortress.

After a few more frozen minutes, Rowan arrived back at the old stone walls of the fortress, now familiar in its ancient, crumbling majesty. He headed right for Aelin’s room, swooping around the southwestern corner of the castle and towards where he knew her small window would lie.

He sent a sharp wind over to push the glass open, intending on explaining, or apologizing, or begging her forgiveness, he didn’t know. His hawk’s wings brushed the edges of the window frame as he swooped into her room, finding it smaller and colder than he remembered.

The basin in the corner had iced over, the stone floor looking just as freezing to the touch. Aelin lay curled up tight beneath a ragged blanket, still undressed, her breath fogging the air and her limbs shaking with cold.

Rowan shifted with a flash of light, his heart twisting. He had left her in a room without a fireplace, had given her a space purposefully and intensely uncomfortable. Intent on punishing her, for crimes she had not committed, and had paid for many times over.

Rowan scooped her up, wrapping her more tightly in the blanket and carrying her up two flights of stairs, down the hall, and into his rooms. A fire was already roaring in the grate, and the space was warm and inviting, especially when compared to the rooms he had just left.

Rowan laid her carefully on his bed, tucking her into the quilt and moving to lie beside her, as far from her trembling form as the space would allow. His voice was unintentionally rough as he said, “You’re staying with me from now on.”

Aelin’s eyes drifted open, her face drained from pain and exhaustion.

“The bed is for tonight. Tomorrow, you’ll get a cot. You’ll clean up after yourself or you’ll be back in that room.”

“Very well.” She nestled more comfortably into her pillow. “But I don’t want your pity.”

Rowan’s voice shook slightly. “This is not pity. Maeve decided not to tell me what happened to you. You have to know that I – I wasn’t aware you had – ”

She slid an arm across the bed to grasp his hand, her fingers small and cold in his. Rowan’s eyes were wide, his face open. He hadn’t felt so vulnerable in – he didn’t know when. If she wanted, she could strike him a blow that would fracture him. It wouldn’t be anything more than he deserved.

Her words were soft. “I knew. At first, I was afraid you’d mock me if I told you, and I would kill you for it. Then I didn’t want you to pity me. And more than any of that, I didn’t want you to think it was ever an excuse.”

“Like a good soldier.” His voice was filled with wonder at the strength of this woman. How he had ever thought her a killer. He would regret that for the rest of his miserable life.

Rowan took a long breath. “Tell me how you were sent there – and how you got out.” It wasn’t an order, wasn’t a command. It was a request. To understand, so that they could once again be on even footing. So that he could know her, as she now knew him.

Aelin’s face hardened slightly, but she breathed deep, rallying herself. Rowan couldn’t help but feel honored. Honored to be chosen to be a part of her life, to help her bear this burden.

“After my…parents…were killed, I fell into the service of Arobynn Hamel. He spent the next eight years training me, forming me into a weapon.”

Aelin began to weave a tale of death and intrigue and pain and…love. She suffered much at Arobynn’s hand, but she still found joy and happiness in her time in Rifthold, living out the final days of her childhood.

Aelin’s voice warmed slightly, her eyes crinkling. “I was as wild as could be – dancing until dawn with courtesans and thieves and all the beautiful, wicked creatures in the world.” She smiled at the memory, and Rowan smiled with her.

She spoke of learning to love music, of growing older and finding herself happy to be free, reveling in the pleasure of anonymity. And the guilt she felt whenever she remembered the cost of that freedom.

Rowan kept silent the whole time, letting the story flow from her freely and without interruption. These past weeks had taught him how good talking could feel, how much lighter and freer you were after the tale was done. So much so that you wondered at the massive weight the invisible burden had been before. He didn’t want to deprive her of that, no matter the questions that pressed on his tongue.

She spoke of a man named Sam Cortland, and how together they’d sacked a city and freed over a hundred slaves, using little more than their wits. But then, how upon her return Arobynn beat them mercilessly, and sent her to the Red Desert to train with the Silent Assassins.

Aelin told Rowan of running in the desert, of racing Asterion horses, of battles and death and escape. She spoke of falling in love for the first time, and how her and Sam schemed to escape from Rifthold together.

Aelin’s voice was tentative. “I think in my heart I knew that it wasn’t going to work. That the gods wouldn’t let me elude the burden of name forever. But still…I loved him too much to care.” And Rowan’s heart twisted.

She spoke of his death at the hands of her fellow assassins, her voice shaking slightly as she told of how she failed to get her vengeance, was captured and taken to the king’s court, and sentenced to enslavement in the salt mines. Her words drifted off, “I still don’t know who it was that betrayed me…”

But Rowan thought he did. If Arobynn Hamel ever got within his reach, Rowan would take his revenge. Slowly.

But Aelin was obviously not ready to hear that the man she had lived with, grown up with, and had come to regard as some mixture of teacher, father, or brother, had left her to rot in that prison. Had tortured and killed her love.

So Rowan kept silent as Aelin continued. “That first day in Endovier, I knew I would die there.” Her voice was like the inside of a tomb. “They brought me inside, stripped me, cut off my hair, tied me to the whipping post and gave me twenty-one lashes. Then they rubbed salt in the wounds, and made sure that they would never heal properly. It was only through the kindness of some of the other prisoners that I survived that first night. Which they were then killed for, of course. But I got my revenge. It took a while, but I got it.”

She spoke of a year in hell. A year of darkness and toil. Of how eventually, she snapped, sprinting for her own death. How she had killed her overseer, taken her revenge on the guards, and gotten within an inch of the wall before being knocked unconscious. How she had run three hundred and sixty-three feet.

Rowan only marveled.

“And then, one day, they came. The Crown Prince and the Captain of the Guard. And they took me away.”

She told him how the son of her enemy offered her a shot at freedom, and used her to win a competition to become the Hand of the King. She told Rowan how she won it, slowly rebuilding her body from the wreck it had been after leaving Endovier. How she had come to love Chaol Westfall.

How the Captain had rescued her from hell, and helped to heal her, how he rebuilt her heart only for it to shatter once more with another death, another betrayal, another weight on her shoulders.

Nehemia. The princess of Eyllwe. She had been Aelin’s friend, her closest confident. She had loved her. And then she died.

Was murdered, violently. Horrifically.

Aelin tracked down her killers, and left them in pieces. But Chaol Westfall had discovered that she was Fae, and made a deal to get her out of Adarlan. To send her to Varese, under orders to assassinate the Ashryvers and collect their naval defense plans.

“So I came. And then I met you.”

Aelin’s golden eyes flicked up to meet his, hers clouded with exhaustion. Rowan squeezed her fingers lightly, glad that they were regaining their usual warmth.

Aelin closed her eyes and sunk into the bed, finally succumbing to exhaustion. But Rowan lay awake, his thoughts whirring.

She had edited, leaving out a lot of crucial details. She hadn’t explained her deal with Maeve, or why she went along with Chaol’s deal. Nor had she said how her parents had been killed, and why she ended up in Arobynn’s care.

But still, Rowan felt…clear. Free of the confusion and the questions that had been weighing on him for so long – from ever since she had swaggered into his life, broken and drunken and hurting.

There were others things that he was curious about, however. Things he had no right to ask, but still wondered. Did she still love that man from across the sea? Still long for him even after all that had broken between them?

And what would she do when Rowan brought her to Maeve? Would she leave with her armies and her alliance, bought with the ring he had given her, never to return? Would he ever see her again?

Worry trickled through his veins, and Rowan pulled the princess’ hand to his chest, resting it over his heart. His breaths evened out, and he began to drift into an easy sleep.

But before he truly fell, he remembered something Aelin had said, a gift Nehemia had given her. “She named me Elentiya – Spirit That Could Not Be Broken.”

The words mocked him, and filled his heart with an aching mixture of joy and sadness. Aelin – the spirit that couldn’t be broken. That he had been ordered to break, and who instead had become his friend.

She lay at his side, the weight of at thousand burdens on her shoulders, and yet she still survived. Had endured.

Unbroken.

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