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ladyreapermc · 4 years

Text

Fic: About the Bass (Keanu x F!Reader)

Summary: seeing Keanu playing the bass is one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed.

Pairing: Keanu x F!Reader

Author’s notes: do I really need to say how much I love Keanu playing the bass? It’s one of my kinks and this definitely is a product of that. Feedback is very welcome!

Wordcount: 1702

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and age gap.

You moved through the small gathering of people, a margarita in your hand – your third and last of the night – offering smiles and pausing to chat. It was your birthday and everyone seemed to be trying to speak to you, which was certainly lovely. You liked the attention, but you couldn’t help the disappointment burning in your chest.

You hadn’t expected to be thrown a surprise party. You were pretty sure you actively said to your younger sister that you didn’t really want to make a big deal out of it. To you, turning thirty was just like any other year. But apparently, she was incapable of listening, because she planned the entire thing and roped Keanu into not only helping to make sure you were kept in the dark but also into opening his house to a bunch of strangers.

You were going to have some words with her about it because she shouldn’t have asked that of Keanu. The two of you had only been friends for a few months, ever since Company Films hired you to work on a few scripts they were producing. You knew how much he valued his privacy. His house should have been off-limits.

Thankfully, the party was finally winding down. Happy Birthday had been sung, the cake had been cut and guests were finally leaving, saying their goodbyes to you, before slipping out. Looking around the small crowd of people that still lingered, you tried to catch a glimpse of his dark hair, but he didn’t seem to be around.

You excused yourself from one of your friends and wandered around the unfamiliar hallways until you found him in the music room, eyes closed, headphones on as he played a silent tune on his bass. You leaned against the frame to watch him, the way his long fingers moved over the strings so expertly; the little from of concentration and how he bobbed his head to the tune only he could hear. You had to smile because he looked both adorable and unbelievably attractive like that.

You realized you had a major crush on Keanu probably after the second week of working with him, doctoring the script for the next movie he would be directing. He was funny and sweet and so brilliant. It was next to impossible not to be smitten by him.

You convinced yourself it was stupid and hopeless because he was technically your boss and so much older than you. Not that you really cared about that, but you knew the press would buzz about it and besides, there was no way he would be interested, right?

Or so you thought until you started noticing all the little things. The glances whenever Keanu thought you weren’t looking; the way he smiled at you, soft and gentle, his entire facing lighting up and creases marking around his eyes. The little gestures whenever you were working together; like bringing you coffee when you didn’t even realize you needed or always ordering your favorite takeouts, even if he didn’t particularly care for it…

Part of you still wondered if you weren’t reading too much in this. You knew he was one of the sweetest, nicest guys in Hollywood. Maybe he was just being the perfect gentleman. But those things still planted the seed of hope in your chest. As a matter of fact, when he invited you for dinner and a movie to celebrate your birthday tonight you were planning on talking to him, checking where you both stood, but the surprise party really crashed your plans.

“Hey. How long have you been standing there?”

Keanu’s voice startled you back from your musings and your gaze focused on him again, noticing he had stopped playing and stood there with his headphones around his neck, a flush on his cheeks and a sheepish smile on his lips.

“Not long,” you replied with a smile of your own and stepped into the room. “I just wanted to let you know that people are starting to leave. You should have your house back in an hour or so. By the way, you really shouldn’t have let my sister get you into this.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged, that soft smile adorning his lips and your heart fluttered. “Sorry I disappeared, it’s just…”

“Too much people start getting on your nerves?” you asked and Keanu chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, me too. Anyway, whatever you were playing, it looked good.”

“Well it sounded terrible,” he said with a small grimace, ducking his head self-consciously. “I’m rusty. It’s been a while since I played.”

“You miss it? Dogstar and Becky?” You leaned against the arms of one of the armchairs.

“Sometimes,” he shrugged, starting to pull off the strap of the bass.

“Wait. Play me something,” you requested and Keanu snorted, shaking his head.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m rusty.”

“Oh, come on! It’s my birthday.” You pouted at him, knowing very well he never resisted long. “Pretty, pretty please?”

“How about I teach you instead?” he offered and you nodded.

“But I have to warn you, I’m tone-deaf,” you commented as he removed the headphones and connected the bass to a speaker.

You moved to stand in front of him when he beckoned you. Keanu settled the strap of the bass on your shoulder before he adjusted the length so the red body of the bass hung at your hips.

“How’s that? Should I shorten it a little more?” he asked moving behind you and settling his hands over yours.

There were so many thoughts running through your head at once but at the same time, you seemed completely unable to focus on any of them. Your entire body was intuned to Keanu’s and as he came closer, you were engulfed by the flow of sensations.

“It’s… uh… fine,” you stuttered.

“Good thing you’re a leftie too. Gonna make this easier.”

His left hand guided yours to the neck of the bass, adjusting your fingers at the right position, pressing them against the strings. You could feel the old callouses on the pad of his fingers, speaking of a lifetime of working with his hands, be it by playing instruments, working out or handling fake guns, it all left its toll on his hands.

The sensation was foreign but not unwelcome, just like you welcomed the warmth of his palm and how large it was, something you had always noticed, but seeing it covering yours like this was making your throat dry and sending very bad thoughts flying through your brain.

Of course, you knew Keanu was a big man. It was impossible not to notice. He was tall, with broad shoulders, strong chest and long limbs. You felt tiny in comparison and more than once you wondered how it would feel to be surrounded by his warm embrace like you were having a chance to experience just now.

“This is an A,” Keanu said, strumming the strings with his pick.

His words ghosted against your cheek and you caught a whiff the alcohol in his breath and it was strangely addictive. You could feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne. It was wooden and spicy, with an underlying musk that you knew it must be Keanu’s unique scent and it was making your head spin.

You didn’t know if this was the best or worst idea the two of you ever had because it almost felt like sweet torture to be this close. He moved your fingers against the strings, showing you another chord, but all you could focus was at the feel of his hard chest against your back; his strong arms around you; those long, nimble fingers over yours.

“Am I boring you?” Keanu asked, his baritone against your ear sending shivers down your spine and there was no way he didn’t feel that. “Maybe we should stop.”

“No,” you breathed out, tilting your head up to look at him, catching on his darkened eyes and the way he licked his lips as he stared down at you. You felt heat rushing through you, arousal and alcohol making you dizzy.

There was no denying now; no pretending that it was just your imagination. Not when Keanu was looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole and all you could think was having his mouth on you.

“This is a bad idea…” he whispered but guiding you with his hands to turn around and face him.

“Probably,” you sighed, letting go of the bass to rest your hands against his chest, looking into his eyes. “But sometimes the best things come from the worst ideas.”

The air felt thick with tension, the silence heavy with so many unspoken things as Keanu just stared at you and you wondered what his next step would be. It felt like it was happening in slow motion, the way he leaned closer, his hand coming to cradle your nape, tilting your face up at just the right way so you could properly welcome his mouth on yours. His lips slightly chapped against your soft ones, fitting almost perfectly; his beard tickling your nose.

You let your lips part under his, welcoming his tongue, tasting the beer he had all night, mixed with the sweetness of the chocolate cake. It was delicious and you tried to press closer, chasing his taste, but before either of you could go any further, someone cleared their throat, making both of you jump startled and breaking the mood.

“Sorry to interrupt,” your sister said with an arched eyebrow and a smirk and you couldn’t help but glare. “A couple of people want to say goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you said, voice raspy like you have been in the desert for too long.

You untangled yourself from the bass strap and Keanu, stifling the pitiful sound threatening to spill from your throat at the sudden loss. Your eyes met him when you were backing away, and you could see all the want and need you felt yourself.

‘Later,’ You mouthed at him and Keanu smiled, giving you a quick nod, before turning his back to you so he could put his bass away.

xxx

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#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #fanfic #oneshot

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orangeseoks · 4 years

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365 Rain Street EST.1809 // k.th

pt.3

[ unedited ]

As the week had finally passed, the weekend had arrived which meant church. I’d never been as fond of it as mother, but had no other option but to attend since I’m too young to make such decisions on my own according to my mother.

“Remember dear, the purest of white for church.”

“Yes mother,” I return. Tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear and fitting in a nice clip to brighten up my look. A mix of pinks and purples blended nicely with the creamy white, “I say someone is looking rather beautiful today, hm?”

Shifting in my seat I see nothing but my dear friend Jiyoo, “for what reason are you here? And are your parents aware of this?”

“Cheer up you, my parents don’t mind one bit.”

“How shocking,” I retort, straightening out my collar. “It may be the day of christ but there is no need for you to be so.. so, motherly. I find it quite disturbing.”

“Your opinion is not needed, Jiyoo, say and do as one pleases so.” Standing from my chair, I pat down my skirt and adjust the ribbon around my waist. “Your mother suggested for us to take the second carriage, if not then we must walk.”

“I think a nice stroll would be nice, don’t you?” I chime, linking arms with Jiyoo as the two of us walk through the house, stopping shortly to visit the family cat. As the two of us walk along the street we watch the many families with their children and elders as one and on their way to church.

A look of amusement forms on Jiyoo’s face as she watches in pure awe at the families, “imagine having such a family (Y/n). Children to wake you in the early mornings to grant you the sweetest gifts even if that gift is a mere kiss on the temple.”

Jiyoo smiles at thought and holds me closer to her, “its a shame humanity isn’t of acceptance for all.”

“That was a bit deep, Jiyoo, even for you.” Jiyoo chuckles awkwardly and nods, “my bad. I’ve been studying the art of poetry and the performing arts.”

“Quite sophisticated, very admirable Jiyoo.” I respond giving her a gentle smile. Jiyoo’s cheeks instantly tint as she grows embarrassed at my compliment. A soft giggle leaves my lips, the two of us keeping up our peaceful walk to church.

__________________________________________________________

Church was nearing its end as our priest did his final prayer for the townspeople, “may the lord praise your souls. The many children of god, I hope for only the best in this blissful world, the lord thanks you.”

With that our priest bids his goodbyes and leaves a few side notes and information about the event this evening that will be held at the Lee Manor.

“(Y/n) dear,” my mother coos gaining my attention as I stand abruptly. “Call for Sir Lee please, I wish to converse with him.” I mentally roll my eyes at this, “yes mother. One moment,” with a silent huff I turn away from my annoyance of a mother in search of Sir Lee.

While I look around the inside the church I hear a faint conversation coming from the foyer, peaking my head through the doorway I see of two bodies I recognise and grow somewhat curious.

One is definitely Sir Lee, the other? No idea.

“Pardon the intrusion,” I begin, the thickness of my heel clicking against the glossy wooden floor as I make my way towards the tall males. “Sir Lee,” I greet with a smile. “Mother wishes to converse with you, possibly about tonight's events.”

Sir Lee turns to face me, his face instantly brightening as a kind smile graces his lips. “Ah. Miss (Y/n). many thanks for notifying me. Say, have you met my nephew?”

“Nephew?” I repeat after him, shifting my attention from Sir Lee to the man next to him, “this is my nephew Taehyung.”

Mr Kim, he can’t be.

“Why don’t you say hello, you know its rude not to.” Sir Lee brings up, his voice strained slightly as he directs Mr Kim, I knew that it was only polite to greet a woman let alone anyone at that. But we’ve already met once before.

“O-Oh, I see no need to do so, myself and you nephew can always catch up sometime later. The event perhaps?”

I attempt to get away but remain in my spot as I feel that oh-too familiar burn in the back of head, my mothers presence causing me to tense.

“No need,” Mr Kim adds. Bowing slightly and reaching a hand forward to hold onto mine, bringing it his lips. Softly pecking at my knuckles, despite me wearing gloves that doesn’t stop the tenderness of such a small action to send me into a fit of shivers.

“Its a pleasure to meet you Miss (Y/n), that dress you’re wearing does look breathtaking.”

“Thank you, its a pleasure to meet you also.” Forcing a smile I look over at Sir Lee for some sort of way to escape, “look at that.” Sir Lee smiles, walking around me to the woman at the other end of the room. “The two of you discuss interests, myself and Miss (Y/n)’s mother have matters to sort.”

“Yes Sir,” I reply for the two of us. Tipping my head slightly to bid them goodbye, “thank the lords they’re gone.” Mr Kim breathes out, his usual smile forming on his face. “Sincerest apologies miss, I knew you were not comfortable with that but I must leave a good impression before both your mother and my uncle.”

Nodding, I fold my hands together, fiddling with my thumbs in a way to occupy myself. “Would you like to sit down? I could get us some refreshments?”

“Yes thank you,” Mr Kim nods, taking my hand and walking us into the small room were gatherings were normally held. “Tea?” Mr Kim asks, wandering into a closed off section, “oh no. Just water please, nothing much Mr Kim.”

“I understand,” Mr Kim says, the sound of glasses and many cups filling the empty atmosphere. Stirring and jugs being lifted, it all seemed somewhat calming and homelike. It was peaceful.

Walking back into the room, I watch as Mr Kim takes a seat next to me on the oddly comfortable bench seat, handing me my drink slowly and carefully. “This isn’t water Mr Kim,” I question examining the cup full of warmth.

“I know,” he speaks with a grin. Taking a sip of his drink, wincing at the heat of it. Letting out a soft chuckle, I lower my head, merely staring at the full cup in front of me. Its neatly made image atop the liquid drink, a swan.

“Ahh, whats so funny miss?” Mr Kim whines, leaning towards me with his round eyes boring holes through me. “Nothing Mr Kim, no need to whine.”

Mr Kim laughs, leaning back he sighs, “do you like it?” He asks me, taking yet another sip of his drink. “Like what?” I add oblivious to the question, “the swan silly. Do you like it?”

“O-Oh, yes I do. Its creative, for I wish I had such talent.”

Mr Kim grows silent for a moment before he lets out yet another sigh, “doubt. The sour taste of doubt,” he starts shifting slightly so he’s now facing me. “Doubting ones self is not healthy, belief and hope is what you should follow miss.”

“Mr Kim,” I murmur. Finally taking a sip of my hot drink, “why is it that Sir Lee wishes to court mother? She has no interest in him.”

Mr Kim smiles at this, quickly finishing his drink, “my uncle he truly feels for your mother miss. He only wants to show her the brighter and happier side of life, but..” He pauses, looking down.

“Your mother, she refuses to allow him to, believing that he is of pure scum. Its disgusting and rude-”

“-I know,” I add, cutting Mr Kim off. “I’ve tried many times before to tell mother the truth but she won’t listen.”

Letting out a faint huff, I force a smile, silencing myself with the drink in my hands. “Say, have you visited the park recently? Myself and Namjoon hyung are planning on seeing the views once church has finished.”

Placing my now empty cup beside me, I straighten my posture, turning my head to face Mr Kim.

“I’d love to, but mother will insist on me to ready myself for tonight’s event.”

“I’ll be sure to find someway to have you come, the views there are oh-too beautiful, rumor has it that if you stare into the distance long enough an angel will be by your side and whisper your true love into the ear of the lucky.”

Smiling, I intertwine my fingers together and click my heels together in amusement. “You have some strange beliefs Mr Kim, I envy that.”

Mr Kim laughs gently at this and shifts closer to me, “you’re quite-”

Mr Kim suddenly stops and looks up at something behind me, curious I turn around, “m-mother. Wh-What are you doing here?” Nervous, I swallow the lump in my throat as my mother continues to stare down at me.

“I believe it is time to leave, (Y/n) dear, have you got everything?”

I nod smally, and stand before my mother, checking my appearance quickly. “Good, many thanks for watching over my daughter.”

“Oh no miss, no need, myself and Miss (Y/n) are friends. We were simply conversing about education.”

“Hm, I see. Well, good day.” She spits back sourly, taking my hand in hers and leaving the room. “M-Mother, may I visit the park with Mr Kim. He promises to take care of me, him and his friend.”

“No,” is all she says and with the wave of a hand our vehicle is in front of us. “Mother please, I’ll be home of desired time, I beg of you please.”

“You sound like a poor salesman, dear.” Mother retorts, climbing into the car without looking back at me. Giving up, I bite back at the tears that sting my eyes and follow my mothers lead; entering the car without a single care.

As we drive out of the church grounds, I look back to find Mr Kim running out of the large building and into the car lot, stopping suddenly and watching as we leave.

“Mr Kim,” I whisper, a tear finally hitting my cheek. “Please forgive me.”

#bts #kimtaehyung #btskimtaehyung #btstaehyung #taehyung #btsv #v #oldendays #old #btsold #history #highclass #lowclass #1900sau #btsau #taehyungau #au #btslovestory #fanfic #btsfanfic #btsff #ff

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lostinthewiind · 5 years

Text

Frosted Windows

Joe Liebgott - Band of Brothers

*Based on the characters from the show and not the real-life soldiers who fought bravely for the United States of America in wwii*

@liebgoth wanted some Joe Liebgott stuff so here it is children.

Synopsis: it’s a cold night in Holland and not even the thick duvet of your bed can keep you warm. The frosted windows taunt you, reminding you of your bedroom back home and keeping you awake. Thankfully, you’re not the only one who’s found a rather sleepless night.

Sitting up against the backboard of the single bed you had been given for the night, you balled the duvet into your fists and pulled the blanket tighter around your body — if that was even possible. Your teeth were chattering non-stop and you were shaking so hard you could feel your abdominal muscles aching from being constantly tensed.

As much as you were grateful for the old couple that had offered to take you and a few other men in for the night, you couldn’t help but wish you were back in that old, dingy barn where you could wedge your small body in between Bull and Martin and steal their warmth.

The bed you were staying in was more than comfortable, but the walls were thin and you were freezing, which meant you weren’t sleeping; and when you weren’t sleeping you were often thinking about home. Many things tended to remind you of your home, often times something small or unsuspecting, and that evening it was the frosted window that sat above the dresser of the small room.

The night sky was dark and filled with stars, and even though there was nothing that stood out specifically, you found yourself thinking back to when you would stay up on cold nights, just like that one, and stare out into the dark sky. Sometimes you would count the stars, sometimes you would try to make shapes and pictures out of them; anything to distract yourself from the cold.

That night, however, nothing was distracting you from the cold.

Throwing the blanket off of yourself, you swung your legs over the side of your bed and stood up. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going to go, but you knew you had to get up and distract your mind and body with something other than thoughts of home and shivering.

You opened the door slowly and carefully, cautious not to allow the squeaking hinges to make too much noise and wake anyone up. The last thing you wanted was for one of the many closed doors to swing open and reveal a bleary-eyed, angry Paratrooper who had been woken from his first good sleep in weeks.

Your socked feet padded along the wooden floor as you made your way down the hall. At the other end of the corridor were the steps down to the main floor, and you thought maybe you could sneak downstairs and sit on the couch for a while. Maybe a change in scenery would tire you out a little bit.

As you neared the end of the row of doors, you noticed one of them was cracked open slightly. You paused for a second, your arms wrapped around your torso as you tried to remember whose room was the first one on the right.

“I can see you, you know.” a whispered voice came from the darkness.

You jumped a little, not expecting anyone to be awake and certainly not expecting anyone to catch you peering through the crack in the doorway like a stalker.

You couldn’t exactly tell who it was from the voice, so you took a step closer. “Sorry.” you apologized. “I was just…well, I was just walking around.”

“I heard your feet on the floor.” the person sat up, allowing the moonlight shining through the door to illuminate part of their face. It was Joe Liebgott, the snarky Jewish taxi driver from Oakland who was always ready with a quick comeback for whatever someone had to say to him.

You liked Joe, but in all honesty, you weren’t so sure he liked you. Sometimes the two of you would talk like old friends, but other times he would act like you meant nothing more to him than a filthy Kraut did. He was an oddball, but maybe that was why you found him so alluring.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” you pushed the door open even further and leaned against the doorframe. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us.” the rather thin man drew his knees up and rested his arms on them. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” he inquired, the half of his face that you could see in the minimal light expressing what seemed like genuine interest.

You shuddered slightly as a cold patch of air passed by, the action itself pretty much answering the question at hand. “Cold,” you answered simply, deciding not to add the part about being homesick. You didn’t need Joe taunting you about it for days on end.

Joe’s eyes drifted to the window in his own room, which was also frosting around the edges. “It is cold out,” he nodded as if he had to check for himself before accepting the reason as valid. His eyes then shifted back to you and you suddenly felt as if you were standing in such an awkward, unnatural way. You became hyperaware of everything you did, even down to your breathing.

The way his dark eyes cut through the shadows and took in your figure before him was both tantalizing and terrifying. At that moment you found yourself realizing just how handsome of a man Joeseph Liebgott really was. You had never thought he was ugly, per se, but you had yet to notice how soft his hair looked, despite being caked with dirt, or how inviting his lips seemed even though they were dry and cracked.

“I should probably go.” you dragged your mind out of the gutter it was settling itself into and pushed away from the doorframe. “I don’t want to keep you up. I’m sure you want to go back to sleep.”

You reached for the doorknob to pull it shut once more, but his low, quiet voice stopped you. “Don’t go.” he slid further back against the headboard to make room at the end of the bed. “Stay. Talk for a while.”

You furrowed your brows at the request. Never before had Joe asked anything from you, nevertheless for you to talk to him. He always seemed like such a closed-off, personal sort of man. You had never heard him talk about anything really serious in the years you had known him.

“Okay.” you agreed, and before you even knew what you were doing, you stepped into the room, shut the door behind yourself, made your way over to the bed, and sat down. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, suddenly seeming much less sure of himself.

A wave of silence fell over the room and before long you were shivering once again, your teeth bouncing off of one another in your mouth and making faint clacking sounds. You tried your best to keep your dropping body temperature on the down low, but in the deafening silence and stillness of the bedroom, it was hard.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding about being cold.” Joe flipped the cover up beside himself and patted the spot with his hand. “Come on. Just watching you is making me shake.”

Thankful for the nice gesture, you crawled up to the top of the bed and settled yourself beside Joe. As you tucked your knees up to your chest, Joe threw the duvet back over you and absentmindedly tucked the blanket in as tight as he could, making sure you were as warm as possible.

“Thanks.” you smiled softly.

“Yeah.” he adjusted his own position before his eyes settled on the dark corner of the room. “You miss home?” he asked out of the blue, making you believe for a second he might possess the ability to read minds.

Since he brought up the topic, you decided there was no need to lie about it. “All the time,” you admitted. “About ten minutes ago I was sitting in my room staring at the window and thinking about how it reminded me of home. A freaking window. I swear I get reminded of that damn place by the smallest things, and I didn’t even like it that much!”

A small chuckle escaped Joe’s lips. “Wasn’t a fan of the family?” he half-joked, half-questioned.

“Mmm, not necessarily the family, although they had their moments.” you not-so-fondly remembered the many heated arguments you got into with your parents. “More the town itself. Very boring…very one dimensional. Everyone did the same thing every day and was somehow okay with it. I couldn’t live like that.”

“So you decided to jump out of planes.”

“I figured that was the logical next step, yes.” you giggled, your hand covering your mouth to muffle the sound.

As Joe’s own laughter died down, he exhaled slowly, his smile remaining. “You’re a funny girl, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” you turned your head to look at him, slightly surprised at how close the two of you had gotten.

“Lots of guys compliment you?” he cocked a single brow quizzically.

You knew which direction the prying question was heading in and somehow didn’t mind at all. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” you taunted him. You waited for him to say anything in response, but when he didn’t, you continued the previous conversation. “What about you? What was home like?”

“Me and my cab.” he thought back on his days as a taxi driver with the hint of a smile on his face. “Lots of people looked down on the job but I quite enjoyed it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and gave him a light shove. “I was asking about your family, you weirdo! Not your love affair with your taxi cab.”

“Hey, what happens between me and my cab is none of your business,” he retaliated with a shove back. “I had five brothers and sisters, a mom and a dad. My home life was good, very average. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Wow, that’s the stuff of fairytales right there.” you mocked, earning a look from him and another shove. “Hey, I’m serious! That’s a bestseller right there. Very heartwarming.”

“Your story wasn’t very uplifting either.” he reminded you.

You sighed and brushed a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Real life never is, is it?” you stated. “I mean, look at us now. This war…this is nothing to write about. All of this, all of us, we will be forgotten just like the stories of soldiers that came before.”

“You’re really good at bringing down the mood, aren’t you?”

You smiled again, this time only letting the corners of your mouth curl slightly. “I try my best.” your eyes drifted to the door and you realized just how long you had been sitting there. “I really should go now.” you moved to climb over him. “Wouldn’t want to waste a whole night with mindless chatter.”

As you maneuvered over Joe you found yourself at some point inches away from his face. You paused for a second, which turned out to be a horrible idea because once you were there you didn’t want to move.

“Goodnight,” you whispered to break the tension.

In a swift motion, Joe reached up and cupped your face with both hands, leaned in, and his lips met yours. It was a quick and rather simple kiss, but you felt the connection as strongly as if he had backed you against a wall and shoved his tongue down your throat.

When he pulled back a few inches so he could look at you, his dark eyes were suddenly lighter somehow and filled with emotion. “You should stay,” he whispered back.

“Yeah…” the words spilled out of your mouth like water, your brain too focused on what had just happened to form any real response.

Moving back to your original spot, you pulled the blanket over your shoulder and settled in, this time for the night. You weren’t planning on leaving, and even if you were, you were sure Joe had no intentions of letting you.

Joe lied down next to you and draped his arm over your waist, his fingertips brushing against the skin where your shirt had ridden up and causing extra goosebumps to the already chilled surface.

“You’re so goddamn cold.” he murmured as his eyes fell shut and his breathing fell into a calming rhythm.

Tangling your legs with his, you shifted closer and shut your eyes as well, focusing on matching your breathing with his. “I’m sure I won’t be for much longer.”

Without another word, the two of you fell into the best sleep either of you had had in a very long time. And just like you had predicted, you warmed up rather quickly as Joe wrapped you tighter in his arms throughout the night.

#band of brothers #joe liebgott #frosted windows #fluff #fanfic #oneshot #hbowar #cold nights #cute

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just-jordie-things · 7 years

Text

Weakness - Mitch Rapp

word count: really fuckin long (9269) warnings: swearing, violence, the torture kind, mitch being hot as always

You sat at the kitchen table of your cabin home, a glass of water in your hands as you watched the outdoors curiously. A black SUV had pulled in front of the house, a woman leaving it but you could tell that there were others in it. You stood up, wandering closer and wrapping your cardigan around your tank top and shirts to preserve your warmth as you opened the door, just enough to hear what was going on outside.

“Irene, I don’t approve of it, and neither would your Daddy” Stan spoke to the woman you now remembered. Head of the CIA. You didn’t know Irene well, just that Stan worked under her.

“I’ll be checking in every forty eight hours” She spoke affirmatively, and walked off, getting back in the car. Someone got out, that you couldn’t see until the vehicle drove off. Leaving behind probably the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. Thick shaggy hair and you could tell he was hiding muscles under his big baggy coat. Your brow raised, gaining even more curiosity at the new meat that ad been dropped off.

There hadn’t been any new comers in a few months, so you wondered what made this one so special.

You couldn’t hear well what the new guy and Stan were saying, just that it was tense. You figured Stan didn’t want him there, judging by what he’d told Irene earlier. After a few minutes, one of Stan’s men came up, and led the new guy into the house. You finally stepped outside, leaning over the rail as Stan stood on the steps.

“Who’s the new fella?” You asked, and he gave you a bored look as he lit his cigarette.

“Unwelcome that’s what” He said gruffly. You rolled your eyes, snatching the offending stick from his mouth.

“You’re supposed to be on the patch dad” You told him, putting it out by smushing it on the rail, then flicking it out to the yard. He just rolled his eyes and continued on inside.

You wondered what was to come next.

“This here, the living room” The guard that Mitch had been following said, gesturing into the empty room. “Past that, the kitchen” He continued. “And the dining room, but no one eats too much”

“Usually they go out to eat, get a chance out of this crazy ass place” The man chuckled, but Mitch didn’t say anything.

He wasn’t sure yet if he even wanted to be here. He knew that he could get the job done if he was on his own, he didn’t need some boss telling him what to do and when to do it.

“You guys got some kind of training room or something? Or am I just supposed to beat on a tree?”

“Well that’s rude” Mitch spun on heels, not having expected to see a girl sitting on the kitchen counter. Your ankles crossed as your legs swung back and forth slightly. “What has a tree every do to you?” His brows furrowed, unsure of what to make of you. But you just smirked, rolling your eyes as you looked at Tim, the guard your father had placed with the new guy. “Who’s the new meat?” You ignored the side glance Mitch gave you.

“Rapp, Mitch” Tim told you, handing you the file folder in his hands. “Interested?” Your eyes flickered back over to the shaggy haired man, lashes dangerously low as you looked him up and down.

“Perhaps” You smirked, taking the folder with an inquisitive look on your face as you opened it up.

Expelled by three boarding skills, all dating after his parents died in a car crash. Seemed like the CIA had kept tabs on him since the shooting on the beach in Spain, and you weren’t too surprised to see that his fiance was murdered there.

“Quite an origin story” You said, mostly to yourself as your eyes expertly scanned the different sections on the paper. You cared a little less about the little details, more about why he was recruited. Impressed by what was listed under his skill set, you looked between the two men in front of you, before hopping off the counter, and giving the folder back to Tim.

“Recluse?” Tim asked, as if wondering if you shared the same thoughts. You stared at Mitch for a few moments longer than the average glance, only raising more questions about you from him.

“Perhaps” The word came out slowly before you turned to leave the room. “I’m off to find… Stan” You said carefully, then left. Tim didn’t question the way you didn’t call the man Dad. He knew that for whatever reason, you were messing with Mitch. And it seemed to work.

“Who the hell was that?” Mitch asked in a low voice, hoping that the girl couldn’t hear him from the other room. Jokes on him though, because you stood just on the other side of the doorway.

“She lives here too” Tim said, and you silently thanked him for keeping your identity a mystery. It just adds to the fun.

And with that, you walked off to your quarters to change into workout gear.

You saw him again while you were in the middle of your private session, practicing with your knives on the targets placed on the trees around you. You watched as he walked along the trail, behind the rest of the group that Stan led. You continued to stare, taking in the new guy - Mitch Rapp. His fists were clenched, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his elbows, and you couldn’t help but admire the defined veins on his forearms. He kept his head down, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was hiding from the rest of the group he followed after.

His head snapped up, almost as if you’d called after him, his eyes finding yours, watching you intensely as you stood there, in your running shorts and sports bra. Your weapons were out of sight, so his mind went running with what the hell you were doing out here. In a last minute decision, you tentatively waved at him, making sure that no one else he was with saw the action. Mitch stopped in his tracks, not even looking towards the others, his gaze firmly set on you.

Who the hell is this girl? He thought to himself. Watching as you leaned up against a tree, still smiling slightly as your hand wrapped over your opposite arm. He recognized it as a nervous action immediately. You were twenty feet away, too far for him to speak to you without getting called out, but even if he’d wanted to he was already too late.

“Rapp! Hurry it up!” Stan called, and as soon as he looked towards the man then back towards you, you were gone. “What’s got your head in the clouds boy!? Get the fuck over here!” Mitch hesitated for only a second, checking one last time to see you had completely vanished, then running off to catch up with the group.

You let out a breath, slumping against the tree trunk you’d slipped behind to hide yourself. The air you let out was visible in front of you, and you still saw it as you breathed heavily from the fear of being caught outside by your father. You peeked your head around the side, seeing Mitch jogging off after the group that was now too far into the woods for you to see. When he was no longer in your sight as well, you went back to the row of knives that lay on a towel, and began to practice again.

Your father, bless his Navy protective soul, had every bone in his body against you practicing his work. When you were younger, sixteen maybe, he’d given you basic MMA training. In case there were ever an incident where you’d need to fight off somebody. But your interest only grew, and soon enough you were running through his practice courses after he went to bed, memorizing and killing holographic targets. And truth be told, you were very good.

And that’s what worried Stan.

You were good, great, maybe even perfect. But he didn’t want you going around thinking that you could start tagging along on missions, or worse, sneaking around on them, Because you could get yourself hurt, and he couldn’t have that. You were all he had left, and you were the only reason he continued to fight and train new recruits every day. You getting hurt, or worse, would be the end of his cause.

You’d heard the lecture countless times, and it’s what led you to train and practice when he was pre-occupied, as not to upset him further. It’s not like it was a secret to him, but he prefered to know you were training alone, and not getting mixed up with his men. That way you couldn’t get an earful of upcoming missions.

You angrily twirled the ring of the dagger between your fingers, before whipping your arm forwards and landing the knife right in the red center of the wooden target.

Bullseye.

“Everytime” You said to yourself with a smirk, then yanked the blade out of the cut up wood. You made a mental note to make new targets soon.

Dusk came fast, and you had to rush into the house before your father and his recruits finished their training, as not to get caught. You made it in just in time, stashing your targets and weapons in the middle dresser drawer.

You’d rearrange your room long, keeping your dresser hidden in your closet, out of sight if someone were to burst into your room and find you hiding your weapons. Growing up the daughter of an assassin, you were very precautious.

After making sure everything was organized, you double checked the lock on your door, and gathered sleepwear before heading into the bathroom. You were grateful to as least have a bathroom attached to your room, that you didn’t have to share with any of the men who stayed here. You turned the shower to scalding, as you stripped out of your sticky clothes.

Mitch was standing at the window, the moon and stars the only source of light spilling into the room, him being the only life inside of it. He was having one of his much needed moments to himself, away from anyone else, just him and his thoughts. And the dark trees just outside the window.

“Some run away, you know” A familiar voice drew him from his deep, and rather dark, thoughts. He turned to see you, clad in sweatpants too long for you and a tee shirt with a team name on it that he’d never heard of before. “You could run away” You said, your voice softer than he’d heard it when he was standing here before.

“Why should I run away?” He asked, and you shrugged, your blank expression unwavering.

“I dunno” You said quietly, looking down at the material pooled at your feet, and blue painted toes the only part visible. Your hands wound together behind your back, unsure of what to say next.

“Should I?” He questioned again, but you didn’t look back up.

“Why do I care, I don’t know you” You spoke, a little louder, but not by much. You had to be quiet anyways, the rest of the house was asleep and you didn’t want to wake anyone and bring attention to the fact that you were disobeying one of your father’s rules. Talking to his recruits. There were only a select few that you were allowed to speak with, but they were only guards.

“I meant is there a reason I should be packing up right now and getting the hell out of here?” He asked, turning away from the window now and looking at you directly.

“That’s up to you” You said, finally bringing your eyes back to his. The truth of this came over him like a strange realization, and he bit back the urge to say I guess you’re right.

“Are you a recruit? Why were you training by yourself?” He asked, steering his attention away from the fact that you were still a stranger to him. Though you’d read his file, so you knew more about him than he knew about you.

“No, I’m not one of you CIA killers” You said with a slight laugh as you padded into the kitchen, looking for something to do to get out of this awkwardness. “Most people deny the fact that they’re a murderer”

“I wouldn’t say murderer” Mitch said. “Killer and murderer are two different things”

“Have you killed people or not?” You asked with an arched brow as you opened up the fridge.

“Yes, but it’s not like they didn’t des-”

“If they’re dead, they’re dead. They aren’t coming back, you murdered them” You said matter of factly, but your voice had a cold edge to it. Mitch’s jaw set in place as he mulled over what to say to that.

“You’re not wrong” He said after a while, and you shrugged a shoulder as you settled on grabbing a beer.

“I know. Care to have a drink with me Mitch Rapp?”

“I don’t know you” He quoted you from earlier. You just rolled your eyes, and grabbed another bottle, extending it out towards him.

“If I tell you I’m not a terrorist, will you accept?” You asked. He gave you a slightly suspicious look before taking it from you. You smiled slightly, closing the fridge and walking back towards the sliding door. Stepping out, you looked back to see he was still standing there. “What? Afraid of the dark?” You taunted slightly, and he followed you out, closing the door behind him as you sat on a patio chair that you could lay back slightly on. He took the one next to you, but sat on it sideways. You watched as he took a swig from his bottle. You copied the action.

“I’m not with the CIA” He said, catching you off guard.

“What?”

“You called me a CIA killer, I’m not with them” He said, and you tried not to laugh.

“Seriously? You’re on the base, you’re with the recruits. You’re an agent, Rapp”

“You’re one to talk you’re here too”

“That doesn’t make me an agent”

“Well from what you just said to me you are” He said almost sassily

“Nope” You popped your lips on the word, taking a long drink of your beer.

“Then what does that make you?”

“Makes me Stan’s daughter” You said, raising your eyebrows at him. Knowing you’d won. Mitch looked taken aback, his hand coming up to rub along his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “Surprised?” You asked, eyes trained on the small opening of the glass in your hands.

“More like confused” He said. You looked at him, eyes full of wonder as you could practically see the gears in his mind turn.

“Well? You don’t know me remember? Ask away” You said, in a kind tone he hadn’t heard before. He stared at you for a moment, glancing you over like he was reading you, or your body language. It was almost like you had multiple personalities, he couldn’t pick anything up from you. And that was a skill he’d prided himself in. “What?” The word came out in a whisper. “What’s with the interrogating look?”

“What is this? What’s your play?” He asked almost calmly. Your brows rose with amusement.

“My play?” You repeated, a smirk on your lips. He nodded, and you took a drink before sitting up in the seat the way he was, facing him completely now. “Well Rapp, since you speak like I’m an enemy, I’ll tell you exactly”

“Good, make it easy” Your expression grew blank, so he couldn’t get a read on you as you spoke.

“My play is that I’m making nice, I’m not even aloud to be speaking with any of you recruits, but there’s something so exhilarating about sneaking out here with you Mitch” You said, your eyes rolling up with delight as you told him your slight scandal. “And while I know nothing of you but your background, which truly is not the whole story, a person’s past makes who they are, but you have… quite an interesting one that I’d personally love to hear all about”

“Is that right?” He asked, his tone holding no emotion to it.

“Mhm. Besides, I also need you” Mitch’s brows furrowed together as you smiled, your lips tugging up into quite a beautiful little smile actually.

“You need me?” You hummed again. “What possibly for? I don’t… hell I don’t even know your name yet”

“Oh well my apologies, I’m y/n” You stuck your hand out, and he shook it slowly, not breaking eye contact with you. “And I need a sparring partner”

“You want to fight me?” Mitch chuckled with delight. “Oh, darling I’d snap you in half like a twig” You released his hand, the pet name shocking you momentarily.

“Oh? Is that so?” You asked, and he nodded, his smug smile still there. “Wonderful, I’d love a challenge”

“I’m not even allowed to fight your father’s men, what makes you think I can his daughter?” He asked, and you stood up, putting your hands on your hips. He followed, towering over you.

“That’s half the fun, Rapp” You smirked as you spoke quietly, seeing he was just inches away from you.

“You’re going to get yourself killed” He said, and you shrugged a shoulder.

“How would you know? You just learned my name, you don’t know anything about me”

“Please, I’m not fighting a girl that I have to look down to to speak-” Mitch was cut off as your leg kicked his out from under him and before he could react your hand his arms pinned tightly on the ground above his head, straddling over his torso. Your lips pulled up in an excited smile. “Tomorrow work for you?” He asked, and you nodded eagerly, hopping off of him and bouncing slightly.

“Thank you, God, you just saved me from chopping up and painting new targets” You said, throwing your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek before thinking. But you didn’t care, just grabbed your beer and tiptoed back inside. Mitch spun to watch your retreating figure as you drank down the last of your liquor and put the bottle on the counter. It’d been a long time since he’d had physical contact like that, and it threw him off guard. “Hey” You called out in a whisper. “Either come in or close the door, you’re letting cold air in” You said.

“Sorry” He mumbled, stepping in and closing the door shut behind him, locking it on instinct. He turned back to you to see you had your bare arms wrapped around yourself now.

“You don’t have to lock it, nobody else lives out here but us” You told him as he set his empty beer next to yours.

“Still” Was all he said, and you didn’t argue it. Just looked at the time on the microwave.

“It’s two in the morning, and my dad’s gonna come wake you all up at six so you better go back to your bunk” You said, your fingers fiddling with the drawstring on your sweatpants.

“Alright” He sighed out the word, running a hand through his dark curls, turning to head out of the house. You followed slightly, having to head the same way to go to your room, but you trailed him all the way to the front door, opening it and leaning against it to support your tired body.

“Have a good night, Mitch Rapp” You told him quietly as he stepped outside.

“You too miss Hurley” He responded with a nod, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“y/l/n” You corrected, and he gave you a curious look. “My last name’s y/l/n” He nodded, not questioning it as he smiled just barely, backing up a little.

“Well then goodnight, miss y/l/n” He said, then turned and jogged towards his bunk. You allowed your smile to appear as he ran off, closing the door and leaning your back against it for a while.

This, would be the beginning of yours and Mitch’s story.

4 months later

“Mitch god take a fucking shower” You begged, holding your hand over your nose as he entered the hotel room

“y/n god get a life” He taunted back, yanking your blanket off of you as he passed you on the bed.

“Hey” You whined, grasping the cover and pulling it back over you while he went to the dresser.

You were currently on his mission with him, and your father but he had a separate room. So did you, you just prefered to stay in this one. Without your father’s awareness of course. You weren’t technically on the mission with them, you were just there so Stan could keep an eye on you while him and Mitch did all the real work.

Victor had been there to help to but… recent events led to him no longer being a part of the unit.

“Did you do the ass kickings today?” You asked him while he was still rummaging in the dresser drawers. He laughed slightly at your wording, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Just found out more of your dad’s secrets, nothing went down today or anything” You nodded, and he turned to face you, sweatpants and his black long sleeved shirt in his hand. “I’m gonna take that shower now, you want to order room service?” You nodded, sitting up in bed to reach for the phone. “Need anything before I go?”

“Mitch your twenty feet away, I’ll be fine” You chuckled as he rolled his eyes and headed into the bathroom.

“Try not to think too hard about me!” He called playfully before closing the door, and you almost laughed, but didn’t

It felt like you’d been friends with Mitch Rapp for a long time, but in reality you’d only known each other for a few months. But he was the only person you pretty much ever interacted with, and you him, so it was easy to get close. After so many sparring sessions, sneaking out to go on walks and staying up late to see each other, you just grew to be friends. And it was easy. He opened up more to you, and you mostly to him. But with closeness, came feelings. And the kind that you’d never felt before you met Mitch, which both frightened and excited you.

You fell back onto the bed as you rang for room service, ordering a large pizza and two bottles of their strongest wine. You thanked the man and hung up the phone, then quickly changed into cotton sleeping shorts and a long sleeved sweatshirt that almost covered the hems of the shorts, but it was comfortable so you didn’t care.

The running water of the shower stopped shortly after, and you were flicking through tv channels on the couch when Mitch came out, falling onto the cushion next to you as you searched for something.

“I never watch tv, I wouldn’t even know what’s good” You said, handing him the remote and propping your elbow on the armrest to keep your head up.

“I don’t much either” He said, but settled on a show that seemed dramatic enough to keep watching. Again, you zoned out, even as the scene intensified. Your mind buzzing with all these thoughts and questions. After a few minutes you glanced over at Mitch, studying his face as he seemed to enjoy what was playing. You smiled slightly, glad to see he felt relaxed enough to wind down. It wasn’t much that Mitch would relax. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked in a gentle voice, and you realized he’d caught you staring.

“Oh, sorry” You mumbled, looking quickly back to the television and trying to figure out what was happening in the scene.

“No really” Mitch spoke again, his hand laying on your shoulder. “y/n”

“I just wish I could go with you guys” You said lamely. But it wasn’t a lie. “I can help, I know what I’m doing, I train all the time” Mitch’s face fell, his hand rubbing into your shoulder now.

“I know” He said quietly. “I know you can, but it’s not my rule” Your lips pulled to the side with disappointment. “He’s just trying to keep you safe, you’re safer here, away from harm” He added, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about safety” You grumbled.

“Well I do” He said, and you gave him a bored look.

“Seriously? You” You stated in monotone and he nodded.

“When it comes to the only person worth my time, fuck yeah” He said with a big stupid smile that was meant to make you laugh, but you just stared down at your lap to hide your blushing cheeks. “But hey, I know that it’s something that means a lot to you, and I’m sorry”

“It’s okay” You whispered. “It’s not your fault” His hand released your shoulder to cup around your cheek, thumb stroking over the soft skin.

“I’m still sorry” He said, and you gave him half a smile. You would’ve liked to sit here like this, staring into his whiskey colored eyes forever, but there were quick knocks on the door.

“Room Service!” A voice called, and Mitch got up.

“Stay here, I’ll get it” He said, grabbing the gun off the coffee table and tucking it behind him in the waistband of his sweatpants. A safety precaution he’d taken last night as well when you’d shown up at the door. You could hear the exchange of words and soon enough, he was walking in with a box of pizza and two wine bottles.

“So he wasn’t a terrorist?” You asked playfully, to which he ignored as he set the food on the table in front of you, the both of you taking a slice and each popping open the wine.

“Jesus y/n how expensive was this?”

“Who cares it’s on my Dad’s tab” You said with a mouthful of pizza. Mitch just laughed and clinked his bottle against yours.

“Cheers to you and your Dad’s tab” He said before taking a drink.

“You know what’s real nice Mitch? You wanna know somethin’ real real nice?” You asked, crawling over close to him on the sofa. He looked at you with amusement all over his face as your drunken stature wobbled and fell momentarily against his shoulder. “Oops” You grumbled, sitting back up on your hands and knees.

“Do tell me something nice” He said, setting his barely drank from bottle of wine on the table next to your three quarters empty one.

“You have such traceable face… like dot to dot” You told him as your fingers lazily drew patterns all over his face, not even where his freckles were scattered on his jaw. But your fingertips ran all over his nose and forehead and ears and lips. You leaned closer, your eyes narrowing as you focused on the top of his lip, your digit continually tracing over it. “You have a cupid’s bow” You told him, surprise on your features.

“I know” He chuckled as you went back to work drawing invisible pictures on his face.

“I’d like to kiss that cupid’s bow” You told him, and for a moment he wasn’t sure what to say. In fact, even if you weren’t drunk he wouldn’t know what to say.

“Maybe when you aren’t intoxicated” He told you softly, and if you’d remember this moment tomorrow, he’d hold himself to this promise. You grinned and nodded eagerly.

“Okay!” You said loudly, and it made him laugh again. You must’ve decided you were done playing with his freckles because your slumped back against the couch, your head falling onto his shoulder as you watched the show again. You began giggling, seemingly uncontrollably, and it made him sigh slightly. Because nothing funny happened in the show. “Mitch? Mitchy you’re not laughing” You said, your finger poking up against his cheek.

“Come here pretty girl” He sighed, wrapping an arm around you and you crawled into his lap. You leaned your sad against his chest, your legs bent at the knees and resting on the back of the couch. “You, just get your little drunk ass to rest alright?”

“Mhm okie dokie” You hummed, hands patting flat on his chest.\ then sliding up to wrap around the base of his neck.

“Are you going to choke me?” He asked, and you just shook your head.

“No…. ‘m holdin’ on to you” You mumbled back in a slur. “I like holdin’ onto you” You added, and he looked down at you with a gentle expression, lips tugging slightly.

“That’s alright” He said, rubbing his hand up and down your back. You hummed, pushing your nose into his chest, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so good” You whispered, arms wrapping completely around his neck now. Mitch laughed as you moved, the tip of your nose pushing against the base of his throat.

“y/n” He said softly, holding you back so you were again leaning on his shoulder. “Go to sleep okay?”

“Okay” You murmured, eyes slipping shut as your body relaxed into his. “You’ll stay here?” You whispered.

“Yeah… yeah I’ll stay here” He assured, and you smacked your lips quietly a few times before allowing yourself to slip into a slumber.

Mitch watched you, carefully, not wanting to wake you up. His hand moved gently to tuck your hair back behind your ear. He let out a short breath, watching you peacefully rest there in his arms.

He couldn’t deny that since you and him had become such close friends, there was something else there. And he was reminded of it every second of his day. When he was leaving on a mission, when he was out there, and especially as soon as he got back, finding you curled up in bed, half asleep but he knew you were only still up because you were waiting for him. He always knew you waited for him to return home, safe. He also knew you’d never admit it.

But there were countless other things he’d never admit to you either.

The next morning you woke up in a bed, your head hurting and your eyes blinking a few times to adjust to the dim lights in the room.

“I tried to keep them as low as possible, sorry if they woke you” A gentle voice spoke, and you looked over to see Mitch, loading his shotgun. You were quiet for a few minutes as you pieced together the few memories you had of last night.

It was like a messy montage of touching Mitch’s face and laughing, you weren’t sure what all had happened.

“Are you leaving?” You asked tiredly, forcing yourself to sit up as you watching him tuck a knife into either of his pockets.

“Yeah, Stan’s got a good lead on where Ghost is” He said, and you frowned instantly at him sitting straighter and ignoring the way your eyes hurt, as if you’d been staring at a screen for hours straight. “It’ll be fine-”

“Don’t fucking say that, it’s a nuclear bomb” You said, voice laced with anger.

“y/n” Mitch stood in front of you as you sat on the edge of the mattress, staring up at him. “Trust me” He said gently. “Can you do that?” You sighed, closing your eyes and nodding. Knowing deep down, you trusted this man with your life. “I’m coming back” He assured, and you refrained from rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, in pieces” You grumbled, and he laughed, kneeling down in front of you. Your eyes never left his as his hands cupped around your face for a moment.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about” He said, dropping his hands to rest overtop of yours.

“I have everything to worry about, the only two people in my life are going out to take down some psychopath terrorist with a nucl-”

“I’m coming back” He whispered again, his hands squeezing yours. “I’m coming back” You blinked, then leaned forward and tucked your head against his shoulder, arms shaking as they wrapped around his neck. Mitch held you back, taking in a deep breath as you sunk off the bed and onto the floor in front of him. Neither of you said anything as his hand cradled the back of your head, and neither of you wanted to let go but you knew you had to.

“You better get going before my Dad bursts in here looking for you” You sniffed quietly, hoping he wouldn’t hear. He did of course, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Yeah he wouldn’t be too fond of finding you in here” He said quietly, eyes flickering for the briefest of moments down towards your lips. You laughed one small bitter laugh as he stood up, holding his hands out and helping you to your feet as well. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” You nodded as his palm brushed over your cheek once more, before he turned to head out of the room.

It took everything you had in you not to call out to him as he left.

“You’re gonna have to get your head out of your ass if you want to get out of here” Stan grunted, his arm struggling as it was caught in a metal contraption. Mitch snarled slightly but didn’t say anything, just fiddled more with the plastic that had been bound his wrists tightly behind him. He was this close to breaking free from the zip tie, when Ghost came back into the dirty room.

That was the best way to describe it, dirty. It looked exactly like the kind of place a murder happens, or drugs are exchanged. Cement walls and floors, a plastic medical curtain separating the physicists lab from where Mitch and Stan were chained up.

While Stan had gotten the crap tortured out of him, already missing two of his fingernails, a nasty gash on his arm, and undergone electrocution, Mitch just sat on the floor, tied up, and not once had a fist landed on his jaw, or some medical instrument ripped out his tongue. He remained unscathed.

“Now, is there a team outside or not?” He asked darkly, holding a metal bar in his hand.

“Way to be the cliche of all kidnappers ever” Mitch grunted. Ghost turned to him, a glare on his face that didn’t unsettle Mitch whatsoever.

“I’d be careful, boy” He growled. “Just because I haven’t beat the shit out of you, doesn’t mean I don’t have a way of making you talk”

“I doubt that” Mitch tested, his eyes narrowing at the ex Navy Seal.

“Ronnie don’t be a dumbass” Stan said, earning a blow to the side of the head with the bar. The chained man spit blood onto the ground, a tooth wiggling loose in his mouth.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That!” He yelled angrily.

“Then don’t be so fucking stupid! You think I’m gonna give this reclusive boy for fucks sake any information? Please” He scoffed, and Ghost smirked slightly.

“Well why don’t we put that to the test, huh?” He said, raising a daring brow between the two men. Mitch gave Stan a look, thinking he was about to be tortured next, and he wondered what his punishment was. A beating? That blow torch? His own nails pried off one by one? “You gents stay here, while I go bring in a new… toy” He grinned to himself before leaving the room.

“He’s a fucking maniac” Mitch said, getting back to work on releasing himself from his zip tie.

“Yeah, and I thought you were crazy” Stan replied. “No matter what, you don’t give away an ounce of information” He warned.

“Please” Mitch scoffed. “He’s got nothing on me, nothing could get me to-” Mitch stopped when Ghost came back in, dragging a body with him.

Your body.

A rag tied around your head between your mouth, your wrists behind your back in the same zip tie that Mitch was in. Legs battered and bruised so much that Mitch figured you couldn’t hold yourself up to run away even if you tried.

“What’s that Rapp?” Ghost said, a menacing smile twisted on his lips. “Nothing can get you to speak?” Stan gave Mitch an even darker look than Ghost’s, but he didn’t dare ask what his daughter had to do with Mitch’s weakness. “Because… funny story actually… your stupid little camera through the air conditioning unit? Well, I replaced it with that of my own” He chuckled, and Mitch glared angrily at the man, two words short of ripping off his zip tie and tackling him to the ground.

“She’s got nothing to do with any of this” He growled out. You writhed in pain against the restraints behind you, never having felt so weak and useless in your entire life.

“Actually, pretty little y/n here has everything to do with everything” Ghost said.

“She’s not even an agent” Stan spoke up, trying to seem nonchalant. Gost just chuckled.

“No, but she’s your daughter, isn’t she?” He spoke, and Stan visibly paled. Mitch rushed forward awkwardly on his knees, as though begging for him not to lay a finger on you.

“She knows nothing, don’t hurt her” He rushed quickly, but as soon as he was two feet away from you, Ghost pulled out a knife. A simple blade, pressed against your throat as his hand roughly grabbed a fistful of your hair. You whimpered against the rag in your mouth. Your captor cut away the gag, and you gasped for air.

“M-Mitch don’t say a th-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Ghost’s hand in your hair tightened and you cried out, your words halting. “Well? If no one starts talking she’s about to get a knife in her gorgeous clavicle” He said, pressing the tip of the dagger against the base of your throat. “The Hurley specialty, right?” He smirked, and Mitch sat frozen in front of them, torn on what to do. If he spoke, he’d be committing treason, and the CIA would throw him into one of their lifetime imprisonment cells. If he kept quiet, the only person he had left would be killed.

“Don’t say anything” You pleaded, tears mixing with blood on your cheeks. Mitch deflated as he stared at you, his eyes locking on yours.

“You’ve got a real tough girl here Rapp” Ghost said, trailing the knife dangerously down your cheekbone, a thin line of blood left in it’s wake.

“Stop it!” Mitch yelled angrily, and next thing he knew, the knife was no longer against you.

It was thrown into his abdomen.

“Mitch!” You scream was all he could hear, echoing across the walls in the room. He looked down at the weapon lodged into him, blood pooling and seeping through his shirt. Ghost threw you to the ground, but you scampered up, ignoring the pain in your arms as you forced yourself up to see what was happening.

Mitch mumbled something as Ghost grew nearer to him.

“What’s that?” He asked. “Opening up now are we?” He smirked, and Mitch glared up at him.

“Rule number three” He uttered, and in a flash, he’d broken out of the zip tie, and yanked the dagger straight out of him, piercing into the side of Ghost’s neck. “Don’t get too close” He finished, watching the life drain right out of the terrorist’s face, as he toppled to the ground. A few staggered breaths came from the assassin, something that looked like relief flooding over his expression, and you felt it too.

Right up until he fell back onto the ground.

“Mitch!” You cried, scurrying over to him awkwardly and painfully, but pushing it away as you leaned over him, ripped your wrists straight out of the restraint, a sudden rush of energy coming over your to do so, and you ignored the burning feeling it left behind. “Mitch? Mitch open your eyes” You were crying, one of your hands pressing against his wound, hoping to stop the bleeding, the other reaching up to lay on his cheek. “Wake up, Mitch wake up” You pleaded over and over in whimpers, your ear pressing against his chest, hearing the faintest of heartbeats.

“y/n” Your father spoke your name, softly and sadly, but you ignored him.

“Come on Mitch, come on wake up” You shook his head slightly with your hand, fingers threading through the dark curls you loved so much.

“y/n he’s-”

Stan was cut off when Mitch suddenly gasped, eyes flying open and breathing hard, catching the breath he’d momentarily lost. You choked out a sob, a pained smile stretching across your face as both of your bloody hands cupped around his face.

“Goddamnit Rapp” You cursed him, palms still on his cheeks as your head fell to his chest for a moment before looking back up at him, eyes teary and your smile wavering. “You were dead”

“I’m here- I’m alive” He said quietly, and pushed your matted and blood splattered hair behind your ear. “I told you I’d come back” A broken laugh came from your lips at his stupid smile and you fell down against him again.

“Will someone get me out of this and tell me what the fuck is going on?” Stan, of course, ruined the moment. You pushed yourself to stand, helping Mitch sit up before going to your father, and untangling his arm from the chains so he could unwind the metal piece that snared his other arm.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked quietly.

“Fuming” He grunted, rubbing the sore bruise that had grown on his wrist. “But right now, I’m too thankful that you’re still alive” He breathed, and hugged you tightly. You hugged back, feeling just as grateful for his life too.

“I’m sorry” You whispered when you pulled away, and Stan went over to Mitch, holding him up so he could stand. You went to his other side, giving him a soft smile as you wrapped his arm over your shoulders, holding tightly to his hand. All three of you limped out of the building.

“I didn’t even know you two knew each other” Stan grumbled when you got to the parking lot. He started the car as you helped Mitch into the backseat.

“We-”

“He’s my best friend” You spoke, cutting off whatever he was about to say. Your father gave you a look through the rearview mirror, but he didn’t say anything. His silence worried you, your hands twisting in your lap after you shut the door so he could drive. “Dad?”

“I don’t even care right now” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Quite frankly, I’ve lost two nails a tooth and a hell of a lot of my dignity” Mitch glanced over at you, a nervous and questioning look on his face. You tugged your split bottom lip between your teeth. “We’ll talk another time about this y/n” Stan finally spoke up again. “Right now I need to call Irene and we all need to get cleaned up, we look like shit. Especially you”

“Thanks Dad” You grumbled, but knew he meant it for the best.

“Rapp you have twenty four hours to think of what to say to me that won’t result in me putting a bullet in your head”

“Yes sir” Mitch replied, and you looked over to him again, a faint smile on your lips as you slid your hand into his with ease. It never felt so good to hold onto him.

When you arrived at the hotel, your father went into his own chambers without speaking a word to either of you, so you just trailed after Mitch into his room. You made a beeline for the cabinets, grabbing the first aid kit and ordering him to sit on the mattress. He pulled his shirt up over his head, wincing slightly but trying to show it. You didn’t notice, to focused on trying to not stare at his chest, rather enjoy the dark patch of hair that trailed there.

“Sit still” You said emotionlessly, pulling out a needle.

“What the f-”

“You need stitches” You told him, and he gaped slightly. “You got shot and you’re afraid of a needle?” You said with a slight laugh in your voice.

“It’s different!” He argued back and you shook your head at him.

“Just close your eyes, think about something else” You told him, and he followed the order, his eyes falling shut and you just as quickly began to stitch up the wound. “See? It’s fine, I got it” You said softly as you finished up the stitches, breaking the thread and setting the bloody needle on a tissue to avoid mess. Mitch opened his eyes again, glancing momentarily down to the excellent job you’d done, before watching you put rubbing alcohol on a balled up wad of tissues, patting gently over the area, cleaning away the blood as you applied it.

“How long do I have doc?” He asked, and you sighed.

“Sadly, not long Rapp. There wasn’t much we could do” He faked a frown. “Would you like us to contact your loved ones?” He shook his head, and your brows furrowed with confusion.

“No… no they’re already here” He said, and for a brief second you froze up, but then slapped the back of your hand against his bicep.

“Shut up” You forced a laugh as you pressed a pad of gauze gently against his side, holding it with your fingertips as lightly as you could as not to hurt him as you reached for the tape.

“I can do it” Mitch said, reaching to grab the roll from your hands but you shook your head.

“It’s fine, I got it” You said in an assertive tone, carefully taping it onto him so it was protected. Your eyes lingered there on the white plastic covered fabric patch before flickering up to his, seeing he was already staring at you. Your breath hitched involuntarily.

“Thanks” He breathed out, and you nodded, swallowing thickly as you tried to find words to say, but none would come out. His eyes trailed over the bruises and blood that were covered all over your face. Your gaze never faltered as re reached for the wet rag you’d brought from the bathroom, carefully dotting it from the crown of your head, over your cheeks and slightly purple eye. “Jesus” He whispered as he wiped the smeared blood from your cheeks. “What’d he do to you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle” You said, smirking slightly while he patted the cool washcloth over your lips. You wondered briefly if your cheeks were as pink as they felt. You blinked, staring at his eyes as they focused on cleaning up your face. They trailed down his lips, admiring their pink and parted form. You traced their shape with your eyes, his tongue peeking out momentarily to swipe over his upper lip. “You have a cupid’s bow” You whispered out. Mitch stilled his actions, looking up at you.

“Yeah” Was all he could even think to say. His mind running with more thoughts than he could process, screaming for him to ask if you remembered last night, hoping he could follow through with his silent promise.

“Mitch” You whispered, grabbing onto the hand that had frozen against your cheek, lowering it and taking the wet and now bloody rag from him. You leaned in ever so slightly, eyes flickering down towards his lips, down further to the dark hair on his chest, lower to the trail that disappeared into his pants. “You owe me a kiss” You murmured, meeting his gaze again. The slightest of smiles tugged on the ends of his lips, before his hand cupped over your cheek, and pulled your mouth against him.

You breathed softly through your nose out of complete content. His lips were warm, and soft. Moving gently in sync with yours. He sighed against you, parting just to tilt your head to the side before kissing you again, just as pasionately and carefully as not to hurt the cut that ran over your bottom lip. Your fingers threaded through his hair, your other hand at the base of his neck as you leaned over the medical supplies you’d laid out on the bed. But the position was too awkward, so he lifted you up and sat you onto his lap. You stared at him for a moment, your butt planted on his thighs and ankles resting on the blankets behind him as he held you firmly but gently.

Everything about him was gentle, and you were loving it.

With a smile, you leaned your head back down to kiss him against, tongue tracing over the lips you’d been making heart eyes at for a few days now, taking your time over his cupid’s bow. He chuckled, the parting of his lips making it easy for you to slip your tongue into his mouth, exploring it leisurely.

Now, you’d never done this before. In fact, this was your first kiss ever. Having a strict father and living in the woods, meant you didn’t really get out much. But if this was what dating was, you loved it.

You loved him.

Mitch’s arms wound around your waist, your hands splayed across his cheeks as you continue your exploration until you could no longer breathe. He pulled away before you, taking the moment to assess your features. A few messy strands of hair having fallen in front of your blushing and bruised face. Your doe eyes staring into his with nothing short of adoration.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, the two of us need sleep, desperately” He said, and you nodded, climbing off of him reluctantly, but his hand just wrapped around your wrist again. “That doesn’t mean we can’t continue a little longer” He added, and you laughed, leaning towards him again, knees falling to the bed to hover over his lap.

“You’re a strange man Mitch Rapp” You told him before connecting your lips in a sweet kiss.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment” He replied with raised brows, and you laughed again, nodding your head as you held his face in your hands. You could never get tired of staring at him.

“You should, I’d say everything I tell you is a compliment” You told him curtly, sitting down in the space between his legs, your own wrapped around your waist as his still hung over the edge of the bed.

“Really? Cause you told me once that I was hairy and that I could house a family of squirrels on my face” He said in monotone.

“That’s just because I wanted you to shave, I like you when you’re scruffy” You said, running the pads of your fingertips over the slight stubble on his jaw. “Not when you have an entire mop around your face. You’ve already got it on your head. You don’t need it to spread” Mitch rolled his eyes, but you pecked his lips a few times as though asking for forgiveness. “But in the end it was a compliment… you’re hotter with this” You said, your hands again rubbing over his jawline. Mitch smirked, finally kissing you back and you hummed in surprise at the sudden action.

“You think I’m hot?” He asked, his smirk back as you gave him a look.

“Mitch Rapp, you are the sexiest man I have ever, and will ever meet” His lips pursed as his brows rose with surprise, liking the confession you’d given him.

“Well that’s a title I hope to keep” He said, and you hit his chest lightly.

“Stop it you’re killing the mood” You whined, and he peppered your cheeks and nose with kisses, making you giggle and scrunch up your nose.

“Good, cause i’m pretty sure I already told you that you need sleep”

“Hey!” You yelled accusingly. “You’re the one who pulled me back” You grumbled and got off of him, heading to your drawer to find cozy pajamas. All you had was sweatpants and sweatshirts, which it was far too hot to wear.

“Yeah, and you didn’t restrain one bit, you’re weak” He chuckled, following your actions and getting his own shorts to sleep in. You peered over into his drawer curiously.

“You gonna wear that tee shirt?” You asked.

“Well if it won’t keep you awake at night I’d prefer to sleep without one” He said, and you shrugged a shoulder, snatching it for yourself.

“Fine by me” You said, peeling your bloodied shirt over your head, and slipping on Mitch’s before taking your bra off from underneath it. Mitch watched you intently as you unbuttoned your shorts and wiggled out of them, packing the dirty clothes from today neatly back into the drawer. You turned to see Mitch shamelessly staring at you. “What?”

“I was going to make a remark about who it was that gave you permission to steal my clothes, but I’m not even going to complain” He said, making you laugh to yourself as you picked up the medical kit and put it all away, hiding it back in it’s own dresser drawer. You rolled your eyes at him as he sat on the bed, patiently waiting for you to join him. You casted a glance over your shoulder then made your way to flick off the light switch. You turned to see he was still sitting upright, and a small, almost nervous sounding giggle.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You asked him, and he nodded his head.

“What do you think I’m waiting for?” He said as you crawled on, moving up to him and pecking his lips in the dark. “Baby that was my chin”

“Huh… I was wondering why your lips were all prickly” You mumbled tiredly, collapsing onto the space next to him. “Well lay down I wanna hold onto you” You ordered, and Mitch sighed slightly.

“So bossy” He muttered as he laid on his back, you instantly snuggling up against him and nuzzling your face into his chest. Mitch watched you for a moment, his hand stroking over the back of your head as you sighed softly out of content. “I love you anyways” He breathed out, like it annoyed him, but you saw through the sarcasm.

“I love you too” You murmured, lips planting on his chest and fingers playing with the patch of hair down the middle. “Now get some rest, my father’s going to give you hell tomorrow” You hummed, and he merely nodded, his other arm encircling over your waist, riding his shirt up over the hem of your underwear and stroking the soft skin of your lower back.

He’d fall asleep eventually, but right now, he just wanted to enjoy this moment to it’s fullest extent.

Cause the next day Stan would give him a black eye and a few more threatening warnings than the average father.

tWO IMAGINES OF PPL I HAVENT POSTED FOR B4 CUZ I FELT SO BAD SO

here ya goooo

xoxo ~ jordie

#american assassin #amaerican assassin imagine #mitch rapp x reader #mitch rapp imagine #mitch rapp scenario #mitch rapp fanfiction #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan o'brien x reader

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tsunderin · 7 years

Text

Getting Pounded In The Ass By My Inability To Express Emotional Intimacy [A Dungeoning Ficlet]

((Warning for discussion of NSFW topics. The story itself is not NSFW.))

“I wonder,” he spoke coyly, knowing too well the answer to this riddle that stood before him, “what you would do in my situation. To be tempted as such. Knowing the sweetness of honey nestled within your comb...”

A breath left me like an arrow, futilely plunging itself within the air surrounding us--thick with desire--leaving no puncture with which to relieve the mood. “I can have no other.” Ain growled, the raspiness returning to his voice, instinct taking over as he cornered me against the stone wall. I knew I couldn’t escape him--he had my scent. I knew I didn’t want to escape him. I wanted him to take me here just as he had done during Lady Nesterly’s hunt.

My voice came out low, the words leaving like syrup from my lips, hoping to push him over the edge. “Say please.”

His gratitudes were not so verbose; a boon onto itself. Where once I complained of the sensation of stubble against my skin, I now found the prickles enticing, for what lay beyond them was a ruthless barrage of heat and tongue drawing me ever deeper into him and his ken. Forest, sweat, and dusk swirled around me, not even the moon daring to shed her light on our tryst. The dark can spawn such sweet secrets.

The gentleness with which Ain moved my dressings aside cooled my flame. The beast--my beast--content enough to light it once more with a mere meeting of eyes. “I can bear it no longer.” He spoke the words not to the air around him nor himself, but to me this time. A gasp of pleasure escaped me as the head of his… of his…

“What’s another word for ‘cock’?” The light clicking of heels against wood abruptly stopped, the train of thought likewise stopping as though it’d hit a brick wall.

A sigh came from the nearby desk, stacked moderately with papers and various other knicknacks. “I already told you all the ones I knew. What’s wrong with ‘cock’, anyways? ‘Cock’s fine. ‘Cock’s’ reliable.”

“Yes, darling, but I’ve already used it. I’m bored with it and everyone else is too,” the pale slim eclipse of a woman motioned to all the non-existent people standing beside them in their hovel of an inn room. Turning on the ball of her foot, she returned to pacing, this time lacking the staccato beat keeping her narrative flowing. Through all the humming, her companion--lanky and roguish--kept his eyes on the ceiling, more interested in keeping the quill balanced in the space between his nose and upper lip than the seeming issue at hand. “What about….” she drew out the vowels longer than necessary, “meat staff?”

“Don’t use that. Nothin’s sexy about meat.”

She huffed. “Then stinger.”

A soft clatter echoed behind him, the pen finally taking its inevitable plunge. “Isn’t that a little too on the nose? You know, honey, bee, stinger?”

“That’s! The! Point! We’re keeping on brand.”

“Uh huh,” Tom sounded less than impressed. “Noticed you used ‘bear’ earlier too. Hate to say it, but it sounds a lil’ cheesy, Syne.”

“He is a bear, Tom. It’s a very clever and well-thought out callback to his mythical roots. Frankly I’m disappointed that you don’t understand that.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“And I am “just sayin’”. Who’s the expert here?” The pause that followed after filled with nothing but silence, long enough that if anyone else had happened to be in the room they may have believed that writer and transcriber were competing who could be silent the longest. The battle ended with a sound not unlike steam leaving a teapot. “Fffffffffine. Fine! We’ll take it out!” Syne threw her hands up, stomping back the three steps it took to be as opposite as Tom as she could be. “Does the greatest author of our time of mythical and otherwordly romance have any further knowledge to bestow upon me?”

“Ignoring that I did technically write those books… yeah, I do.” The expression Syne shot him was inscrutable. Mostly because her eyes were covered by her hair. “Writing dirty books is all well ‘n good, but we’re trying to get this out for The Feast of Cups. Don’t you think something more, I ‘unno, romantic would sell better?”

“Oh, Tom. Oh sweet, darling Tom.” She sauntered over to his desk bending slightly potentially looking at him eye-to-eye. “It is a shortsighted folly to aim for one day of glory. Certainly we could entice all lovers and those seeking the fantasy of love with a tale of two hearts overcoming their differences and learning to grow in their affection. But what then?” Her mouth waxed into a crescent moon of a smile. “Remain forgotten on the shelf as another, less worthy tale of princes and bodyguards or some such drivel takes our place? No!” Tom barely flinched as Syne’s palm slammed against the desk.

“We push the envelope of mortal desire not because we want to, but because it. Is. Necessary! ….And also because I want to, yes I’m not denying that, but this is also what the people want. Their underlying promiscuity laid naked and writhing in front of them! Romance is, after all, temporary, while scandal--”

“Lives forever,” Tom finished in a flat tone, all too familiar with this speech. A scrape droned against the floor as Tom pushed out his chair, his knuckles cracking like the spine of a freshly printed book while he stretched. “I’m not invested in it either way. Just thought it’d be fun to shake things up a bit. Like a limited edition kind of deal.”

She watched him curiously for a moment before turning her attention to her own fingers, examining them, moving them around in lieu of anything else to fidget with. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Tom.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for happy endings.” He grinned at nothing in particular before moving towards the door. “I’m going out for a bit. You need anything from… uh, the woods, I guess?”

“Find me the smoothest stone from the bottom of the river, and perhaps I’ll forgive you for your slight against my brilliance.” It took only moments for Tom’s chuckle to dissipate into the air around her, leaving Syne alone with only her thoughts. It’d been a bad year for writing, but a good year for selling. And an all around good-bad year for ghost hunting. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a nugget of sense in what Tom had proposed. The only problem was that the dear fool didn’t realize it was impossible. Not impossible for her, of course. Nothing was impossible for she who had molded her own space in mortal society with the help of no one else. It would be impossible for her audience to fully comprehend the depth and beauty of a tapestry of romance woven from her lips. There would be an epidemic of wailing across the land. Businesses would be closed! Crops would not be harvested! ...Frankly, it would be annoying and Syne would not stand for it.

Yet Tom remained a much valued companion. It wouldn’t hurt to gently show him how much of a failure his idea would be. Holding more intelligence than the average mortal, he would catch on soon enough. Once reaching her conclusion, they would speak on such things no longer, and would return to more important topics of conversation like why mortals had no appealing dirty words for vagina. Or why candle wax was apparently a proper tool to use in the bedroom.

Night had remained firmly settled when Tom returned to the small room finding Syne lying backwards across the meager mattress, her body half on the floor as if she had melted and a low groan emanating from her as though she were still in the middle of the process. She all but jolted up--rather, rolled over on her side and pushed herself to a standing position pretending that her elegance had remained in tact during his absence--the moment the thumping of produce hit the wooden surface. “Ah! Tom. How good of you to return.”

A strange, uncomfortable quiet fell over them as Syne had no other comment to add. “...If you have something to say to me, say it.”

“Patience!” Syne hissed. That non-combatant tone of Tom’s almost made this whole thing worse. Her hair fanned out behind her, unable to maintain eye contact with her friend. “I have decided that this year, we will scandalize our readers in another way! We will boil their hearts into a paste and watch as the remains ooze out onto the grounds below.” Tom’s nose wrinkled in disgust, but he remained quiet. “It’s a brilliant idea, I know. There’s no need for adulations.”

Taking one final satisfying stretch, Tom slid back into the seat and resumed his writing position. “So once more from the top?”

“Yes, yes! Exactly! ...Where were we again?”

“Let’s start from that I wonder speech.”

“Very well. Please steel yourself, darling. I’d hate to find you a quivering mass of feelings, unable to even hold your pen.” Several times Syne opened her mouth to start, and several times no words came to aid her. Yet just as soon as one may have worried, her pacing began and finally words hit the air once more.

“I wonder,” he spoke coyly, knowing too well the answer to this riddle that stood before him, “what you would do in my situation.”

Syne stole a look at Tom. So digilant. Ever focused on the page in front of him. Oh. Oh, she had to keep going before--

He, uh, gently grabbed a lock of my hair between his fingers, inspecting the strands as if scrutinizing a masterwork of art. “Do you know how I yearn for you? How I have yearned for you?” Without warning his lips crashed against-- “No, no. Forget that last part.” Syne’s thoughts felt as unorganized as Tom’s scratches on the paper.

“How I have yearned for you?” I leaned into his warmth as his finger ghosted across my collar bone, aching for his lips to grace more than just my hair. “Hyacinth… you have undone me. I fear… no… I regret… no! ...I remember that night beside the raspberry bush as if I were reliving it each time my mind wanders. I could live without you, b-but the thought of it makes... Makes me…”

“...Are you okay?” Tom looked up, faced with the image of Syne’s forehead pressed against the adjacent wall, arms bracing herself for what looked like a good vomit.

A weak reply barely reached his ears: “I want to die.” She hadn’t even been able to make it through an entire paragraph’s worth of content! These characters weren’t even real! What care did she have that they were exceptionally sappy and in love?! All mortals were that way! Foolish and open with their feelings, ready to be destroyed by their wayward emotions and then having the audacity to be surprised when it was used against them! It was terrible. How were they alive?! Syne could hear her blood pounding in her ears, feel the heat radiating off her face like a stovetop. Nerves clenched her throat shut as she heard Tom’s heavy footsteps draw ever closer and she desperately wished she could phase through the wall and away from him.

Her shoulder blades tensed as his hand heartily landed on the horizon of her shoulder. “I’m starving. We should eat somethin’ before we head out tomorrow morning.”

An off-kilter laugh was too easily managed, and barely shoved aside by Syne clearing her throat and saying actual words. “Yes. Yes, that is a marvelous idea. We shouldn’t rush the muse, after all.” Steadying herself with a breath, Syne’s eyes widened seeing Tom holding not food out to her, but a pale grey thing.

Catching a whiff of her confusion despite the inaccessibility to half of her facial features, Tom again shrugged. “Doubt it’s the smoothest, but it’s pretty smooth. The rock. From the river. Like you asked.”

Long fingers wrapped around the small, oblong stone, running up and down its sides. ...It was pretty smooth. A genuine smile flickered across her mouth--a shooting star for a wish to be made upon. “Such a devoted one you are,” Syne mused quietly before returning to her more typical bombastic mannerisms. “You are forgiven, Tom! Remember my kindness fondly!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Anyways, got an orange and a pear. What do you want.”

“I’ll--” she stopped herself. “You may choose first.”

The look of surprise on Tom’s face was just as fleeting and just as precious. “Suit yourself.”

A romance novel to shake the ages may have been off the table for an indefinite amount of time, but what was such a thing compared to watching Syne eat a mortal orange for the first time, peel and all.

#Rin's Magenta Prose #OC Parade #The Ferryman's Toll #The Dungeoning

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jenna-hunt · 5 years

Text

The Vortex

Vortex - Chapter 2 - 1,889 Words

A vortex has opened up in the centre of Marin’s home, and strange occurrences are coming from it. A creature formed of stars roams the halls. The trees are moving. And Marin’s family doesn’t want to leave.

Wattpad | Tumblr | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

"Marin, help."

The voice, deep and soft and oddly familiar, drew Marin out of her dreams. Her eyes opened to darkness, but she found she was fully awake. She sat up, breathless. "Who's there?" she whispered.

The wind howled outside against the pouring rain.

She wanted to follow the voice, but reason had told her to stay. The servants wouldn't be impressed with her soaking wet clothes in the morning.

"Marin, help!"

She bit her lip and tried to wrangle her curiosity.

The rain bore down on Marin as she entered the courtyard. Kilyan Tor had not changed much over the years, though they had eventually cleared away the overgrown corner with the fountain, where new trees now grew. Marin was now nineteen, nearly a Lady in her family's household.

As she walked through the courtyard in the middle of the night, she questioned her sanity. Following strange voices wasn't something most people would do. And yet, she kept moving forward.

Ear splitting thunder ripped out from above. She cried out and covered her ears, stumbling back. In her haste, she tripped and fell back, splashing on the ground.

When she looked up, a darkness was hanging above the corner of the old fountain. She was up in an instant.

The strange sight seemed to be sucking inwards, blotting out the moonlight reflecting on the rain-soaked wall behind it, and leaving no rain beneath.

Unsure what to do, she looked up into the sky, blinking away the rain. "Help me!" she cried out.

Something brushed past her, light as a feather but cold and dark. She glimpsed that same shadowy figure she'd seen as a child; the figure that had been the centre of her drawings for the past ten years.

It moved so fast it was gone before she could call after it. Instead she stood frozen to the spot, unsure what she had just witnessed.

The rain lightened enough for Marin to hear the silence - the emptiness that seemed to come from it. She walked around the swirling blackness at a distance, trying to understand it.

Something creaked in the distance - a bad sign. If someone had seen what she had seen, she wouldn't know how to explain herself.

She darted away into the safety of Kilyan Tor's walls. This was a dream, just like the one she had had as a child.

***

Marin didn't get much sleep that night. The voice had gone, and something felt very wrong to her. It was like she had forgotten to do something extremely important.

As the servants walked off with her damp clothes, sullen looks on their faces, she chose a simple grey gown for the day. It flattered her form well, so she had been told. It had a high, loose waist, with a simple stitch line framing the underbust. Most of her closet lacked colour due to the way it clashed with bright hue of her red hair.

The servants made quick work of her hair, fashioning it the same way as always. They let most of the lovely red tresses of hair flow freely around her back and shoulders, but used strands from the front to weave into a braid that met at the back. The mermaid's tail, they called it.

She inspected her appearance briefly, before nodding. "Excellent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"My Lady?" Piper, a kindly woman who had been serving Marin's family for several years now, spoke up.

Marin nodded for her to continue.

She cleared her throat. "His grace, High Lord Penlock, has requested you make haste to breakfast, if you will."

Her father had requested her to hurry to breakfast? Most days he was too busy to join the family for meals, dealing with the issues of the estate. His study was a snowy field of paperwork that kept him up most nights.

Marin had intended to skip family breakfast in order to discreetly check the South-East corner of the courtyard. During winter the courtyard was almost abandoned. If her adventure last night was real, no-one would have noticed the dark vortex yet.

It would still be there when she finished breakfast, she decided. Her father wanted to see her for a reason.

She made her way through the vast stone corridors with quick steps, anticipating the warmth of the family dining room. Passing servants curtseyed or bowed with smiles in their eyes. Gone were the days of chasing after her as a child. Most of them had watched her grow into a woman over the years. Her rebellious behaviours had become obsessions over the vision of the strange creature, until her mother intervened with tutors one day and all but forced her to forget her insanity by loading her with books and lessons on becoming a Lady.

She still drew the creature every now and then, but didn't let anyone see.

"My daughter at last," her father greeted her as she entered.

"Come darling," her mother, High Lady Penlock, beckoned her over to the seat next to her. Her father sat at the head of the table, with her brother Garret at his side. Lein Murtblack, Garret's fiancé, poised herself on the edge of her seat next to Garret, blonde hair pulled gently over one satin-covered shoulder. Personally Marin thought she was a bit dressed up for breakfast.

Her father set down his utensils and stared at her. She, unsure what to do, stared back.

"Marin, we have watched you grow into a beautiful young woman."

She only briefly noticed High Lady Penlock placing her hand on Marin's shoulder.

"Father, what's this about?"

He glanced at High Lady Penlock and cleared his throat. "Your tutors informed me that you are excelling in all of your studies."

She nodded. "I am, yes."

"I have decided that it is time for you to take up the Penlock honour."

She blinked. "What?"

Garret stood. "Hang on, she gets to go, and I don't?"

"Garret, sit down," High Lady Penlock ordered. "You're to be the next High Lord, not some marauder."

As her older brother, Garret had been raised to lead. He and Marin were as close as most siblings were, each harbouring a jealousy of each other's places in life. While Marin was often left out and looked over, Garret never had the freedom she so often took for granted.

Lein put her hand on his arm to pull him down, but he turned away. As he left, they all heard him muttering "I can't believe this."

A sigh escaped Lein, but she remained seated.

"I get to travel across the seas?" Marin asked, having not taken her eyes off her father.

"And don't stop until you find a treasure," her father spoke with his usual canter, but there was a spark in his eyes.

"Oh," High Lady Penlock sighed, standing up. "I wish you would all stop glorifying this barbaric tradition!"

"Bronwyn, it's an honour to do this."

She huffed angrily at her husband. Their romance had lasted several decades, but they were still as hot headed as each other. An even match. "Where is the honour in sending your only daughter away simply to add another treasure to your collection?"

"Mother, it's our ancestor's treasure collection, passed on from each generation. If you'd had the chance to explore the world, wouldn't you have done it?" Marin spoke calmly, but couldn't keep the grin off her face.

"No! I would have done my duty as a wife and a mother, as you should be doing!"

At this, Marin scowled. Marriage. Another milestone of becoming a Lady that she had absolutely no interest in.

She stood. "Thank-you, father, for allowing me this honour. When do I begin?"

"On your twentieth birthday," he said without hesitation, "as your uncle did."

She nodded, this was what she had expected. She bowed to her parents, gave Lein a quick nod, was ignored, and left.

***

She stopped by the kitchens and took some grapes for her breakfast. In her excitement at the table she had forgotten all about it.

As she headed for the courtyard, she hiked up her gown and walked at a faster pace. The courtyard was to the eastern side of Kilyan Tor, where during the colder seasons it was left as everyone kept to the centre of the castle. With less visitors and the extreme climate it was easier to maintain one area of the castle rather than the whole thing.

Her footfalls echoed around the empty corridors until she came to the entrance of the courtyard - a set of heavy wooden double doors. She slipped through into the wind, and was drawn instantly to a new sight in the courtyard. She froze, confused.

In the South-East corner, where she had seen the vortex form and something run past her, there was now a collection of tall trees, blocking her view.

She tentatively walked across the courtyard, trying to comprehend the overnight phenomenon.

The trees looked like they had been there for longer than her lifetime. The thick roots overlapped each other, while dangling leaves brushed past her. She weaved her way through, brushing her hands along the trees to make sure they were real, until everything went quiet. The vortex dangled above, exactly how she remembered it.

She felt like she was looking at the sun - the way she needed to shield her eyes if she looked at it for too long.

"Is anyone there?" She didn't dare speak above a whisper.

Nothing happened.

"Alright," she said under her breath. Taking a rock from the ground, she took aim at the vortex. Before she could throw, a dangling leafy vine wrapped around her wrist. Gasping, she pulled away, but its grip remained tight. She took the vine with her other hand and snapped it off. The part around her wrist went loose, and she shook it off with a shudder.

The trees didn't look any different as she faced them. But something had made that vine move. With her heart beating loudly, she took one more glance around before racing back to the safety of the castle.

***

Standing in the Treasure room, Marin's red and grey reflection stared back at her from a shining glass case. Inside was a weathered chest with ancient writing carved over it, and a gleaming golden key sat in the keyhole.

It was the treasure her uncle had returned with. Next to it, a golden chain with diamonds hanging from it sat on the bust of her grandfather Ianten.

Marin wouldn't be the first female explorer of her family, but they were rare enough that she felt an even more powerful desire to succeed. She couldn't fathom where her future explorations would take her, but when she thought about it she became so excited it was hard to remain still.

Her thoughts turned darkly to the vortex and the strange trees in the courtyard. She wasn't sure whether she should have told anyone about it. If it was all just a vision invented by her insanity she definitely wanted to keep it to herself. Nothing would stop her from taking on the Penlock honour.

She just hoped she was going mad, and there was no vortex, or strange trees that seemed to grow overnight.

#writeblr #vortex #dryad #fantasy #writing #medieval #romance #love #vortex chapter 2

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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Creighton chapter 2

He raises an eyebrow. “Never say never.”

I turn to Morty and Jim. “My contract doesn’t say anything about agreeing to something like that. Getting engaged is serious business, and you can’t make me.” I might sound like a petulant child, but I’m dead serious.

Jim, who puts off a fatherly air as opposed to Morty’s slimeball vibe, smiles at me.

“Sit down, Selena. I think we can all come to an agreement here. You want what’s best for your career, don’t you?”

I take a deep breath, shoving down the urge to scream again.

“Yes. That’s all I want. What’s best for my career, and this can’t be it.”

“We’ve been in this business a lot longer than you have, darlin’. You need to trust us. We’re not going to steer you wrong.”

Patronizing. There it is again.

Morty starts carrying on like this is a done deal. “It’s fucking perfect. JC, during your last song of the night, you’ll call Selena up onstage and drop to one knee. People will eat that shit up.”

“You can’t do this!”

All three men look at me, and their smiles send chills down my spine.

Holy. Shit.

“Deal with it, Wix,” Morty says with a smug smile. “This is happening, or you’re on the first bus back to the trailer park. Maybe we’ll even let you keep the diamond when it’s all over.”

Nothing I can say is going to change a thing right now, so instead, I swallow back the protests I want to scream and speak as calmly as I’m able. “This discussion isn’t over, but I have to get to practice.”

My head reeling and stomach churning, I pull my trucker hat lower and head for the door without waiting for a response.

“Let’s take that one from the top again,” I call out to my guys in the band.

I want to apologize for wasting their time today, but I don’t because then I’d have to explain why—and I can’t. But it’s impossible to concentrate on the music when I feel my dream slipping away. What won’t I do to save it? Can I go through with this farce? Everyone has a line, and I’m not sure where mine is.

But that’s not a question I’m going to be able to answer right now, so I’d better freaking focus. We have a new song that we want to add to the set list, and if we can’t get it together, we’re all going to look like idiots at the next show.

I study the guys, and am once again thankful that Homegrown didn’t screw me over on this front. My band is an amazing crew, and I’m lucky to have them. I could have ended up with a bunch of washed-up has-beens, but I got seasoned musicians with serious talent. Shocking, right?

The bitterness I feel toward Homegrown is ridiculous. It’s so hard to reconcile the fact that I have them to thank for giving me a shot to live this dream, and now they’re demanding I fall in line or sacrifice it. How is that fair? I guess it’s lucky that I wasn’t raised to think life should be fair. And besides, I’ve had my share of good fortune—if I didn’t win Country Dreams, I’d still be serving up deep-fried pickles at the bowling alley.

And Gran might still be alive, the voice of guilt whispers in my brain.

“Selena, what the hell? You planning on singing anytime soon, darlin’?”

I jerk my head around, shaking the thought from my mind as the guys silence their instruments . . . several bars after my cue.

“Sorry. I was a million miles away.”

“You need to take a breather, hon?” Lonnie, my drummer, asks as he spins one stick.

“Nah, I’m good. I just need to get my head back in the game.”

The guys look at each other, and suddenly I wonder if there’s something I’m missing.

“What?”

Darius, my bass player, finally speaks. “You getting homesick thinking about being away on Christmas Eve? Because we’ve all decided we’re catching flights home on our own dime right after the show. You should do the same.”

He’s talking about our show in three days, the one that will finally get me onstage at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Talk about a completely different universe. Little old me from Gold Haven, Kentucky, opening for country’s bad boy on a stage only slightly less impressive to me than the Opry itself. I just hope I don’t develop stage fright.

I consider Darius’s question. I’m a little homesick, but not because I want to go home—because I don’t really have a home to go to anymore. The only family I had that mattered is six feet under. My first Christmas without Gran is going to be brutal. My first everything without her has been tough, so why should this be any less painful?

Maybe I deserve the pain. Maybe I earned that pain.

But wasting this opportunity isn’t going to bring her back or absolve me of the guilt I’m carrying. Nothing will.

“You ready, Selena?”

I shake it all off as best I can—JC, the record execs, my guilt—and straighten my spine, standing taller in my worn-out boots.

“I’m ready. Let’s take it from the top.”

The rest of practice goes well because I force myself to stay firmly in this moment, firmly in the music. Singing my songs, even on this practice stage, is enough to finally drag me out of the dark place I’ve been sliding into.

As we pack up the gear when practice is finished, I check my watch. I’m headed back to Mick and Tana’s for dinner, and then home to pack for the two shows we’ve got before our extended break. First stop Philly, and then the Big Apple.

I shrug my bag over my shoulder and feel it vibrate with a text. Fishing my phone out, I see one from Tana.

TANA: I thought you said you weren’t doing it!!

I quickly tap out a reply.

ME: ??? are you talking about?

Tana’s response doesn’t hit my phone until I’m climbing into my car and firing it up.

TANA: JC. The engagement.

I called Tana as soon as I walked out of Homegrown and drove to practice. The number of f-bombs she dropped during that conversation was impressive. She almost beat out Mrs. Finchly, Gran’s next-door neighbor, when the repo man came to take her shiny new convertible because her winnings at bingo weren’t covering the payments.

Before I can type out a reply, my phone rings. Tana.

“I’m not,” I answer.

“Um, honey, have you seen Perez Hilton? Because there’s a picture of JC at the very top, and he’s buying a fucking engagement ring. He’s nothin’ but smiles.”

What? No way. No. Way.

“That’s impossible. They just—”

“Hang up the phone and google it, Selena. It’s there. It’s happening. They’re going to corner you into it, and they’re not wasting any time. You need a plan.”

“A plan?”

My brain spins, attempting to latch on to any idea at all, but I’ve got nothing. Nothing but the vision of me standing onstage at Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve celebration, the words “go screw yourself” popping out of my mouth when JC pops the question.

My career will be over. My dream will be dead.

Tana is right; I need a plan. Because boarding a bus home isn’t going to be part of my future. I might be a lot of things, but a failure isn’t one of them.

Christmas Eve, New York City

Bored.

It’s not a safe state of affairs for a man like me. Bad shit happens when I’m bored. I have a tendency to dabble in hostile takeovers when I need something to get my adrenaline pumping. Or I’ll go out and pick up three women, and introduce them to each other in the filthiest way possible.

Judge me all you want; I don’t give a fuck what you think about me. Because I own half this town, and the other half isn’t worth having.

You can check the crotch of my Gucci suit pants for yourself. Not even a hint of a bulge at the thought of a foursome. Threesomes are passé, but it’s a sad situation when even a foursome can’t get my dick interested.

Because I’m fucking bored.

I shove out of my chair and stalk to the window of my tower. You see that down there? Fifth Avenue and my city. We’re just south of the park, which means the holiday lights are everywhere.

I fucking hate Christmas. Just one more holiday that reminds me of things I’d rather forget. But enough of this shit. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hover my thumb over the screen. I’ve got hundreds of numbers I can call and have a chick on my dick in less than fifteen minutes, even on Christmas Eve. Again, I wait for some sign of action in my pants, but I get nothing.

My dick must be broken. There’s no other explanation for it—except that I’m bored with my options. I know I’m getting repetitive, but bad things happen when I get bored. My past is littered with mistakes that arose from situations like this one.

But you know what? I’m in the mood to make another mistake. It’s time to grab my suit jacket and find out what kind of trouble I can get into tonight.

Christmas Eve, New York City

I’m giving myself a man for Christmas. Yes, a man.

I can do this. Really, I can. I think. Maybe.

From just inside the door, I scan the fancy hotel bar, looking for a likely prospect. The warmth of the whiskey I drank at the after party buzzes through me in a happy hum. I needed more than a little liquid courage to talk myself into this plan. I think it’s safe to say that this is my first rodeo.

And of course, I had to choose something way out of my league. But who knew the hotel bar would be so dang fancy? The Rose Club at the Plaza. Fifth Avenue, New York City.

I stifle the urge to check the carpet for any traces of mud that might have fallen off my cowboy boots, and wonder if it’s the first time a Kentucky girl in honest-to-God shit-kickers has stepped into this joint. Although, these boots are part of my stage costume, so the fringe and rhinestone-encrusted leather is a heck of a lot nicer than the worn-out ones I left in my cubby on the bus.

The bluish-purple glow coming from the ornate domed light fixtures makes it look like someone dunked the whole room in grape juice, giving the bar a kind of otherworldly feel. One look at the handful of folks in here tonight makes it clear that these people are from a completely different planet than me.

But I push aside the comparison and venture closer to the shiny wooden bar. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need another shot of that liquid courage.

I slide onto one of the velvet bar stools, absolutely aware of the fact that my tiny jean skirt is riding up my thighs. A man in a suit one stool down is eyeing my legs while he swirls the liquor in his glass. I can’t tell what color it is, because everything takes on the unnatural shade of the lights.

I’m grateful for those lights. Something about the color is mellow and sexy, and it gives me the guts to follow through with my plan.

My Christmas list may be short, but it’s certainly specific. One man with enough cockiness and a smoking-hot body to take my mind off the grief stalking me tonight.

I snag the drink menu and flip it open. It lands on exactly the page I need. American Whiskey. The best damn kind there is. My jaw drops when I read the prices.

“Holy shit. Sixteen dollars for Jack Daniel’s? What the hell? Did Jack rise from the grave and make that mash himself? Holy . . . damn.” My voice carries, and everyone in the room, including the bartender in his snazzy suit, turns to look at me.

The guy one seat over must take that as some sort of invitation, and slides onto the velvet stool next to me. His smile is as smarmy as his words.

“I’ll buy a pretty girl a drink.” He jerks his head toward the bartender. “Put whatever she wants on my tab.”

Well, that didn’t take long.

I drop my gaze quickly, and the paunch straining the buttons of his dress shirt quickly disqualifies him as having the smoking-hot body on my Christmas wish list. But maybe this is a situation where beggars can’t be choosers?

I’ve never been much of a barfly, but the few times I’ve ventured out after shows with the guys, it seems like I always get these business types who spend a little too much time on the road, and none of it hitting the hotel gym.

Resignation filters through me. Maybe this is as good as it gets? One thing is clear, even through the warmth of the whiskey—this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had.

“Thank you, but I think I’m a little lost tonight.” I flip the menu shut. “I should probably just get back to my room.”

The label put me up at the Plaza as a goodwill gesture for doing the show on Christmas Eve; otherwise, I would never drop that kind of money on a hotel, even if I had that kind of cash to spare—which I don’t.

He lays a hand on my arm. “How can you be lost, when I just found you?”

The line is cheesy, and I’m not even sure it counts as a line. But either way, I’ll be better off with some room-service dessert and a pity party for one.

I slide off the edge of the stool, but his grip tightens before his hand lands on my leg, sliding up my skirt almost instantly.

“You can’t go yet. We haven’t even gotten acquainted. Just let me buy you a drink. I promise I’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart.”

Chills of ick run through me at his touch, and I struggle to slide out of his grip, but he’s got me trapped. Apparently he thinks I’m a hooker, but my skirt isn’t that short.

Reaching down to pry his hand off my leg, I dig my nails in, but he just squeezes tighter.

Seriously, world? This is what I get when I try to have some harmless fun? Not. Fair.

I yank at his hand and open my mouth to tell him to let go when a rough, deep voice curls around me.

“I’ll thank you to take your hands off my wife.”

In one swift move, the unwelcome hands touching me are gone, and the man is stumbling off his stool. My gaze jerks from the handsy guy trying to catch his balance, and darts over my left shoulder.

Another guy in a suit. Except instead of being on the slippery side of fifty and overweight, this man might just be God’s gift to women. Or maybe just Saint Nick’s gift to me in the form of a rescue? Because, holy wow. Dark brown hair falls perfectly over his forehead, and his cheekbones could have been carved by one of those Italian master sculptor guys.

A hint of recognition tugs at the edges of my whiskey-soaked brain as his dark eyes burn into mine, as if daring me to play along. I don’t know what his game is, but for him . . . I might just be willing to try it.

The sexy man in the suit lifts a hand to my hair and smooths a lock between two fingers. His dark brown eyes never leave mine. “Darling, I told you that the picking-up-strangers game to make me jealous was for New Year’s Eve, not Christmas Eve.”

The other guy backs away another step, and the memory of his touch is fading just as quickly as it came. It’s like watching the laws of nature play: the beta male bows to the alpha, and the sexy man in the suit is one hundred percent the alpha dog in this situation.

Whatever pheromones he’s throwing off have me shifting on the velvet bar stool and leaning closer to him without thinking. It’s a million times better than the thought of getting up close and personal with Handsy. I reach down to rub my arm where the jerk touched me, and a red mark has already appeared.

Alpha Dog doesn’t miss my move. He lays a possessive hand on my shoulder and speaks to Handsy in a low, dangerous growl. “If you don’t want to be still picking up teeth next Christmas Eve, I’d suggest you pay your tab and get the fuck out of here before I lose my temper. You don’t ever put your hands on a woman who clearly isn’t interested.”

Handsy apparently doesn’t recognize the alpha yet. “She came in here looking like she was trolling for a man. She was fucking interested. Maybe you should keep a leash on your woman if you can’t control her.”

I open my mouth to tell him I was most definitely not interested, but Alpha speaks first.

“I suggest you walk away while you’re still able.”

Alpha’s expression must be even more dangerous than his words, because Handsy snaps his fingers at the bartender, who slides an embossed leather folder down the bar. Apparently he’s been listening to this whole exchange as well, because he’s grinning smugly.

Alpha slides an arm around my middle and pulls me back against his solid chest. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from purring and rubbing up against him like a tabby cat in heat.

What is coming over me? I’ve never reacted like this to any man before. I should want to shower off the other guy, but instead I just want to get closer to the leader of the pack behind me.

Handsy flips the folder open and fumbles for his wallet.

Alpha Dog clips out, “Make sure you leave a good tip.”

The other man is counting out bills, and Alpha Dog’s thumb begins to rub a path back and forth across my stomach, just below my breasts. With every stroke, I press more weight back against him as all the nerve endings in my body seem to come to life at once.

His chest rumbles with his words. “Two hundred should be sufficient. It’s fucking Christmas. Don’t be a cheap fuck, you prick.”

I bite my lip to hold back the giggle welling up inside me.

Handsy shoves two hundreds inside and flips the leather folder shut before stumbling off his stool.

He takes three steps, and Alpha says, “I sure as hell hope you haven’t forgotten to apologize to my wife for being a dick before you go.”

Handsy pauses and stiffens. “Sorry, ma’am. I apologize sincerely.”

My belly shakes with silent laughter, and Alpha squeezes me tighter.

“Something funny, sweetheart?”

I’m debating whether I should disentangle myself from his hold to face him when he takes the decision out of my hands and drops his arm. He pulls out the bar stool next to me, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits.

I expect him to turn and start explaining what just happened, and why the hell he rescued me and then pretended to be my husband, but he just holds up two fingers.

“Bushmills 21 for the lady.”

The bartender hops to it, nodding before he grabs a tall bottle from the top shelf.

“I’ll have a double shot of Jack,” I say, correcting him.

The bartender freezes and looks from me to Alpha Dog.

My sideways glance reveals him shaking his head. “She’ll have the Bushmills. We’re expanding her palate.”

I look at him and open my mouth to object, but get distracted by his profile. The man is beautiful, from his dark hair and equally dark eyes to his black tie tucked into a matching three-button vest. My eyes drop lower to the bulge in his suit pants. I swallow and remember exactly why I’m sitting in this bar tonight.

It hits me like a splash of slush from a cab on my boots. I know exactly who he is, because he doesn’t look all that different from the cover of Forbes that Tana had at her house a couple of months ago. I still remember the headline: KARAS CRUSHES COMPETITION.

Well, he certainly crushed the competition tonight. The rush of nervousness I was already feeling builds. The Selena gives herself a man for Christmas plan is suddenly alive and well again.

But how do I do this? I’ve never propositioned a stranger in a bar, let alone a billionaire. Or is this already a foregone conclusion, and he’s just waiting for me to catch up to his agenda for the evening?

“We’re expanding my palate?” My words come out breathier than I intended.

His full lips slide into a lazy, yet predatory smile. “In this respect, and I’m hoping a few others before the night is over.”

Oh. My. God.

I sure hope I know what I’m getting myself into.

Fuck me.

That’s what her glossy siren-red lips are saying, and I don’t think she has a goddamn clue how edible she looks sitting perched on that stool. She shifts, and the rhinestones at her neck, ears, and wrist flash purple in the trademark light of the Rose Club—light that’s more accustomed to reflecting off diamonds than costume jewelry.

She drew my eye when she stepped through the door because she looked so utterly out of place. But I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her because . . . Fuck. I have no idea. I’ve had my fair share of beautiful women, but this one’s a completely different breed. Not the trained purebred type of woman who crowds this place, tittering and looking for her next meal ticket.

No. One look at her, and I know she’s untrained and innocent. She’s not the kind of woman who is going to be angling for a handout, and the absolute lack of motive behind her actions is more alluring than I would have guessed. The way she instantly played along and never shied from my touch. Hell, she leaned into me, wanting more. She’s rare, and I’m the kind of man who appreciates that quality more than most when it comes to choosing a woman.

And then there’s the fact that she’s sitting in this bar on Christmas Eve with no ring on her finger—not sure how the dumb fuck missed the lack of that little accessory. It tells me she’s as alone in this city tonight as I am.

Boredom is now the last thing on my mind. This innocent girl has managed to eradicate every trace of it.

I make my decision instantly. She’s mine tonight.

The bartender, Aric, according to his nametag, sets our whiskey down in front of us.

“Please let me know if I can get you anything else, Mr. Karas.”

I wince as he says my name. I expect her demeanor to change immediately, for greedy claws to come out and spear into me.

Instead, she eyes the lowball glass in front of her. “How much is that drink gonna cost me? Ten dollars a swallow?”

I barely hold back a groan at the word swallow, because, fuck, I’m a guy, and I’ve already been picturing my dick in her mouth.

“Not a thing, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let a woman drink alone, and I sure as hell wouldn’t let her pay for her own drinks.”

I wait for an objection, but instead she lifts the glass and sniffs its contents.

“Kinda smells like . . . candy?”

“Caramelized toffee and dark chocolate.”

Her lips press against the rim, and she tips back a swig. Fuck. Her throat works as she swallows the liquor.

I want to taste it on her lips. Hell, I just want to taste her. I lean in, not even totally conscious of my movement, but urged on by the need to sample my favorite Irish whiskey from her, rather than from the glass.

But she freezes, and so do I.

Her brown eyes widen. “Holy horseshit, that’s some good stuff.”

My chest shakes as a chuckle breaks loose. “Damn straight.”

Her mouth curves into a grin as she lifts and sips again. This time she swallows more, and my dick pulses against the zipper of my suit pants. I want her on her knees, those wide brown eyes staring up at me as I cup her jaw and thrust my cock between those lush red lips.

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