#even work as a waitress in six inch heels.

[illusorysinger]

reposting this from twitter since i never put it here apparently. i drew it for the initial bunny outfit events but there's yet another bunny cafe event so here it is again, with original caption:

"POV you heard the Lords of Hell were wearing bunny ears at the club, and find out that tryhard human exchange student in your class is there too

+bonus post-shift snapshot

(THEY/THEM)"

[amiasfitaccw]

Truckstop Gangbang

I work a sucky job. I am a waitress at a Truckstop. Every day I have to put up with the hundreds of perverted, frustrated truckers. I swear, as soon as I get through college I am out of here.

My boss is probably the most sexist man in the world. I should have quit when he installed the new dress code, but I didn’t. My roommate got me this job, and I couldn’t quit and make her look bad. Before we could wear whatever we wanted. Now, we HAVE to wear short skirts, revealing tops, and high heels. I think that is a little impractical for waitressing, but John, my boss, says more truckers will go out of the way to stop here, and the increase in sales far outweighs the twisted ankles, and spilled food. Last night did it for me. I think I am going to quit tomorrow.

I worked the late shift, midnight till six a.m. The place was pretty dead so Tina, the only other waitress on, got to leave at around three. It was very hot so I was dressed even skimpier than we are required to. I had on a very thin, white, fitted crop top which ended right above my belly button and was pretty low in the front. I went bra-less, which I normally wouldn’t do, but it was so hot, and I knew no one would be there so I figured it wouldn’t matter. I had a short, pleated pink skirt on, like a cheerleader, pantyhose, bikini underwear, and four-inch, pink, spiked heels. The seasoned truckers can tell a waitress right away in this place because of our less than pure garb, but for the mentally challenged we all wear pink lace chokers.

I must have looked like a tease to the extreme, but that’s how this stop got it’s reputation. Halfway through my shift I was so sweaty that you could see my nipples if you looked closely. More than one trucker did.

There are twenty waitresses all together, and because of the way we dress, and the exploits of Aimee (who has, on more than one occasion taken a guy into the men’s room and demonstrated why women have mouths) the truckers do get a little touchy-feely. It was late and I was tired, and I spilled this guy’s soda all over his table.

“God damn it you stupid little bitch,” he screamed, loud enough to attract everyone’s attention “can’t you carry a fucking cup?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll clean that right up and replace it for free.” I stammered, annoyed with his temper.

By this time John, the manager was coming out to see what happened.

“Fucking a you’ll give it to me free. Stop standing there like a moron and get to work.”

John got there and started his futile attempts to rectify the situation, and I left to the kitchen for a towel.

“Ah Sir,” John said like a true professional, “I apologize for Stephanie’s behavior and any inconveniences it may have caused. I can assure you it does not happen often nor will it occur again. Order whatever you like because it will be DEDUCTED from HER PAY.”

He emphasized those words so that I would hear him in the back. I didn’t care though. He seemed pretty angry, like this was a normal occurrence, (which it is, but if we didn’t have to wear fuck-me-pumps, it probably wouldn’t be).

So I got a rag and went back out. The two of them were whispering, and they both looked over at me as I walked towards the table.

“Stephanie” John said like a parent about to give bad news to a child, “Mr. Barnes would like you to do something for him.” I looked at the trucker and the smile on his face.

“Clean up your mess, sweetie pie.” he drawled, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

I was about to wipe it up when he grabbed my wrist.

“Let go of the rag and clean up the mess.” Still smiling, “And put your hands behind your back.”

I couldn’t believe this was going on. He was staring at my chest. He wanted me to use my boobs to clean up his Pepsi. My head swirled, and I bent over towards the table.

My breasts touched the wet surface and the Pepsi immediately started soaking in. I wriggled my chest, mopping the table with my boobs, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get all the soda.

My nipples were getting erect, possibly from the chill of the cold soda, but more likely from the thrill I was getting from acting so provocative. I knew everyone was watching this, loving the sight of a pretty girl, dressed like a whore, wiping a table with her tits.

I hadn’t noticed John locking the doors, or all the other truckers standing up from their tables and approaching me. I straightened up, and immediately the place erupted into cat calls and wolf whistles. I looked like a slut in a wet T-shirt competition. My shirt was at this point transparent. My erect nipples were clearly visible beneath my top. Every man there was staring directly at my breasts.

I am pretty, 5’7″, 115, with long wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a nice (34c-22-33) figure, but I have never gotten this much undivided attention at once. I blushed and covered myself, but I secretly loved it.

They were all crowded around me, and I could tell that things would probably get very out of hand soon. I started to walk to the kitchen area, but was blocked by a not-so-bad looking man in his twenties. He just smiled as he reached out and pulled my arms down, revealing my soaking top and view of my nipples.

“What do you say you finish what you started you little prick tease.” He said, grinning from ear to ear.

“What on earth do you mean?” was my reply. I too was grinning. I was scared, but so turned on it was unbelievable. I no longer could think about what to do, things just happened. He tore my top right down the middle, and it just lay around my waist. My skirt, pantyhose, and panties were all pulled down in one swipe, and I was pushed to my knees. I was in shock, I knew at this point I was probably going to have to give this man a blowjob, but did I want to?

The man in front of me unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and pulled out his cock. It wasn’t that big really, and I was a little disappointed. But that disappointment let me know that I was hoping for something, yes, I wanted this.

I was in total disbelief. Here I was on my hands and knees, nearly naked, in a room with a bunch of horny truckers.

So I did what I felt was right. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and leaned into it, putting his cock into my mouth. I could hear zippers going down all around me as I began to work his cock with my mouth. I could feel it getting larger each time I pumped. It was much larger than I had thought and it was getting more and more difficult to perform my duty. I was giving this man the best blow job I had ever done, and it wasn’t good enough for him. He started to get angry because I couldn’t deep throat his size. He grabbed my hair and started to push hard into my mouth, fucking my mouth for all he had. I was gagging, but knew I had to do this, and finally my throat relaxed enough to accommodate him. He was bucking hard when I felt hands around my waist lifting my bottom up. I was sucking hard, and I could tell this man was about to cum. All at once he started to spasm and shoot cum down my throat, and another guy entered my pussy from behind. I started to swallow, and have my first orgasm that night. I was unable to keep it all in my mouth, and his cum was dribbling down my chin. The guy behind me only lasted a good minute, screaming at the height of his endeavor.

“Hot damn, that is the best fuck I have ever had. This bitches snatch should be in a museum!”

I was so degraded, here I was at a Truckstop at four in the morning, with cum all over my mouth, and a crowd of men in line to use me. I was in heaven. I didn’t care who these people were, this was a dream to me. I have always been very vanilla sexually, now this happened. It just happened. I really was in no position to stop even if I had wanted to. The guy in my pussy pulled out and not five seconds went by and I had another cock in me, then one in my mouth.

This went on until all twelve or so people got their turn, included John and the cook. Half the time I didn’t know who was in me, just that I was being used like a toy.

They would fuck my mouth and cum on my face, or tits. At one point I was sucking one guy, had another in me, and was pumping two cocks. I was hot, and sticky.

It was almost light out when we stopped. I rolled over and just looked up as the guys walked by me and threw money on me. Like I was a whore hired for this. They said they were my tips. I got close to three hundred dollars.

I stood up and went into the bathroom. Cleaned the cum off my face and tits. I still couldn’t believe this had happened. I put my shirt on, and tied it in the front, right between my breasts to keep it on. I was so covered in sweat that it might as well been saran wrap. Fixed my makeup, fixed my outfit, and put my hair in a pony tail.

I must have had four or five orgasms. I was swimming in pleasure, I couldn’t think, just fuck, like a machine. If it was in my mouth I sucked it, in my hands I jerked it, and in my pussy I enjoyed it.

John walked into the bathroom and looked at me, a big grin on his face. My chest tightened at the thought of what had just occurred. I just finished cleaning his cum off my face, and now I was just his employee again.

“You are some hot bitch!” John said, over enthusiastically. “We’re gonna have to do that again, on a more regular basis!” His drawl, that he always tried to cover up, was enunciated.

I couldn’t believe this. Either I quit, or I become a permanent fuck-toy like Aimee.

I walked out, went outside to the highway. The first car that went by stopped after the driver must have seen me holding out my thumb. I got into the Ford. It looked like a family car. He smiled and asked me where I was going.

“All the way into the city.” I replied.

“Well, that’s a little out of my way, but I’m sure you could convince me to take you there.” He said, starring at my cleavage.

I just smiled, as I unbuttoned his pants and put my head on his lap.

///the end///

[hamsterclaw]

Bangtan Christmas Drabble 5

Coal in your stocking ft Namjoon

Namjoon and you aren’t dating anymore, but he can’t seem to stay away.

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing, porn

Namjoon kisses your neck, dragging his tongue over your skin in that way you’ve always seemed to like.

Conscious of the cameras, he strokes your hair away from your face. Privately he’s always thought that your success at streaming your sex life is due to how pretty you look on camera.

There’s something about the way the light hits the angles of your face, the lines and curves of your beautiful body, that makes you irresistible.

Namjoon’s not in love with you, he doesn’t think, but he’s fond of you, and there’s no denying the chemistry between you.

When he met you back when he was bartending, he’d had no inkling of how big a part of his life you were going to become. It was only six months and countless dates in, that he’d started to realise.

The slide from casually dating to having talks about your joint future together had been so natural he hadn’t noticed. Wouldn’t have done anything about it even if he had.

He’d known you supplemented your meagre income from waitressing by being a cam girl, but he hadn’t realised exactly what was involved, hadn’t asked until he came back early from work one day to find you sat on your bed dressed in one of his t-shirts and nothing else, quietly sketching.

He’d watched from the door as you’d crossed and uncrossed your legs, revealing your long, smooth thighs, pink, lacy panties.

You’d looked up at him, startled at first, then you’d uncrossed your legs again, letting your thighs fall open.

‘It’s my boyfriend, Joonie,’ you’d said, and at first he’d thought you were talking to him, but then he’d realised you were talking to your viewers.

Comments were flashing across the screen, you’d laughed and beckoned him over.

He hadn’t wanted to come, didn’t want his face and the boner growing between his legs to be visible to god knows how many strangers, but you’d scoffed, eyes on the screen, and said, ‘Joonie’s a good boy, he always treats me right.’

You’d lifted his t-shirt, showing off an inch of your bare skin above the waistband of your pretty panties, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself.

He’d knelt between your legs, his back to the camera, and had eaten you out until you were digging your heels into his back and grabbing fistfuls of his hair, crying his name.

You’d cum, and instantly turned off the camera and pulled him into bed on top of you.

That first time he’d eaten you out on camera is still emblazoned in his mind, a fond memory he reaches for when he wants to get off, fast.

The next morning, he’d woken up tangled up in you, his leg over your thighs, your face pressed into his chest.

He’s always worried about smothering you, he’d once verbalised it and you’d laughed and said ‘I’d love it if you smothered me with your tits, Joon.’

He’d had more to say but you’d licked his nipple and thrown a leg over his hip and there was no way he was going to talk over your pretty moaning.

He hadn’t thought much about the stream he’d interrupted until you’d casually mentioned that your viewers had loved him.

Something about his technique for eating pussy which he thinks you’d been half joking about.

Something about ‘his cut’ and how you’d sent him a sum of money which was about the same as he made in a night bartending.

Namjoon had stared at you in disbelief, and you’d shrugged, saying he deserved it.

It may not have come up again if he hadn’t popped home in between jobs unexpectedly to hear you gasping and moaning behind your closed door.

He’d knocked, pushed it open and you hadn’t so much as blinked.

‘Help me, baby,’ you’d said in your low voice, inviting.

Namjoon had gone from soft to hard as steel in two seconds flat, looking at the pretty, sheer lavender panties you had halfway down your thighs.

He’d unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and let you sit in his lap.

He still remembers how you’d ridden him, hand clasped over the back of your desk chair for more leverage.

He’d given you leverage, foot braced on your bed as he’d fucked up into you, made you cry his name.

After the second time he featured in your show, you’d sent him another deposit, this one more than the last.

‘Is this how much you make?’ he’d asked, still incredulous.

You’d shrugged. ‘I split it 50:50 this time.’

And thus began Namjoon’s career in porn.

You and he quickly realised you needed to capitalise on your ‘fame’ whilst the going was good, to build your fanbase quickly, to keep the momentum going.

You'd agreed not to show his face, to keep the focus on you. With his face out of the picture, he'd started working out more, focusing on his shoulders, his arms, his chest.

He’d never quite realised you had such an extensive collection of lingerie.

Or that he would be so into destroying it.

Your viewership had spiked after a stream when, frustrated and horny beyond belief, he’d given up on trying to undo the intricate bows holding some very provocative panties together, growled, and ripped them off you.

He’d kissed along the red mark he’d left on your skin and buried his face in your cunt, soothing you until you’d gushed all over his face.

And then there was that time you’d been sulking over something dumb, irrationally irritated, and he’d planted his hand over your round ass in an open handed smack.

You’d squealed, frowned at him, petulant and sulky, but he hadn’t missed how the crotch of your silky panties had visibly dampened. He’d spanked you again, biceps bulging as he’d dragged you over his lap, and fucked the pout from your lips.

Whatever the formula for success was, you’d cracked it.

Namjoon had always seen the stream as a temporary thing, a side hustle. It had never been his dream to be a porn star. He was just going to earn enough to buy his own bar.

That was the plan anyway.

***

Namjoon pulls out of you, panting from the energetic way he’s just fucked you. The interactions are coming hard and fast tonight, flashing across the screen too quickly for him to read.

Your eyes are closed, but they pop open when he pulls out. Your legs are still spread from having him in between them, and as he stares a trickle of white makes its way out of your cunt, sliding down.

Namjoon bends over and licks you clean.

After the stream ends you roll out of bed. ‘Hungry?’

Namjoon frowns at you. ‘Just like that?’

‘Like what?’ you ask, when he knows for a fact your clit’s swollen and throbbing, that you’re wet.

You’re already dressed. ‘Come on Joonie, can we get noodles?’

You roll your eyes at his expression.

‘We can continue this later,’ you say coaxingly, looking up at him from under your lashes. ‘Can’t we?’

Namjoon lets his gaze fall to your lips. ‘Sure,’ he says, husky.

You’re waiting for a table at the restaurant when he sees a familiar face.

‘Namjoon!’

Namjoon can’t believe it, he hasn’t seen his aunt in years.

You’re smiling politely as Namjoon leans down to accept her embrace.

‘Ah your mother said you lived around here, I can’t believe we’re run into each other like this,’ his aunt says, smiling warmly at him.

‘It’s very nice to see you, this is my friend Y/N,’ Namjoon says.

His aunt smiles at you, friendly, relaxed. ‘Do you work with Namjoon?’

Namjoon says, hurriedly, before you can say anything, ‘no, she does waitressing.’

Your gaze flicks to his for an instant, before you nod politely.

‘I won’t keep you,’ his aunt says. ‘Maybe we can meet up in the next few days while I’m in town.’

She waves cheerfully and then it’s just the two of you again.

You’re quieter than usual at dinner, and when you get back home and he turns to you, an inquiring look on his face, you reach up and cup his cheek.

‘I’m tired, baby. Rain check?’

Namjoon has a vague sense that he’s done something wrong but he’s not sure what.

***

Namjoon’s getting ready for the dinner party you’re both going to, running his fingers through his hair so it’ll sit right.

You come up to the bathroom door behind him and lean against the frame.

Your eyes meet in the mirror.

‘You look gorgeous,’ you say, voice warm, reassuring.

‘You do too,’ Namjoon replies, making sure he gives you a once over so you won’t accuse him of just saying it. Truth is he never really has to check, you’ve always been beautiful to him.

You step into the bathroom, stand beside him in front of the mirror, pull out your lipstick and start applying.

‘Hey,’ Namjoon says, because it’s as good a time as any. ‘If this guy tonight agrees to partner with me, I’ll have enough to run my own bar. I won’t even need the streaming money.’

Your hand doesn’t falter, the doe-foot applicator continues moving across your lips in practised strokes. You re-cap the lip stain and put it on the counter.

You smile at him. ‘That’s amazing Joonie, I’ve got everything crossed for you.’

Again, Namjoon has the oddest feeling that he’s said something wrong.

You don’t give him time to think about it, you’re already turning to leave the bathroom.

***

The dinner party turns out to be more of a cocktail party, you get separated as soon as you arrive.

Namjoon’s not worried about you, you’ve always been able to hold your own.

He’s speaking to David, his potential partner, over a whiskey, when he sees you heading towards the outdoors terrace of the penthouse apartment where the party’s being held.

There’s something about your expression that makes him a little concerned. As though sensing his gaze, you glance his way.

Your smile is as pretty and encouraging as it ever was, and his niggle of concern falls away.

He turns back to David as he loses sight of you through the glass sliding doors.

Three drinks in, Namjoon’s pretty happy with the way things are going. David’s talking about contracts, they’ve set up a meeting to talk numbers formally and it seems like finally, things are lining up for him.

He’s walking around, looking for you, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Y/N: Hey, sorry, I left, wasn’t feeling well. Catch up with you back at home, ok? Feel free to wake me up.

Namjoon frowns. He’s typing out a response when David comes up to him again, with another man who’s keen to know more about his bar.

Namjoon shoves his phone back in his pocket. You’re safe, and for now, he has a job to do.

***

It’s just past three am when he gets back home. You’ve left the living room lights on, he’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so elated over the night’s events.

He pushes open the bedroom door. You’re a lump in the bed, buried under the covers so deeply he can’t see anything but the sole of one bare foot.

He tugs back the covers and you blink up at him, sleepy and warm.

He leans down and kisses you. You know his body so well by this point that you’re already turning onto your back, pulling him on top of you.

‘Did it go well, Joonie?’ you ask.

‘Very well,’ he murmurs, hand hooking into the top of your silky pyjama top, fingers fumbling for the buttons.

‘Good, you deserve it,’ you tell him. He can’t see your face in the darkness of the bedroom but you’re kissing him back, sighing into his mouth.

Then you’re helping him unbutton, slipping off the matching shorts, getting naked under him so willingly Namjoon almost can’t believe you’re real.

You’re wet already, he can feel you slicking up his dick as he tugs the waist of his briefs below his balls and rubs himself against you.

You moan and your warm hand curls around his cock, positioning him. One push and he’s slipping inside you with an ease that makes his balls tighten and a groan form deep in his chest.

‘Ngh, Joonie,’ you murmur into his ear, kissing, tongue flicking around the shell of it.

You lift your legs, cross your ankles behind his back so you can arc into him and fuck him back, and Namjoon grunts, loud, gripping your ass, long fingers spreading your cheeks.

He fucks you steadily, long deep thrusts that have you writhing under him.

Your mouth is open, gasps spilling from your lips, and he slips two fingers into it, thumb under your jaw.

His thumb slips down to the side of your throat, pressing, and your head arches back.

‘Fuck, Joon,’ you moan, delirious, nonsensical, panting out the words.

‘Yeah, baby?’ he asks. His voice is low, his words guttural as he keeps pumping his cock into you.

‘Fuck,’ you moan again, and he can feel the tell-tale tightening in your thighs, the flutter of your cunt around his shaft.

He pushes back on the bed, and plunges into you again, and then you’re cumming, crying his name.

He doesn’t want to hold back. He circles his hips, buries himself deep in your still pulsing cunt, and cums.

***

Namjoon wakes to the smell of coffee and your off-key singing in the kitchen.

He slips some shorts on, doesn’t bother with a shirt, and heads out to join you.

You’re fresh and pretty, hair wet from your shower.

You push a mug towards him, tilt your chin up for a kiss.

Then you grab his arm as he’s pulling away.

‘Joon,’ you say quietly. ‘I think we should break up.’

Namjoon thinks he’s heard you wrong, he’s already goggling at you, incredulous. ‘What?’

‘You’re doing so well for yourself,’ you say, serious, eyes meeting his. ‘I don’t want to hold you back.’

‘What do you mean?’ Namjoon splutters. He wants you to spell it out, because he can’t work what the hell you’re trying to get at.

You’re choosing your words carefully, like you’ve been thinking about them a lot. ‘I don’t want you to be disadvantaged because I do porn,’ you say, flat, unemotional. ‘You can do better.’

Namjoon’s already protesting when you add, ‘and I don’t want to date someone who’s ashamed of me,’ and he stops dead.

‘I’m not ——‘

Your eyes meet his steadily.

Namjoon reaches for you, and you step back.

‘I’ll move out,’ you say. ‘I’ve got a place lined up.’

Namjoon stops. ‘How long have you been thinking about this?’ he asks, voice coming out too harshly.

You’re quiet, fiddling with your sleeve. He spots the bruise on your throat.

‘Sorry about that,’ he says, nodding to it.

You look startled. ‘It wasn’t —-‘

You cut yourself off.

‘Oh Joonie,’ you say, your voice resonating with an emotion he can’t identify.

He wants to ask you more but you’re turning away, slipping out the door without looking back, and he guesses maybe that’s that.

***

You’re true to your word, moving out later that day with a little overnight bag.

It’s about a week later before he sees you again. He’d done the laundry you’d left behind, including the dress you’d been wearing the night of the party, a rip in the shoulder and rumpled in the bottom of the basket.

You pack it in your suitcase without a word when he presents it to you.

‘I’ll be back next week for everything else, if that’s ok,’ you say.

Namjoon nods. He’s kind of a mess but he’s busy lately with his new business, things are moving fast and he’s having to absorb a lot of new information.

He wants to talk to you about it but he’s been thinking about what you said a lot.

He’s worried if he probes he might not like what you say.

***

Namjoon, just past tipsy, manages to keep steady as he walks up to his door. He fumbles his key in the lock, scraping metal against metal until you pull the door open.

He looks at you, then decides ‘fuck it.’

Your lips are already parted when he kisses you, your arms slide around his neck like they belong there, and you feel so damn good pressed against him that he could weep.

You back up against the wall, and he lifts your thigh against his hip so he can grind against your centre.

You let out a choked moan, nails digging into his back as he drags his hardening cock against you.

You should stop, one of you should stop this but Namjoon will be damned if it’s him.

He’s already guiding his bare cock to your folds when he stops.

You seem to misunderstand the reason why.

‘Let me get a condom,’ he says, voice low.

‘I haven’t —-‘ you begin, then realisation dawns in your eyes at the guilt in his.

Namjoon lets out a long breath, forehead pressed to yours. There’s wetness on his cheeks, your tears mingled with his own.

He’s never seen you cry before, not in the months you were together.

He hadn’t cried after you left either.

You’re cupping his cheek now, kissing where his dimple would be if he could muster up any joy to make it right now.

‘Get a condom then,’ you say.

Namjoon tugs you into what used to be your bedroom together, fumbles in the bedside drawer. He wishes he hadn’t fucked that other girl raw so he could fuck you like that now, the way he did when you were together.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tells you, his voice taut with emotion as he enters you.

Sinking into you is sweet and familiar like coming home, and he realises then that he’s missed you.

Your eyes are sad. ‘I’m sorry too, Joonie.’

Namjoon kisses you deep, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hips circle against your pelvis.

He swallows your moans as you cum, wraps you in his arms tight as he finds his own release.

Afterward, he holds you against his chest. He wants to tell you not to leave, but he’s spent, emotionally and physically.

In the morning he wakes up to an empty bed. He tells himself it’s probably for the best.

***

A year later

Namjoon hasn’t thought about you in a while when he sees the woman who resembles you rounding the corner, heading away from the bar.

It’s been an incredible year for him, opening his own business. The partnership with David Lee worked better than he could have hoped, their combined experience has meant they’re already starting to turn over a profit.

It’s been a steep learning curve but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Namjoon’s still thinking about you when he gets home. He hasn’t heard from you since that morning that you left him.

He wonders how you’re getting on.

He picks up the phone, scrolls to your number, then puts it back down.

He finds himself on the website you stream from, typing in your handle. You still stream, it looks like, but less frequently than you did.

The notification that you’re live has him freezing like he’s been caught with his hand down his pants.

He clicks and you come into view.

It’s been a year since he saw you last, and if anything, you look prettier.

You’re in a loose tee, knee socks, and when you uncross your legs in front of the camera the view makes his throat go dry.

You’re wearing blue panties today, lacy and sheer.

You smile at the camera, nibble at your lower lip.

Namjoon stares at the clear outlines of your nipples against the thin jersey of your t-shirt and his cock stirs even more.

It feels wrong to masturbate to you, but he can’t help himself, not with the way you’re slipping a hand down your panties, stroking over yourself.

Your head arches back, your legs part, and Namjoon, alone in his room and missing you, reaches down his own sweats, taking himself in a firm hand.

He strokes his hardening cock to full erection. It’s dry but he doesn’t stop to get lube, can’t take his eyes off you.

You’re tugging your panties down, rolling them down your gorgeous ass, and Namjoon can’t stop the grunt that comes out when he sees your cunt, slick and glistening.

A spurt of precum dribbles onto his hand, he spreads it around his cock, making the glide easier. His balls tighten as his hand speeds up, twisting over his head.

You sigh, body taut like a bow. ‘I want your fingers,’ you whine, breathless, needy. ‘I can’t reach.’

Your heel kicks on the bed, and you turn over, onto all fours.

Namjoon almost cums at the view.

‘My ex boyfriend used to like spanking,’ you say. You moan, fingering yourself, wet sounds filling the room.

Are you talking about him?

Fuck.

Namjoon cums so hard his vision goes white.

When he comes back you’re turning back to face the camera. Your face is sweaty, your skin glistening.

You’re beautiful.

The screen goes black.

***

Namjoon cleans up, cock still sensitive. He gets into the shower, runs the water hot until his skin’s red and he can’t see for the steam.

He wonders what you’re doing now.

He gets out the shower, slings a towel around his waist, sits on his bed, dials your number.

To his surprise, you answer.

‘Hey,’ he says.

‘Joonie,’ you reply. He can hear the smile in your voice. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Yeah, good,’ he says. He catches sight of himself in the mirror, tries to tamp down the goofy grin on his face.

‘Hey,’ he says, ‘you want to go grab something to eat?’

***

Namjoon looks up every time the door to the diner opens, but still manages to miss when you come in.

You’re by the table, smiling at him almost shyly.

Namjoon gets up so quickly his knees hit the bottom of the table. He catches it quickly, reflexes honed from years of knocking things over.

Your cheeks are cold under his lips, it’s sub zero outside.

Namjoon helps you take your coat off. He’s always liked helping you with your clothes, zipping you up, doing buttons if you’ll let him. He hadn’t realised he’d missed it until now.

You order a drink, a meal. Namjoon’s amused that you still order the same thing.

It feels like nothing’s changed, and yet he’s happier than he’s been in a while.

‘How’s the bar?’ you ask.

‘Doing great,’ Namjoon tells you. ‘We opened up a few months ago, it’s busy but we’re doing well.’

‘I stopped by,’ you tell him.

Namjoon looks at you, surprised. ‘I didn’t know —‘

‘You weren’t there,’ you say, quickly. ‘It looks amazing, Joonie. I’m proud of you.’

‘You should call me if you drop by again,’ Namjoon says. ‘I’d love to see you.’

‘I will,’ you promise.

Namjoon looks down at his pancakes. ‘I watched your stream.’

You’re quiet a moment, then you glance at him. ‘Yeah?’

Your voice is neutral, expressionless.

Namjoon says, ‘your numbers still look good.’

It’s such a dumb thing to say, but you don’t seem to mind.

‘Why did you call?’ you ask.

‘I miss you.’

The words come out before he realises he’s going to say them, hanging in the space between you.

You touch his hand. ‘I’ve missed you too, Joonie.’

Namjoon hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until he starts to feel lightheaded.

‘Can we do this again?’

‘Yeah we can meet up,’ you say.

Namjoon hadn’t just meant meeting up, but it’s a start.

***

Namjoon’s straightening out the collar of his shirt, getting ready for your date, when his phone lights up.

Your voice is croaky, husky. ‘Joonie, I’m sorry, I can’t make it tonight.’

‘It’s fine,’ he says immediately. ‘Are you ok? You sound terrible.’

‘Just a bug,’ you say.

‘I’ll come over,’ he says, grabbing his jacket.

‘Oh my god, don’t. I look terrible. I feel terrible.’

‘Do you want me to pick up anything at the store? Do you have enough meds?’

Namjoon picks up his keys.

‘I’m coming over to keep you company,’ he says, patiently. ‘I’m stopping by the store on the way. If you don’t tell me what you want I’ll just pick up anything I think will help. See you in half an hour.’

***

You open the door with a hoodie on, hood up over your head, and Namjoon has to make an effort to resist the urge to bundle you in his arms and take you to bed.

You look at the grocery bags in his arms worriedly.

‘Go and lie down,’ he says. ‘Do you feel like eating anything?’

You bite your lip. ‘Namjoon this is really sweet, but I’m terrible company right now.’

‘I’m a grown man,’ he tells you gently. ‘I can look after myself, you don’t have to entertain me. I got stuff to make that soup you like.’

Your eyes snap to his.

‘Go to bed,’ Namjoon says. ‘Go on. If you want soup you can have it, if you don’t you can save it for when you feel like eating. I’ll wake you when it’s ready.’

You look like you’re going to protest, so he turns his back on you and starts unpacking his bags.

***

Namjoon goes to your room to wake you but you’re fast asleep, curled in a ball in your preferred way to sleep.

He strokes your hair away from your face and tucks the covers in around you.

‘Stay,’ you murmur.

He looks at you.

Your eyes open, a guarded look flickering across your expression.

‘Sorry. You don’t have to —-‘

Namjoon’s already unbuckling his belt, letting his jeans fall down his thighs, shucking his shirt.

He runs hot at night. When you used to date he’d often wake up to you curled around him, feet tucked between his legs.

Now you’re the one burning up. Namjoon pulls you into his arms.

‘Hey,’ he says.

You press your hot face to his chest, and when he finishes his sentence he realises you’re asleep.

When he wakes up, you’re sitting up in bed.

‘Feeling better?’ he asks, yawning, stretching out.

‘Yeah.’

You look better, less pale, eyes bright. Your stomach rumbles, and Namjoon grins.

‘What time is it?’

You tell him.

Namjoon sits up. ‘Are you up for going round the corner? There’s somewhere I want to take you. They do good rice porridge.’

It doesn’t take you both long to get ready, and then you’re trudging through the winter slush with him.

The restaurant he takes you to is tucked away in a cosy street. He enters before you, calling out a greeting.

Namjoon greets his grandmother affectionately, he’s started coming here almost every week lately, and she always fusses over him.

Beside you, you’ve gone still, wide-eyed. The sweet, polite way you greet his grandmother amuses him because it’s so different from your usual self.

You tuck into your rice porridge with an enthusiasm that he finds endearing.

‘Why haven’t you taken me here before?’ you ask.

‘I didn’t used to come here that much,’ he says, truthfully. ‘I’ve started coming more often just lately.’

You wonder who else he’s taken here.

Namjoon, like he’s sensing your unspoken question, says, ‘you’re the first person I’ve taken here. I wanted you to meet my grandmother, and for her to meet you.’

‘Why?’

You’re watching him with an expression in your eyes he can’t fully read.

‘Because you’re both important to me,’ he says.

He walks you back to your place after, comes in to grab the rest of his things.

He’s packing up his bag when you say, guarded, ‘I thought you were ashamed of me.’

He stops and turns to face you. ‘I’ve never been ashamed of you. I can’t judge you differently to how I judge myself. That would make no sense.’

He sighs. ‘You know what our society is like. I just don’t want people to judge you without getting to know you first, because of what you do.’

You’re staring at him like what he’s saying is news to you. Namjoon guesses you’ve never really talked about this together before.

Your voice is tentative. ‘There was a guy at the party we went to. The one where you were going to meet David.’

Namjoon realises he’s clenching his jaw when you give him a wary look.

You stop.

Namjoon asks, voice brittle, ‘what happened?’

You’re looking out the window at the grey landscape, so close your breath mists the glass when you speak.

‘He knew about my show.’

You look at him like he’s going to be mad at you.

‘I was worried, if he worked out that we were together, it might change things for you.’

Namjoon stills completely.

‘I gave him a blow job to distract him.’

You can’t look at him.

Namjoon thinks back to the bruise on your neck, the rip in your dress.

He can’t believe that he failed you so badly. That you’d thought you had to give another man a sexual favour to protect him, when he should have been protecting you.

You’re looking at him now. ‘I’m sorry, Namjoon.’

Namjoon steps closer to you.

‘You don’t ever need to do that,’ he tells you, very gently. ‘If you’d come to me, I would have taken care of him.’

‘And lost your opportunity,’ you say, like he wouldn’t understand. ‘I wouldn’t have been able to live with being the reason you lost out.’

Namjoon sighs. ‘Owning my own bar’s always been a dream, but there are some prices that aren’t worth it to pay. Not to me, anyway.’

He touches your arm.

‘You’re one of them,’ he tells you.

In the quiet of your tiny kitchen, the late morning grey, Namjoon pulls you into his arms.

***

The stream starts with Namjoon sitting on a chair in the middle of the bedroom you once shared.

He’s wearing a white t-shirt, the soft jersey clinging to the breadth of his shoulders, the depth of his chest.

He looks like he’s kept up with the training programme he used to do when you used to stream together.

The room’s mostly dark apart from the light coming in through the window. The shadows flatter the angles of his face and jaw.

He’s always been beautiful, Namjoon, privately you’ve always thought he’s the reason you were so successful when you did your show together.

His legs are spread, the angle he usually sits, but usually, his thick thighs aren’t on show like they are now. The definition in his thighs strains the legs of his black boxer briefs.

Namjoon looks right at the camera when he speaks, and it’s like he can see you.

‘I used to do this with you,’ he says. His voice is husky, low. ‘Fuck, I’m a lucky man that you even looked my way, let alone anything else.’

You can see the reflection from the screen in front of him casting a bluish gleam over his face, the flickering telling you he’s being inundated with comments.

Namjoon ignores them, still looking straight at the camera.

‘This is a one off, I’m out of the game now, but I can’t think of a better way to show you –’

He breaks off, chuckles. ‘Fuck. I put a picture of you above the screen to keep me company whilst I did this, and it’s fucking distracting.’

He shifts a little, spreading a bit more, and you watch, transfixed, as his hand delves into his boxer briefs, palming his cock.

As you stare at the bulge between his legs, it grows, until the head of him strains the waistband of his underwear.

‘I hope you’re watching, baby,’ he says. ‘Look how hard you get me.’

He pulls his briefs down, kicking them away in one movement. He looks down at himself, hissing as he cups his balls in one hand, strokes his cock with the other.

He looks at the camera again. ‘I don’t want to hear any more about you trying to protect me, love.’

Very carefully, you set the camera down and turn it off.

He watches, eyes hooded, as you walk over to him, pulling off your t-shirt as you go.

You’re pushing down your panties, but he stops you.

‘Keep them on,’ he says.

Namjoon gets you to lay down on the bed, climbs on top of you. The intent in his eyes is so blatant it makes your skin burn.

He hums as you wriggle underneath him, spreading to make room for him.

He leans down to kiss you. He takes his time about it, lips pressing against yours, tongue licking into your mouth.

‘It made me feel a little crazy,’ he tells you between kisses, ‘ when you told me what you thought you had to do with that guy.’

You can’t answer, not with the way he’s got his teeth clamped on your lower lip.

‘You’re my girl,’ he says, voice like velvet, ‘aren’t you?’

You stare up at him.

He runs a hand over your bare breasts, toying with your nipples.

‘Aren’t you?’ he prompts, thumb rubbing your nipple.

You nod, and Namjoon pinches your nipple.

You gasp a ‘yes’.

He soothes you with a kiss, open mouthed and wet over your breast, tongue lapping against the nipple he’s just pinched.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he tells you. ‘No one’s going to touch you, not when I’m around.’

His hand’s slipped down your side, resting against the curve of your stomach.

Namjoon tucks his fingers under the crotch of your sodden panties, knuckles pressing against you.

‘Look at this,’ he says, knowing. ‘You like it when I say I’m gonna look after you?’

He’s waiting for an answer again.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

Namjoon smirks at you. ‘You like that, huh, baby?’

His fingers dip into your folds, tracing your entrance.

‘Always acting like you don’t need me, but you do, don’t you.’

‘Deep.’ One finger enters you, and you moan.

‘Inside.’ He adds another, and you tighten around him.

‘You just want me to take care of you,’ he taunts.

‘Joonie,’ you cry out.

His fingers touch you the way he’s learned you like. You can both hear how wet you are.

Namjoon tugs his t-shirt off, and you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from screaming as he positions himself at your entrance.

He grunts.

‘I want to take care of you,’ he tells you.

He enters you with a smooth hard thrust, filling you so sweetly you lose whatever words you had in your head and moan his name instead.

Namjoon snaps his hips, fucking into you hard. He’s not fast, but he makes every movement count, the hard drag of his cock inside you relentless.

He cums before you do, filling you up, squeezing the flesh of your ass so tightly you’re sure he’ll have left marks on your skin. Namjoon keeps going, pumping his own cum out of you in sloppy strokes.

He lifts your leg, grinds against your clit, kisses fervent against your neck, and then you’re cumming, pulsing around him, whilst he whispers praise into your ear.

Afterward, he cleans you both up, wraps you in his t-shirt, planting kisses all over your face. The stubble on his jaw is rough on your skin but you don’t really mind.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he says. ‘Don’t leave me again.’

He pulls you into his arms, lays his cheek on the top of your head, and then he’s asleep before you can tell him that you won’t.

©hamsterclaw 2022

[unavernales]

“Psst” - Nikita

Send “Psst” for 10 Things My Muse has said About Yours Behind Their Back

-- "somethin' in his head must be screwed in wrong." said to one of her coworkers when a pair of shoes and a bouquet had been left at her station backstage as gifts.

-- "yeah, he's cute. don't he look like one of those old hollywood stars with the cheekbones? bet my gram would mistake him for some sucker back in the day." whispered to one of her coworkers as they lingered backstage, peeking into the crowd.

-- "got it from this guy i met at work. nah, he ain't my boyfriend. yous think we was married, the amounta money he's been spendin' on me! for nothin'! he's nuts! yeah, yeah, i'll be careful..." when his partner for a threatre class project asked them about a bracelet she was wearing... gifted by nikita. honey slipped it on last minute before heading out. didn't think twice.

-- "he ain't that bad, when yous really talk tah him. kinda smart. kinda funny. as smart and funny as a man can be, anyways." to a club bodyguard as he helps them with a broken six inch heel.

-- "what kinda man wouldn't do all this for some kitty, if he's gots the means for it? he's just like the rest, come on, hon..." mumbled to his own reflection as he gets ready for dinner with nikita

-- "aw, come on. he ain't a problem. jus' a lil weird. ain't we all a lil weird? jus' too rich and young for his own good, is all. listen, you'll know when he's a problem. you'll be able to hear me slappin' him silly a mile away." said to her boss at the strip club when he notices all of nikita's presents and visits.

-- "i'm scared, i think. i don't like being scared. i like being loud and confident even if i like an absolute dunce to everyone else. better stupid than scared. but i like him. and that makes me scared." written in her diary.

-- "i got a boyfriend, bub. back up." said to a random guy trying to hit on them at a party, gesturing to some jewelry nikita had bought her.

-- "definitely the kinda guy you'd call dibs on at the club, lemme tell ya--" when asked about her current romantic pursuits by coworkers at her second job waitressing.

-- "there's this guy, gram... i dunno. he's... he's a character," said to her grandmother as they do their weekly spa night.

[gopeachllama]

Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

~~~

Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

[doubleleoenergy]

iv. Lolita, Lolita Series

Hey Lolita, hey! Hey Lolita, hey! I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of alcohol, mentions of relationship violence, oral (female receiving), pet names, dirty talk

Words: 2240

Summary: Andy’s falling at y/n’s feet, just like all the other boys before.

Six days. It had been six agonizing days since their encounter at the club, and Andy Barber was losing his cool. The nightly, and sometimes midday, jerkoff sessions weren’t quite enough to satisfy his hunger.

Things with y/n had been the same, as if their little blowjob fest hadn’t happened. They continued to carpool to the office, continued to be friendly back at home, and y/n continued to tease him as always. She’d wear her tight and barely there clothing around the house and the office and had even started walking around in her towel after her showers. Andy didn’t mind the view, and neither did the boys, stuttering and stammering at the sight of her. But again, it wasn’t enough. 

That morning y/n greeted him with another breakfast and coffee before work, donning a black long sleeve crop top with a slit across to give him the view of just a bit of cleavage. Her light denim jeans were practically painted on her body, her perky ass bouncing with each step in her black strappy heels.

“You look good, y/n. As always.” Andy commented, taking a sip of his coffee. He thought a bit of flirting might help his case of getting closer to his little Lolita, though she didn’t seem phased by the compliment.

“Thanks Andy, we should get going. I’m shadowing you with your clients today, remember?” Her internship had been stellar, learning valuable information about the field and her future career. The only problem occasionally was Neal, who tended to linger too long at her desk and always stared down her shirt as he talked. Normally she would put the man in her place, but it offered a good source of jealousy from Andy, which she couldn’t pass up.

Their ride to the office was filled with conversation as Andy briefed her on their clients for the day, y/n taking notes in her notebook of all the critical details. Though she probably wouldn’t need the notes, she had read over the client’s files for the past two days in anticipation.

Y/N sashayed down the hall in front of Andy to his office, and he watched her ass the entire time she moved, trying not to pop a boner before the workday even started. After arriving at the office door and unlocking it, the two got comfortable for their first client of the day.

“Are you nervous?” Andy questioned, eyes focusing intently on her.

“Of course not. I’m just eager to please.” Her tone was heavy with seduction, lips curving into a huge smile when Andy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

By the time they had finished up with their clients for the day it was nine o’clock, a much later day at the office for them since y/n had started her internship. The two were both starving since lunch, stomachs growling as they headed home for the evening.

“Jacob said he and the boys are going to see a midnight movie showing after the bar, won’t be back till late.” Y/N announced, fingers typing out a quick reply to Jacob.

“Alright, are you interested in going out for some food? I think it’s way too late to start cooking something. We can go to that Mexican restaurant up the street from the house if you want.” Andy suggested, glancing over at y/n as he parked the car in the driveway.

“That’s fine, let me go change really quick and then we can go.” Y/N walked straight through the garage doors and up into her room, getting herself refreshed for dinner. Andy decided to change as well, pulling on a pair of dark denim jeans and a grey Henley long-sleeved shirt that accentuated his muscles. He was honestly hoping that y/n might consider this a date but given how she seemed to avoid any movement in their relationship, it seemed unlikely.

Andy scrolled through his email on his cell phone, leaning against the kitchen counter as she walked down the stairs. His eyes met hers before traveling down to the tight burgundy floral mini dress, the thin spaghetti straps barely holding in her braless breasts as they poked out slightly above the fabric. Andy’s eyes continued lower to the slit in the dress, staring at where the slit hit mid-thigh and ended right at her hip bone. Was she not wearing any underwear?

“Okay, I’m ready.” Y/N’s black stilettos clicked against the hardwood as she made her way towards the door, headed towards his car once again. Andy trailed behind, his eyes roaming over her backside while his cock stirred in his jeans.

The restaurant was less than a mile from the house, a quick drive for them both, which was a relief considering how hungry they both were. The waitress came up shortly after they sat, a young perky blonde who seemed to be a little extra attentive to Andy, though he didn’t pay any attention to her. He was too busy watching y/n scanning the menu, chewing her bottom lip as she figured out what to eat.

“I’ll have a Coors Light and a southwest salad, please.” Y/N’s voice was soft as she spoke to the waitress.

“I’ll have a Coors as well with the street taco trio. Thank you.” Andy handed over their menus before returning his attention back to y/n. “Did you like sitting in on the meetings today?” He asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Definitely, it’s nice to fully see the process at work. Usually I’m filing the paperwork after a meeting, but today gave me the chance to start from the initial meeting to the filing.” The waitress arrived with their drinks as she finished her sentence, taking a long swig from her beer.

“I’m glad. We make a good team, don’t you think?” Andy had to admit, she was the most impressive intern they’d had since he started there. But the question isn’t just about work, hinting at the possibility of them together.

“We’re alright.” She responded, shrugging her shoulders. Andy sighed, six days of waiting to figure out anything between them was torture, just like the mind games she was playing with him now. His thoughts are briefly interrupted by the arrival of their meal, using the break in their conversation to consider his next words carefully. It was like he was building a case as he had done hundreds of times at work, though this case was a bit higher stake for him.

“Look, in the club I know I said we couldn’t do this...do us.” Good start, Andy-boy. “But we’re both adults as you said. It’s not weird, unless we make it weird, and if we keep things private for a while so as not to hurt Jacob...why don’t we give it a try? Us, I mean.”

Y/N chewed thoughtfully on her meal, listening to his case and reflecting on his words. “I’m not a relationship girl, you know that.” The thought of being in a committed relationship with anyone terrified her, a trigger from her family trauma. What happens if Andy is kind at first, but later turns into a monster like her father? Would she really want to end up like her mom? No thank you.

“I do know that, but I also know that there’s something between us, y/n. You can’t deny that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done what you had.” Andy retorted, taking a bite of his tacos.

“Everything I do is because I want to do it.” She declared, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “A relationship is different, Andy. Why tie yourself down to someone? It’s not like it ever lasts, you should know that firsthand.” She’s referring to his divorce, the thought that Andy even wanted to be committed to someone else after that was confusing.

“Maybe that’s true, or maybe we’re just waiting for the right person to change our minds.” He’s leaning on the table now, his eyes locked on hers to gauge her reactions.

Y/N’s eyebrow raises at his response, her head tilting to the side. “And you’re trying to say that I’m that right person?” Her eyes roll back into her head, straightening her body and digging back into her meal. “You’re thinking a little too highly after one hookup.”

Andy knows they’re going in circles with the conversation and so he drops it, finishing up their meals in silence and not protesting when y/n asks to split the bill. Definitely not a date.

The ride back to the house is uncomfortably silent, y/n playing Candy Crush on her phone to distract herself from any further talk about a relationship. Y/N is about to go up the stairs to her room when they arrive, but Andy stops her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back over to him.

“What are you doing?” She asks, brows furrowed as her eyes meet his blue hues. Andy tugs her closer by her waist in response to her question, lips hovering inches away.

“Think about it, we’d be good together, you can’t deny that.” And with that Andy is leaning in, pressing his lips passionately against y/n’s own. Without any hesitation y/n reciprocates the kiss, hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him in closer, if that was even possible.

Their lips dance together in the perfect rhythm for a moment before Andy breaks the kiss to pepper wet kisses to the flesh on y/n’s neck. She rolls her head to one side to give him better access, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck when he nibbles on a sensitive spot. She lets him continue for a moment before pushing him gently off her, confusing laced across his face.

Y/N’s heels click against the hardwood as she starts walking down the hallway towards his bedroom door, stopping right in front of it and looking back at Andy, a cocky grin spreading across her swollen lips.

“I think it’s time you return the favor from the other night.” And with that she slips into his bedroom, Andy following quickly on her heels and shutting the door behind them. He watches, eyes blown wide, as she saunters over to the bed, sitting right on the edge of it. She leans her body back, her weight against her elbows, opening her legs to reveal her bare core, her heels firmly placed on the floor in front of the bed for balance.

“Don’t just stand there and stare, Andy. Get to work.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, practically crawling across the room, his knees hitting the soft carpet a foot away from her outstretched legs. His strong hands move from her knees up her thighs, pushing her dress up to her stomach to reveal her wet heat to him.

It was glistening like diamonds, just as beautiful as the rest of her body. He rests his hands on each of her inner thighs, pushing her legs slightly wider and locking his eyes with hers as he leans forward and licks a strip up her slit. His first taste of her is incredible, better than he could’ve imagined, and he wastes no time on diving in further, lapping at her core.

Andy’s beard tickles her pussy as he works his tongue into her, sending shivers down her spine. Her fingers instinctively grab at his hair, her grip tightening whenever he lapped at a spot that made her moan. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, loving the way he looked between her legs. She could get used to this.

Andy moved his head back, his pointer and middle finger rubbing against her wet folds before they dive in, curling deep and releasing a satisfied moan from her lips. “Your pussy is so pretty, so wet and delicious. My little Lolita.” There goes the pet name from the other night, though it was quite fitting for her.

His fingers find a good rhythm inside her, eliciting the prettiest moans from her lips. His cock is painfully hard in his jeans, though he knows right now it is all about her pleasure. He can tell her orgasm is building, moving his face back to suck at her clit while his fingers keep their pace in and out of her dripping core.

Her walls start to tighten, y/n seeing stars as she feels that familiar buildup in her stomach, tightening her grip on his hair. Andy’s eyes lock back on hers, a seductive smirk spreading across his lips.

“Let go, Lolita. Cum for me.” And just like that her orgasm rips through her, her walls tightening around his fingers as she pushes his face flush against her folds, allowing him to lap up her release.

She’s shaking by the time he pulls away, his beard covered in her slick, the sight alone giving her a sense of pride and ownership over him.

“That was incredible.” Y/N announces, adjusting her dress and standing back up, stepping towards the door of the bedroom. Andy’s jaw drops, his cock twitching as she walks away. “Where are you going? I’m hard as a rock right now.”

Y/N stops to look at him, her eyes trailing to the bulge in his jeans, shrugging her shoulders. “Guess you’ll have to jerk off to your fantasies of me as always.” And with that she opens the door and exits the bedroom, leaving Andy kneeling with frustration against the carpet.

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff​ @rattlemyb0nes​ @rootcrop @goldenboysteve​  @turtoix​  @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​  @ccmarvelxx ​

[maehara-san]

𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙙 // 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙮𝙖 𝙞𝙞𝙙𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Pairing: Au!Tenya Iida x F!Reader

Summary: After years of forgetting an old acquaintance the moment you decide to venture off and move forward he comes back. But have you moved on or are there still lingering feelings?

Warning(s): Angst, slight fluff,

Words: 2,083

| Notes: gif belongs to @transhawks |

| Masterlist | Writer Fund |

- - - -

"We didn't need to do this guys!" you exclaimed as your best friend threw an arm around your shoulders pulling you closer. "I told you it was fine getting just ramen back at home."

"Nope!" he chuckled, "Not happening, missy. We are sending you off big."

"Takashi is right." Aimi added, "A simple bowl of ramen isn't going to cut it for us."

"It's your last night..." Aito sighed looking at you with sad eyes "You should get to enjoy it with your favorite food."

You frowned seeing your best friend's smiles disappearing from their usual happy faces. "Guys..." you took each of their hands into yours, "I may be moving to another country but that won't mean I will not be checking up on you or planning trips to come and see you."

Aimi smiled small giving your hand a gentle squeeze, "We're going to miss you..."

"I'm going to miss you guys too. But before you know it I will be back to annoy your asses."

Takashi chuckled, "Come on let's go grab a seat and enjoy tonight."

"He's right the more time we stand here." Aito said, "The less time we will have to talk."

"Agree!" you exclaimed.

The four of you then sat down near a secluded corner. There were only a few tables occupied, making the atmosphere more relaxing. "Should we get the usual?" Aimi asked.

"Mhm." you nodded "Do you guys want to add anything else?"

"What about..." Aito mumbled, "Adding some extra bowls of rice?"

"We can do that." you agreed "Another extra omelet too."

The waitress then came over and Takashi gave her the order then left you four alone again. "Are you excited?" Aimi asked looking over at you. "Getting your own office and helping out on that project?"

You bit your lip trying to contain your smile and not making your friends sadder. "It's a huge opportunity...ever since college ended, I've been waiting for something like this to happen." you said "After working long hours during the internships, it seems like it's being paid off."

"I know I can vouch for all of us when I say that you are the most hard-working person we know." Takashi "Even though you'll be miles away, your dream is finally coming true. You deserve this and much more." he raised his shot glass in the air and the rest of you followed "To y/n...who will become the baddest boss I know!"

"Hear hear!" you all spoke in unison and clinked your glasses together drinking down the sake.

Clearing your throat you then stood up "I'm going to the bathroom I'll be back."

"Don't be too long!" Aito yelled as you left "Or I'll eat your bowl of rice!"

A chuckle escaped your lips as you slipped away out into the balcony. You closed the door behind you making the night turn quiet. The voices sounded muffled, you sighed leaning forward.

'I know I should be happy...' you thought holding on to the black metal railing. 'But why am I feeling sad...this is the chance I've been looking for..'

The sound of a door opening and closing caught your attention. On instinct, you wiped the tears away and turned around expecting to see Aito or Aimi but saw a stranger instead.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt-" they began.

"No, you didn't," you reassured them.

The stranger with glasses then furrowed his eyebrows together as his stare became focused on you. Then his eyes widened, "Y/n?"

"Um..." you looked at him confused then your face reciprocated his expression as well. "T-Tenya..."

"Yeah..." he softly spoke, "It's been a while..."

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, "It has..."

Tenya then walked over and stood next to you near the railing. "How have you been?"

"I-I have been well...and you?" you mumbled not knowing how to feel after years of not seeing him.

"I'm doing good actually..." he softly replied looking at you as his back was facing the street.

"That's...good then," you said looking down at your open-toe heels suddenly remembering you had come to enjoy your dinner celebration after work. His eyes were softly looking at you as he noticed your tired finger and the pen marking you had on your forehead but despite it all, you still looked beautiful.

"Did you come alone? he asked.

You shook your head not wanting to look at him "I came here with some of my close friends."

"I see..." there was nothing he can do to make the silence less awkward and somehow he still had a lot he wanted to say to you. So many words crossed his mind yet seeing you in front of him made him nervous.

"It's been six years hasn't it?" your mouth suddenly spoke for you making you mentally slap yourself for opening it. Without realizing it you kept going not having any filter or control over what came out. "Since the last time, we saw each other."

A small smile formed on his lips "It has been too long." he replied.

"Has it been too long?" you questioned having the courage to look at him "We didn't necessarily speak to one another the last two years of high school."

"I admit it wasn't the best move I made, at least not the one I wanted to." his gaze softened as he looked you in the eyes.

"Then why did you?" you said, "I thought I had done something wrong or said something that might have upset you. I kept looking back at all the memories to try and find a clue that would help clear my mind from how guilty I felt Tenya."

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

A sly chuckle came out and you broke away from the stare "I even had the decency to message you and apologize when I shouldn't have had the need to do so."

"None of this was ever your fault y/n." he said "I was the idiot who got driven by j-" Tenya paused as he bit his tongue.

"What?" you asked.

He shook his head "Nothing..."

Anger started to build up inside of you after all those years you tried to ignore how he had made you felt. How you cried for him as silly as it sounded, of wanting to maybe just maybe having a chance to show him how important he was to you. Only for things to change out of the blue and ignore you as if you never existed. "Bullshit," you called him out. "You don't get to pull this half-ass move on me!"

His back then turned as he looked out into the city, "I'm not pulling anything..."

"Seriously?" your hand-formed into a fist "You start to spew out an apology only for you not to admit the truth to me?! That is a half-ass move and I have no reason to keep listening or believe anything that comes out of your mouth!" you yelled.

Footsteps were then heard indicating to him that you were walking away and he was losing you for good. Gripping the rail tightly he then blurted out, "I had a crush on you okay!"

Your feet stopped moving, little butterflies began to fly around in your tummy. Tenya turned around to face you, "I didn't know how to act." he explained "We talked every day when we saw each other before I knew it these feelings of friendliness turned into a crush. I saw other guys get close to you and held a grudge."

A tear slipped from your eye and you blinked making it fall down to the cold ground. "So you ignored me as revenge?..."

"It wasn't revenge...I just-" he paused covering his face with his hands then letting them fall down to the side "...didn't know what to do. I did not want to ruin anything if you didn't feel the same way. Before I knew it the more I thought about it every day it made me ignore you and pretend as if nothing had happened."

"And yet you know deep down something did, Tenya." you tried controlling your heavy breathing as the tears kept falling down, "I had thought I was only imagining things, that you decided to erase all those times we acted as more than friends."

"I'm sorry." he said, "But I did mean everything I said to you in every conversation and moment I had with you, those were never fake y/n."

You stood quiet trying to wrap around your mind the confession you wanted to hear all these years. But now that you got it, did you still have those feelings for him?

"Look at me, please." he softly spoke. When he said it you turned around and his heart broke upon seeing your red bloodshot eyes. "Y/n..." slowly he lifted his hand and cupped the right side of your face. Using his thumb he gently wiped away the stained tears on your cheek. "I didn't mean to make you cry. But I knew you deserved the truth of it all."

Your sad eyes locked onto his, a silence overcame you both. The only sound was the cars passing by and the minimal chatter from strangers. "Even though I vowed to move forward and not look back, I don't know anyone else who can make me feel this way."

"You deserve better than what I have given you," he said cupping your face with both your hands. Slowly he closed the distance between you two, his eyes looked from your eyes to your lips and back up again. You copied his movements and inched closer to him then stopped once both your noses brushed against each other silently asking if it was ok. Not seeing any hesitation he continued softly kissing you. Your lips brushed gently against one another as the kiss deepened. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your skin tingled feeling his body heat radiating off onto you. The kiss was magnificent something you've never experienced before, which made you break apart despite the happiness you felt.

You broke apart after a minute to breathe. A smile lingered on your faces feeling the rush from the explosive kiss. "I've been meaning to do that." his cheeks turned red and brushed his hair back.

"I'm glad you did." you admitted "I have been waiting for a while..."

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "I waited too long and now that I have I don't plan on wasting it."

The thought made you feel delighted yet you knew it would be impossible. Tenya noticed the change in your eyes, "What's wrong?" he asked as he held your hand.

"I'm moving out of the country." you explained "I have a job opportunity in Spain. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Oh..."

"I did miss you." you confessed "Seeing you rose feelings within me that I didn't know I still had. But I'm not going to be hopeful on waiting again especially since I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"We'll figure this out okay?" he said "You don't need to answer me or feel like you have to decide right now. You deserve that job opportunity."

"Are you sure?"

"You have my word." Tenya gave your hand a gentle squeeze "I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes and show you how much you mean to me."

"Y/n!" one of your friends called out to you, "The food is getting cold!"

"I should get back," you said letting go of his hand and he nodded.

"Let me know what time you leave okay?"

"I will." you said, "Goodbye, Tenya."

"Goodnight, y/n." he softly said and you headed back inside over to your table. Tenya then walked in after you, as he saw your table was a few feet away from his.

"Y/n where were you?!" Aimi slurred as you noticed her pink face from how much sake she had drunk already.

"She wouldn't stop asking where you were," Aito said. "She kept talking a lot almost getting us thrown out from here."

"Sorry, I ran into someone from my old school," you explained as your eyes landed on him from far away. Tenya's eyes then landed on you as well. You slightly blushed.

"What's wrong?" Takashi asked as he raised an eyebrow looking at you.

"Nothing," you replied smiling softly. "The meat tastes good is all."

[nagito-kissmaeda]

I really don't know if requests are open so I'm sorry if I didn't noticed they're closed 💔 However if they are open could you please write Nagito with female s/o that lost bet to Hiyoko and running around island in maid dress?

ミ☆ Sorry this took me so long! Also it got very nasty and i hope that is okay lol. I can’t help myself when it comes to Nagito. Word count: 2024 Contains: NSFW, fem reader, they/them pronouns, explict sexual content, voyeurism ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

This is humiliating. 

The Jabberwock island sun is burning down hot as always, you can feel the skin of your bare arms already starting to burn and your legs are getting sweaty under the thick thigh high socks. This outfit was not designed for this weather, but clearly Hiyoko Saionji cared very little about that fact.

She is walking beside you, snickering behind a hand. The six inch heels she has forced you into makes her seem even shorter than usual.

You sigh, “How much longer?”

“I told you! One whole lap of the islands!” She taps a finger to her chin, feigning thoughtfulness, “We’re about...halfway done.”

You huff and cross your arms. You don't usually wear heels, your feet are already starting to ache, and the unpaved path on central island makes it even harder for you to walk, “Can I at least take the shoes off?”

Saionji scoffs, “Uh, obviously not. The heels are essential. You think i'm just gonna let you run around in sneakers? What would even be the fucking point?”

“Yeah, yeah, Okay. I get it.” 

To be fair, this was all your fault. After waking up from the Neo World Program, you and the rest of your classmates found that the island was a mess and had spent the past few months slowly making it livable. It must have been rotten luck that got you paired with Saionji to clean out the back room in the diner on the second island. Apparently the waitresses who worked there before the island was abandoned used to wear sexy maid costumes, and there happened to be one in your size. Saionji had said something about a bet, that if you were game enough to walk around in the maid costume, she would take on your cleaning duties for the next three days. It was a bad idea, you really should have said no.

There's a gust of wind and your short skirt flutters around your thighs. You clench your jaw and try your best to keep your panties from showing. Saionji laughs again. 

“Remember when we bumped into Hanamura earlier and he said that he thought you looked-”

“Shut up, Saionji.” You hiss, walking a little faster as you cross the bridge over to the first island, “Withstanding your ridicule was not part of the deal.”

“Yeah, but it wasn't not not part of the deal.” She sticks her tongue out. 

The heels are so loud on the wooden slats of the bridge, and it takes a decent amount of effort to stop yourself from getting stuck in one of the gaps and tripping. You can tell Saionji thinks it is very funny how hard you need to focus on your own feet. 

“Okay.” She says as you step out onto the island, “One loop here, and then back to the second island. You might actually manage it if you dont trip and break a leg on the way back,”

You shoot her a glare, “Was that a threat?”

She shrugs, “Just saying you should watch where you walk” She playfully taps your shin with the side of her foot, you manage not to stumble, but it was still a dirty move. 

Before you are able to call her out for her nasty trick, Saionji laughs again and nods her head in the direction of the cabins. You’ve just made your way in through the front gate, and are about to head down to the restaurant, “Look who was lucky enough to leave his cottage right as were walking past.”

Saionji’s intonation on the word lucky makes your stomach twist and turn. You’re too afraid to follow her line of sight, swallowing nervously and looking down at the ground, “Hey, uh, i think I’m calling it here. You win.”

You move to walk away, buy Saionji grabs you by the wrist, “What are you chickening out for? I didn't realise you were such a loser.”

“Saionji” You warn, glaring down at her, “You better let me go or else i will-”

“Ah, hello!” Komaeda interrupts. You freeze, heart racing at the sound of his voice. This is literally the worst thing that could have possibly happened. Your cheeks are burning “How lucky it is that I get to see the both of...ah…” His voice slowly trails off as he notices what you are wearing. It's with a newfound desperation that you struggle to escape Saionji’s grip, but she holds fast. 

“Hey, Weirdo.” Saionji jeers, her hand still tight around your wrist, “Do you like this cute outfit I found?”

“Oh...I...uh…” 

You let your eyes slip up to his face. Komaeda has his hair up in a ponytail and his cheeks are burning red as he stares down at the length of bare thigh peeking out from the top of your stockings. You can hear the sound of your heart beating in your ears.

You like Komaeda. As in, you really like Komaeda. 

Seeing him getting all flustered is doing strange things to your stomach, but you are still frozen with embarrassment. 

“I think he likes it~” Saionji taunts, smirking up at you. 

His eyes are combing over you, his lower lip pulled in between his teeth. There's warmth between your thighs, your fingernails are digging into your palms. You barely even notice as you start getting bolder, gently brushing the hemline of your skirt with your hand, tugging it a little further up your thigh. Komaeda’s throat bobs. 

“Did...did Saionji make you do this?” He asks.

You nod, still feeling too overwhelmed to actually say anything. He must see the way you are looking at him, the way his blush runs all the way down to his collarbones, the way you want desperately to see more of his skin. His eyes meet yours questioning, but hungry. 

“You look…” he heaves a shaky breath, eyes quickly flitting over to Saionji  like he is trying to remind himself that she is still there, “...good.”

You grip onto the fabric of your skirt to stop your hands from shaking, “Thank you. Um-” you look down at your toes for a moment,  “Hanamura got kind of weird about it, but i'm uh…” you look back up at Komaeda, his eyes are perfect and green, “I’m glad that you like it…”

He’s just staring at you now, and you hope that he understands the meaning of your words. That maybe this whole embarrassing ordeal is worth it if he finds you attractive. You want him so badly, you want him to want you so badly. The way his eyes roam over your body makes you quiver with something. Nerves? Excitement? 

“What the fuck is happening right now?”

You and Komaeda are suddenly pulled from a trance and forced to look back down at Saionji. She’s staring up at you with a mix of horror and confusion.

You feel a bolt of arousal shoot down to your center when Komaeda turns to her and says, “Would you mind leaving us alone, Saionji-san?”

Saionji blinks, “Huh? We’ve still got to walk all the way back to the second island or they lose the bet! I'm not going anywhere in case she cheats!”

“Bet’s off.” You say, pulling your wrist from her grasp and taking a step closer to Komaeda. God, even with the heels on he is still taller than you, “You should really go.”

Saionji barks a laugh, “Fine, but you better not complain when you have cleaning duty all next week.” 

He is very subtle about it, but you feel the cool touch of Komaeda’s fingers on your bare thigh, he stares at Saionji over your shoulder and is much less polite when he says, “Saionji, leave.” 

You don't turn around, but you hear the sound of sandals clattering on wood as she dashes out of the hotel area. The second she is out of view, Komaeda grabs you by the shoulders and pins you up against the wall of the closet cottage (Souda’s? It really doesn't matter) breathing so heavily that you can see his shoulders shaking.

“I’m...I’m so sorry...I” He back pedals, letting his arms fall to the sides, “I don't know what came over me, I'm such garbage i-”

Fuck it, you think. Grabbing the front of his coat and tugging his lips up against yours. It takes him a moment to recognise what is even happening, but the second he does, his large hands grab tight on either side of your waist and he kisses you back in a fervor. You can feel him moan against your lips, and it’s too much for you. So you spin him around until he is the one with his back up against the wall, jamming your knee in between his legs and shoving one hand up under his shirt. His skin is smooth, you can feel his ribs under your fingers. He whimpers under your lips when your tongue enters his mouth, tangling with his, and one of his hands creeps down to the short hemline of your skirt, slipping his fingers up underneath. You hear him choke on a moan when he finds that your stockings are being held up by a garter-belt. 

“You’re killing me.” He hisses against your mouth. 

You lift up the knee between his legs and grind it against his crotch. He makes the cutest little noise, hips wriggling against the pressure of your knee until he is basically fucking himself on it. You moan at the sight of him, cheeks red, hair mussed, writhing against you desperately. 

“That’s a good boy.” You whisper in his ear, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat, “Does that feel nice?”

“Hng-I….I…” he throws his head backward until it collides with the wall, “What about..ahhAH...what about you?”

Watching him like this is getting you wet enough as it is, you smirk and suck gently on his pulse point, “What about me? I want to watch you cum, sweetheart. That’s what i want.”

His green eyes are blown wide when they meet yours, he swallows, “Out….outside?”

“Yeah, baby.” You press your knee up even harder and relish in the choked sound he makes, “Right here.” 

You aren't sure what it is about the maid costume that gives you this confidence, but you feel powerful. Watching Komaeda moan and drool as he grinds furiously against your stocking-clad knee is only making you feel sexier. 

The hand you have under his shirt sneaks upward even further, he squeaks when you rub one of his nipples between your thumb and forefinger, “You think you can cum for me, sweetheart?”

He nods furiously, hips quivering as you continue biting and sucking your way down his throat and over his shoulder. You can feel him growing more desperate, you can feel his pressing his throbbing cock harder and harder against the unyielding pressure of your knee. His mouth is hung open, drool is dripping down his chin and he is flushed all the way down to his chest. You moan just from the mere sight of him, your sex clenching with desire, but that would have to wait. You wanted to watch him come undone.

“I…I’m” he whines, writhing and panting against you, “I’m so close…”

“You’re going to cum?”

Komaeda makes a noise of affirmation, but it mostly just sounds like a moan. You grin and push your knee up even higher, leaning in to lick up the shell of his ear.

“Go on, then.” You whisper, “Cum for me, pretty boy,”

A moan rips through him. So loud that anyone nearby must have heard it. His hips quiver and shake against you, grinding and wriggling and then finally coming to a stop. He looks godlike, his hair fucked five ways to hell and his eyes glazed over with arousal. A shaky giggle escapes his mouth, and then he licks his lips. 

“Okay. Your turn”

You don't resist when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you to his cottage. Maybe Saionji actually helped you out for once, even if she didn't mean it. 

[adventuresinwonderlust]

Title: Worship You

ANON REQUEST

Pairing: Yoongi x plus size reader

Warnings: self-body shaming, insecurities mentioned, fluff, body worship, body praise, needy love making, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks).

Rating: 18 and over

 This was your third outfit change in a span of twenty minutes and your boyfriend of a year was due to be here any minute. You huffed at yourself in the mirror, yanking at your tummy before sucking it in. “Ok this is it!” You scold yourself. You tug at your blouse so that it meets your jeans and remind yourself not to lift your arms tonight. The doorbell rings and you yelp a bit, looking over your outfit again. “Please like it.” You whisper, spinning on your heel and making your way to the front door. You pull the door open and cover your mouth in shock at the sight of ten heart shaped balloons and an armful of flowers. “Happy Anniversary Beautiful!” You hear from behind the bouquets.

You stand in shock unable to speak. Your boyfriend soon shifts the items in his arms so he can peak over them. “Everything ok?” He asks strained. “Uh, Yes, oh my god! I'm so sorry, let me help you with this.” You grab a set of flowers from him, and he follows you inside. “This is too much! I don’t deserve all this.” “Why would you say that? You deserve this and so much more!” He smiles wide, exposing his gums. He releases the balloons randomly as he moves through your apartment. “There,” He says, pleased with his work, “Now wherever you go, you’ll see pieces of my love.” He turns to face you with his arms held wide. You give a faint smile, tugging at the hem of your shirt, and walk over to him. “You are the sweetest man I have ever met Min Yoongi.” “What can I say? I have the best reason to be sweet right here in my arms.” he replies, hugging you tightly. You feel your shirt riding up and you pull away quickly, “Uh, let’s head out. You don’t want to be late for dinner, do you?” “Hey,” He stops you, tugging on your arm and pulling you back towards him, “I love you. You look great.” You smile at his sweet comments, wondering why he was always so good to you. You stand on your tip toes and kiss his lips softly. “Thank you. I love you too. You look much better.” He chuckles and wraps his arm around your waist. You feel your face heat when his fingers dance along your exposed skin. “Don't.” You whine, removing his hand from your side. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” “No, it's fine. Come let’s go, I don’t want to miss our reservation.” You try to perk up, leading him towards the door.

You make it to the restaurant right on time and are seated quickly. “Wow, they really went all out with the candles and rose petals huh?” You mention to Yoongi who is just staring at you from across the table. “Do you like it?” He asks. You nod, looking around again, noticing that you are both towards the back, secluded from the other patrons. “I told them it was our one-year anniversary. I wanted it to be special, so I called ahead and had them go all out.” Your eyes pop open at his confession. “Yoongi! I’m speechless. This is so amazing. I feel like I should’ve dressed up now.” “You look beautiful jagi, just the way you are.” “That’s easy for you to say. You look good in everything.” He scoffs and reaches over to grab your hand across the table. “Hey! I’m serious. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. You don’t need to be dressed all fancy or in six-inch heels to look great.” “Let’s order, shall we.” You yank your hand back. Yoongi sighs but nods. You loved Yoongi so much and he always knew exactly what to say to make you feel better, but he had to say all these things right? He was, after all, your boyfriend. Did he truly mean it all or was he just looking to reach home plate? You see you and Yoongi had been together a year now and had never once had sex. Sure, you fooled around, made out here, blow job there, or even that one time he ate you out in the mirror house at a Halloween festival.

It wasn’t that you both didn’t want to have sex, it was that you were too afraid of what he might think of you with your clothes off so you avoided it if you could. Yoongi always called you beautiful or sexy but he’s never seen you fully nude. You always fooled around with your clothes on. In the past whenever you had sex with a boyfriend, they would complain about something. “Too Heavy” One guy told you during reverse cowgirl. Needless to say, you never saw him again. Still, it bothered you, hit a nerve, made you wonder. You were, however, grateful for Yoongi, he had never pushed or forced anything. He never shamed you for wanting to keep your shirt on but there was always that fear in the back of your mind that one day you would hit his breaking point. Would tonight, be it? “Hello, Earth to jagi, do you want to order an appetizer or just skip to the meal?” Yoongi snaps you back to reality, a smile plastered across his glorious face. “Uh, just the meal please.” “Sure, whatever you want my love.” He responds, waving the waiter over. “May I take your order?” “Ladies first, jagi.” “Uh, I’ll have a Caesar Salad, no croutons with shrimp please.” Yoongi eyes you suspiciously but smiles none the less. “And for you sir.” “I’ll have the same please.” The waitress nods, taking the menus. “Wait! What? Why? Order what you normally would get…steak or pork. Why are you getting a salad?” You question. “Why are you?” He counters. You scoff and shrug, looking down briefly at your tummy. “Besides this is better jagi. More room for dessert.” He says with a sly grin.

After 10 minutes of protest, you agree to split a dessert with Yoongi. “It’s our anniversary, we have to go all out.” He whines, sliding the dessert menu to you. You pick the brownie with vanilla ice cream and Yoongi happily enjoys it with you. “This was beautiful thank you.” “You’re welcome jagi. Anything to see you smile.” He leans in and plants a kiss on your mouth. “I have another surprise back at my place.” He whispers over your lips and it sends shivers through you. “Can I play with it?” You whisper back, kissing him again. “Hmm, maybe.” You both giggle into each other’s mouths, enjoying how the world fades away when it’s just the two of you together.

“Close your eyes.” Yoongi declares after unlocking his door. You do as your told, allowing him to take your hand and lead you into his apartment. After a few steps, he tells you to open your eyes. Your jaw falls open at the sight of rose petals strewn across the floor, the coffee table decorated with LED candles. A bottle of champagne chilling over ice, accompanied by chocolate covered strawberries. There are more heart shaped balloons around his living room, and a single red rose on the couch in a white box. “Min Yoongi. I could cry.” “Tears of joy I hope.” He pouts. “I don’t deserve this. I look terrible. I didn’t get you anything. I’m a horrible girlfriend. I mean what kind of girlfriend doesn’t even buy her boyfriend a card?” “Hey, hey,” He shushes, kissing your temple, “You’re the best gift I’ve ever received. Tonight, is all about you. Not me. I just want to make you feel special because you mean so much to me.” He leads you over to the couch to take a seat with him. He hands you the box with the single rose. You look it over. “It’s beautiful.” You tell him. “Like my jagi,” He smiles, “And the best part is, its artificial, so it’ll last forever. Like my love for you.” Your head pops up from the rose to meet Yoongi’s glittering eyes. “You’re not real.” You sniffle. Yoongi leans over and kisses you gently. “Come let’s toast jagi. Champagne?” He points with raised brows. “Sure.” You giggle, shifting in your seat to try and look your slimmest. He pops the bottle, pouring two glasses. “A toast jagi, to us, and to many more anniversaries together.” He taps his glass against yours. You both sip from your glasses and place them back on the coffee table.

Yoongi grabs a chocolate covered strawberry from its container and brings it to your lips. You take a bite, licking your lips of the juices. “Allow me.” He smiles, kissing you gently, sucking on your bottom lip. You find yourself moaning into the kiss, grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer. He grabs your waist, his fingers grasping at the soft flesh that sticks out above your jeans. He moves his hand upwards, over your tummy, massaging as he makes his way up to your breasts. You moan, pulling in your tummy as best you can. Soon he tugs at your blouse, trying to pull it up. You yank back, pushing him into the couch and straddling him, sure to not apply all your weight onto his lap. You take his mouth with yours again, biting and nipping at his pout, desperately trying to distract him from touching your body. It doesn’t work, his hands are at your waist again, digging his fingers into your exposed skin. You pull away from the kiss again and look at him. “Are you ok? Do you want to stop?” He asks, looking at you with concern. “I…. maybe we can go to the bedroom?” You suggest. He nods, allowing you to tug him by the hand to his room. You push him onto the bed and shut the light, straddling him carefully once more, your mouth back on his. You swirl your tongue on his, palming his growing erection.

“Jagi, I want you so bad. You feel so good.” He whispers against your lips. “I want you too.” You whisper. He moans at your words, gripping your hips hard and pulling you closer to his throbbing hard on. “Mm, no. I, lets, switch positions.” You suggest. “I want you to ride me jagi. I want to be buried deep inside you.” You moan, feeling yourself soak your panties. Yoongi kisses at your neck, running his hand quickly up your shirt and placing his hand on your back fat. “Don’t!” You shout, jumping off of Yoongi and sitting beside him on the bed. You cover your mouth, angry at your reaction. He flicks the light on and looks you over. “What’s wrong jagi? Please just tell me. Is it me? Do you not want me touching you? We can stop. We don’t have to do anything.” “Yes, I mean, no. I don’t mind it if it’s over my shirt. I just don’t want you looking at me ok! I don’t want you to be grossed out. I’m not what you’re used to. I’m not some supermodel. Do you have any idea how long it took me to even get ready for tonight?” You whimper, holding back tears. Yoongi sits quietly, staring off, rubbing his palms against his clothed thighs.

Your mind begins racing, he’s going to leave. The one guy you’re actually crazy about is going to break up with you. You’ve ruined everything! Suddenly, Yoongi looks over at you. “I think you’re beautiful jagi. I don’t want some supermodel. I just want you.” “Why? I’m fat. I have rolls. My thighs… I look terrible.” You trail off, covering your face, allowing tears to fall. He chuckles, standing before you, reaching out for your hands. “You’re not fat. Don’t ever say that about yourself.” He tugs you towards his full-length mirror. “Yoongi, please, I don’t want to look at myself.” You attempt to protest when he stands you before it, his body flush against your backside. He rests his chin on your shoulder. He begins to whisper in your ear softly, “Just indulge me jagi.” You look up into the mirror and catch his gaze. “I love the way you part your hair, how it frames your gorgeous face. The smell, man I love that smell. It’s like sunshine and air all in one.” He breathes you in with shut eyes.

“Your eyes are the most attractive eyes I think one human vessel could ever have. They are so deep yet reflective. When I look into your eyes, I see all the complex beauty the world has to offer reflected onto me and I’m so honored.” He takes a moment to catch your eyes with his, staring at you deeply through the mirror. You feel your body heat. He soon lifts his hands and tucks your hair behind your ear, turning your head slightly. “You have the most amazing face. The way your jaw falls in perfect alignment with the rest of your features.” He plants a soft kiss on your ear. “And your neck,” He runs a finger down your neck, “soft, inviting, the way it becomes so profound with every breath you intake.” He lowers his head and plants a wet kiss on your neck. You swallow hard, a small moan escaping your lips.

He wraps his arms around your waist next, pulling you into his body. You want to protest when you feel his hand slide up your abdomen but the warmth of his skin on yours is too intoxicating. “Your skin,” He almost moans, “so soft. Even the little that you’ve allowed me to feel or kiss has been like heaven. It’s only made me crave more, wondering what being wrapped up naked with you would feel like. The warmth we could create.” The thought sends lustful shivers down your spine. “May I take this off.” He whispers, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You nod, swallowing back your apprehension as he pulls your shirt up over your head. You stand before him in your bra and watch as he removes his shirt also, his pale skin on display for you. He moves forward and presses his chest against your back. “You are so beautiful.” He praises, kissing your left shoulder, then your right one.

You spin suddenly, needing to feel his lips against yours. You dig your hand into his soft black hair, taking him into a deep kiss. The feel of his chest pressed against yours has you moaning into his mouth. You push him towards the bed and attempt to shove him onto it until he turns the table, spinning you and lying you into your back. “I'm not finished,” He pants, kissing your jaw and down your neck. He nips, kisses, and licks at your collar bone before kissing the soft flesh of your breasts. “So soft, you smell so good.” He praises, continuing to trail kisses between the valley of your breast. “Um,” You attempt to protest, lifting your hands to cover your tummy. “Don’t hide from me jagi. Please.” He begs, carefully removing your hands and planting kisses along your abdomen. “Don’t be ashamed of your body. This is what makes you beautiful. I love it and you. Every inch of you.” He explains, pressing his face against your tummy to nip and kiss at your skin. You moan out at the action, surprised at how sexy something so simple could be. He looks up at you, his lips just above the button of your jeans, “May I?” You nod frantically, your body on fire.

He grips the button of your jeans and opens it, standing to remove your shoes and then tugging the article of clothing from your person. He smiles at you, kicking his shoes off and removing his jeans now, standing before you in his boxers. “You have the most beautiful legs. So full, thick, soft. I love when they straddle me, even though I know you hold back.” He smirks, gripping at the full flesh of your thighs. You gasp out loud causing him to bite his lip. “I just want to be covered in all things you.” He kisses the inside of your left thigh. “Smothered in your scent.” He kisses the inside of the right thigh. “I love being nestle right here,” He positions your thighs on his shoulders, like he has done many times before, “Lost in the sweet aromas of you. Comforted by your soft warmth.” He presses his nose into your core now, moaning out in completely euphoria. He kisses your now soaked center through your panties, driving you mad. You make an attempt to look down but look away quickly. “Let’s shut the light.” You pant. Yoongi pops his head up and begins to trail kisses down your inner thigh, to your knee, down your calf, and onto your ankle. “Never jagi. I’m not done telling you how beautiful you are. Now, where was I, Mmm, I’ve dreamed about what it would feel like to have these gorgeous legs wrapped tightly around me. Pulling me closer to you.” He kneads at the muscles in your calves, massaging away the tension. You drop your head on the bed, indulging in how his large hands work with such ease.

“Yoongi, that feels so good.” “I’m glad. I only want to make you feel good jagi.” He says, kissing the tops of your feet. “Such pretty feet, gorgeous toes.” You yank your foot back when you feel his tongue tickle your big toe. “No way!” You giggle, catching his gummy smile when he hugs your bent legs. “I really do think you are the most beautiful woman in the world. It hurts me to see you doubt yourself.” You sigh, looking away, his eye contact too much. “This,” He rubs your thighs and then parts your legs to grip your hips and glide his hand along your abdomen, “All of this is gorgeous. It makes you unique and special. I love all of it and all of you. I am so grateful you chose me, that I get to be in your glory every day. How lucky am I jagi?” He whispers, sliding up your body and settling between your legs. He kisses you gently, swirling his tongue around yours. “You sure? I mean, you have to say all this right?” You whisper over his lips. “I’ve never been surer jagi and I would never lie to you.” He kisses you again, pulling your body close to his. “This is the only place I want to be and with the only person I want to be with.” He moans into your mouth.

You whimper, so taken by all the things he’s said, the love he’s shown you. Why have you ever doubted him? Compared him to the others? He’s never been like them. He sees past the superficial and straight through to your heart. He has always been patient and kind, always uplifting and encouraging. “Thank you for loving me.” You pull away to say. “No, thank you for letting me love you.” “Yoongi.” You mewl, kissing him harder now. You push him onto his back and straddle him, grinding down on him without holding back this time, his sweet moan your reward. He grips your hips with his large, soft hands, digging his fingers into your flesh whilst guiding you along his growing erection. You continue this way, throwing your hands back to unhook and remove your bra. Yoongi sucks in a breath when you break the kiss to toss the material to the ground and grip your full mounds. “How could you ever doubt how beautiful you are?” He lifts his back from the bed and rolls you onto yours, taking one of your perky nipples in his mouth. He rolls his tongue around the hardened bud, your back arching in response. He soon moves on to the other breast, your moans seemingly fueling him to tease you further by grinding his erection into your sopping core whilst he tugs at your nipple.

“Yoongi, please, I need you inside of me. I can’t take it anymore.” He looks up at you from the valley between your breasts, his eyes black orbs. “You sure jagi? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m ok waiting for as long as you need me to.” “I’m sure baby.” You pant. He nods gently. “I mean, I wasn’t prepared for this. I don’t have any condoms jagi. It’s ok. We can wait. I can make you feel good in other ways.” He smirks, lowering his head to your core. “No, please, I want to feel you inside me. I trust you. Just pull out. I’m on the pill.” He rises up to come face to face with you, his straining length pressing against your needy center. “Jagi. I love you so much. I just want everything to be special.” “Anything I do with you is special Yoongi. I love you so much.” You kiss him gently, pushing I’m onto his back again. He doesn’t fight you; he watches with mouth agape while you remove your panties. You tug his underwear down, freeing his weeping member. “Should I stop?” You whisper. Yoongi closes his mouth briefly, swallowing the accumulated moisture. “Only if you want to jagi.” “I don’t.” You respond lustfully, hovering your sex over his. His skin gooses beneath yours and a small moan escapes his mouth when your grip his length. You move his head through your slit slowly, gasping when he grips your hips tightly to keep himself from hitching upwards.

You finally align the head of his penis with your entrance, resting your left hand on his chest as you lower yourself onto him. You both cry out in unison at the feeling of togetherness, gazing into each other’s eyes when you bottom out. “You feel so good wrapped around me jagi. Ah, there’s nothing more perfect in this world then you.” He praises, leading you to begin moving up and down his member. He watches you intently, love and lust mixed in his eyes. You rest your other hand on his chest, picking up your pace. “I love you.” You pant, moving just your hips now, the sounds of skin against skin filling the room. “I love you jagi. You look so beautiful. I love watching you use me.” Yoongi praises, his head dropping back onto the pillow. “Uh, jagi, you feel so good. This… is better than any dream I’ve ever had of you. Ah, fuck!” He stutters, lifting his back off the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and begins to lift you up and down his rigid member. You cry out when he hitches his hips up to meet yours, hastening his pace, his shaft dragging against your swollen bud as his tip hits all your inner nerve endings. “Oh, Yoongi.” You whimper, out of breath and trembling.

Yoongi leans in, his mouth pressed against your ear, his pace never faltering. “You’re such an Angel. I’m so in love with you. I’m so grateful to be able to make love to you. You’re so beautiful, so amazing jagi. I’m so lucky. I just need one more thing from you tonight my love.” You hold him tightly, tears stinging your eyes, your core clenching tighter and tighter around him. The coil deep inside you set ablaze by his words. “Anything. I’ll give…you…anything.” You pant. He licks at the shell of your ear, kissing it softly, “Let go. Cum for me. I need to feel you cum around me.” You almost screech, your coil snapping at his sultry words, you clench down so hard he curses out loud. Before you know it, you’re on your back, Yoongi’s now sloppy pace a sure sign he’s close. “Ah, Ah, jagi. Where can I cum?” “Here.” You touch your tummy breathlessly. His eyes clench tightly and he let’s out a wild groan, pulling out suddenly. You whimper at the empty feeling, gasping soon after, watching him stroke his climax onto your abdomen. He’s out of breath and moaning unabashedly, dropping beside you when he’s done. “That was amazing jagi, you are so amazing. Let me get a towel for you. I’ll be right back.” He offers but you stop him, “Let’s just lie here for a minute.” He nods, lying back down beside you. You stare at one another for a moment. “Thank you for always lifting me up even when I can’t do it for myself.” You whisper to him, brushing his hair from his forehead. He smiles, taking your hand to his lips and kissing it. “You never have to thank me for that jagi. Maybe one day you’ll have to lift me when I’m down. Just know that you are one of the most amazing people I know and I’ll never stop telling you. No matter what happens. We're in this together jagi. I’m your biggest fan. Just let me worship you.” He kisses your forehead now, rising up to go grab a towel, leaving you feeling so loved and cherished.

[raekahwritings]

Shindo Yo: Rankings Don’t Matter (Part 1)

Pairing: Shindo Yo x Reader Rating: General Audience Word Count: 5682 Words A/N: Huge shout-out to @bezczelnyguy​ because I promised to get a work out this weekend <3 But this will have a part 2 to continue the story and ~smut~ later. Not beta-read so pardon any mistakes!  

You were simply an ordinary civilian, a quirk-less person lost in the sea of Tokyo where many pro-heroes resided. Heroes, rankings, and media were part of the everyday life here. It wasn’t uncommon to see them patrolling or to see some incident here and there.

You simply took it all in stride. Despite heroes and villains abound, it wasn’t as if you didn’t have an ordinary life, a place where you liked working, hobbies to do, and friends you could meet.

But there was one person who disrupted the normalcy you’ve always come to expect.

Hence why you were at a nondescript café that was close to work and offered a cozy atmosphere.

“I hope I’m not too forward but are you expecting somebody?” A college-age student had approached you and was gesturing to your empty seat—you gave them an apologetic smile in return. You had been sitting here for awhile by yourself, idly reading a book.

“I’m afraid so.” He looked a little disappointed at the answer. But you pointed out to a table where someone else was leaving. “I think the seat is opening up over there.” You were careful to give a small friendly smile but nothing more. He threw you a lingering glance, but you didn’t really notice since your attention was elsewhere.

How could you notice? Butterflies were jumping around in your stomach; you were nervous yourself. You tried to sip at your tea nonchalantly and conspicuously glancing at the door. Your days were ordinary… with one small exception. Shindo, Pro-Hero Grand from the neighboring agency, had taken to joining you on Sunday mornings. Granted, you had to sit through his rambling about his heroic antics, patrols, and hilarious stories of his fellow comrades. You weren’t sure when Shindo became endearing— he used to be an arrogant asshole that you wanted to take down a peg.

But you got to see past his cocky, smug façade to see the vulnerable pro-hero who was desperately trying to make top ten. You had seen him work over-time, bumping into him at the late hours of the night, and watched him try to laugh off his hard work and dark eye circles as ‘partying’. You knew better—you even sneaked him coffees at his office at those late-night hours. You used the excuse: you were in the area and had seen his office light on. Sure, most people thought he was an asshole—like Bakugo. You had seen him aggravate other heroes but in turn, help them recognize their shortcomings. You knew how preciously loyal he was to his friends.

“Miss me?” Shindo did not disappoint. He strolled through the door and dropped himself into the seat, without a word of askance and simply assumed it was for him. Which you didn’t bother correcting— he knew too well otherwise.  You rolled your eyes at his ‘grand’ entrance, sighing with faux irritation. Not that you really were irritated—Shindo was too handsome today, a black shirt and dark wash jeans fitting perfectly to his toned body.

“What if I was expecting somebody else?” You played off his words with your cultivated façade and blasé indifference. Not that it made a difference because Shindo simply smirked with roguish charm.

“Then you should’ve stopped me.” He waved the barista over, giving her a charming smile. “Darling, would you mind getting me a coffee?”

“Um..” She looked uncertain, holding her hands up in a fraught gesture. “You have to go to the counter to pay…” She nervously stuttered, unused to refusing a pro-hero and unsure.

You stood up, shoving a hand into Shindo’s smug face.  “Don’t worry, I’ll come to the counter and pay.” She looked a little more at ease now, she was clearly nervous about dealing with a pro-hero’s demands. It was good that you dealt with enough of them in your line of work that you were no longer dazzled by them. “With his money of course.” You held up Shindo’s wallet, clasped between two fingers-- Shindo looked up and down in alarm.

“What the fuck?” He looked at his empty pocket. He didn’t even know you could pickpocket, much less sneak past him—he was a pro-hero for god’s sake.

You gave him a saccharine sweet smile—“You don’t get to order the barista around like your waitress, darling.” You used his little pet-name, throwing it back at him. You flipped your hair in an exaggerated gesture, prompting Shindo to laugh despite himself. He didn’t mind sitting there alone as you chit-chatted with the barista while they made his drink. They knew you quite well since you often came during the week.

The coffee barista happily made his drink, especially as you fished out an extra five dollars as tip from Shindo’s wallet, and you leaned forward in anticipation. Smells wonderful. You always enjoyed the fresh scent of coffee. The door opened and you didn’t give it a passing glance. But maybe you should’ve.

You really should have.

Camie and Yaoyoruzu, the two prettiest pro-heroes had walked in through the door. Yaoyorozu with her huge chest and Cami with her flirtatious demeanor. Their laughter rung out in the coffee shop, all eyes turned to them and they provoked a sinking feeling that had your stomach lurching. You hoped they were just passing through. You drummed your fingers anxiously against the bar, hoping Shindo wouldn’t turn around.

But he did. Shindo looked lazily over to you and looked delicious in his seat. From the way that the two other pro-heroes turned, they also appreciated the sight. You could see Camie look coquettishly over and Yaoyorozu put on her most charming smile. And the fucking nerve, they went over to him and you could hear, “My oh my, is this seat taken?”

Shindo didn’t even get a chance to reply before Camie slid into your seat. “Well, I’m sure they wont mind if we wait here a few minutes with you?”

The way she just said that, the way she assumed no one would ‘mind’ had you taking action. You collected your drink and marched on over—the barista even giving you a sympathetic glance. “Excuse me, I think that’s my seat.” You dropped Shindo’s wallet and drink on his table, giving him a heated glare—silently signaling to him that you should’ve stopped them. It was your table that you’d been holding onto.

Camie didn’t even bother to look your way, just cooing to the male pro-hero. “My my, you’ve even got your assistant to bring you a drink? Or is she simply the help?”  Momo giggled at the demeaning statement, leaning over to teasingly snatch a sip of Shindo’s drink and murmured in a coy voice, “My, my, you like it dark and strong?” Camie even pressed a hand to the male’s arms, running her fingers lightly up his arm.

You cleared your throat loudly. “I’m not his assistant or help. I was actually the the one sitting here first so if you could kindly give me back my seat.” You look pointedly at Camie, tempted to snap your fingers in her face and see if she would deign to give you her attention.

When it was clear you weren’t leaving, she finally looked your way and gave you an eye-roll.

It only took a moment to assess you, you were no threat. “Honey, I’m a pro-hero. I need to talk some ‘business’ with Grand over here.” Her voice dripped with disdain, for you, a civilian. “Or did you want to ask for his autograph? That’s a little annoying of you, but fans are so disrespectful now.”

Momo, the creation hero, looked at you with faux-sympathy. “We are sorry to interrupt your ‘fan moment’ but as my partner said, please cooperate since we have patrols with Grand to discuss.” To make things even worse, she was still holding Shindo’s drink, her pink lipstick staining the cup. She licked her lips with obvious innuendo to Grand.

You stood there… a little in shock. They were lying to your face and it was somehow alright because they were pro-heroes? You tried to find words, trying to quell the nuclear fury rising up in you. But Momo put her arm on you, giving a gentle chastising ‘tut tut’ and pushing you gently away. “You’re looking quite emotional. As a fan, please learn to control yourself.” Your indignation shrank rapidly as people started to murmur around you—some even looking at you with a shaming look. Did they hear what happened? No, but Momo had fooled the others with a fake-sympathy look.

“Shindo, you can’t be serious?” You looked at him, he actually looked uncomfortable. Probably because he knew the truth.  Even worse, you noticed he didn’t shake off Camie or Momo. Which made your stomach drop—not only were all eyes on you but Shindo didn’t even offer a word to your defense.

I guess he’s the same as the others…

You swallowed your anger, trying not to let the sickening insecurity overwhelm you. Because, obviously. Every guy is just aiming for a beautiful pro-hero. You probably never had a chance with Shindo—he was probably passing the time with his adoring, annoying fan.

Did he ever even like you? Was he just putting up with you?

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s autograph, Grand.” You injected his pro-hero name with disgust. Hurt, heart-aching, disappointed disgust.

You turned on your heel, boots because you weren’t traipsing around in six-inch heels like Camie, and walked out. Because you were fucking mortified, being humiliated in your favorite café in front of everyone and labelled as a desperate fan.

Surprise, surprise, no one followed you.

You took a brisk walk home. You were too angry to even signal for a taxi or go onto the subway…. You weren’t sure what was gonna happen if you had a moment to stop— you’d probably cry on the goddamn subway. You rubbed your arms, trying to soothe your volatile emotions because you refused to cry in public.

You really thought Shindo was better than this. But no. You pulled out your phone to block all mentions of Shindo across your social media, to block the other pro-heroes. Because you knew if you saw mentions of any of them from today, you probably would die from embarrassment and the cringeworthy memory. For all that it was worth, this incident was gonna be tweeted in a matter of minutes and you only hoped no one would identify you.

You came home, collapsing into your bed and trying to gather yourself. You could’ve called your friends to vent—but god, you felt so stupid. You had waited in that café all morning on your day off. You had stupidly looked forward to seeing him. If you told anyone now, they would know about your crush on the hero. People would think you were the wanna-be fan that Camie and Momo had made you out to be. So you turned on Netflix, drowning out the day’s shitty feelings with numerous rom-coms. Did it make you feel better? Not by much but it helped you not to focus on the hurtful ball of anxiety burning its way through your stomach.

You eventually fell asleep. You eventually woke up and dragged yourself to work. You faked a smile to your co-workers, pretending everything was fine. Your work was done. You avoided the café like a plague. That was day one.

Day one of not seeing Shindo ever. He didn’t even know your phone number, you had always left the meetings to chance. His chance. To tell the truth, you had sat there every Saturday in hopes he would come.

You eventually made it to two weeks—but something happened that you never expected.

You ran into the barista whom you got Shindo’s coffee from. “…Y/N?” The same one that had been there. She looked down at you in the convenience store with you bent over and awkwardly trying to look at coffee grinds. You wanted to duck out and pretend you never heard her. But that was cowardly of you and that wasn’t you. So you gave her an awkward smile—“Hi.” You tried not to look embarrassed. “What brings you around here this late?”

She gave you a commiserating look. “Work ended late. How about you?” You gave her an empathetic nod, you had been putting in a lot more time than usual.

“Same.” You didn’t say much. Images flashed by, little taunts from Camie and Momo and you kept your mouth shut from sounding more like a ‘desperate fan’. She looked at her purchases, seemingly a little... nervous? Well, you were too. So you would make your excuses and leave before she thought worse of you. You gathered your items, trying not to seem in an obvious rush and making an excuse to go—

“Wait!” She blurted out. You froze. “You never come anymore. Is it because of last time?”

Oh god. You wanted to die. Even your friendly barista saw that and commented.

Who were you kidding though, everyone probably saw that.

“Well, it was really embarrassing.” You... admitted. Because this was really hard for you to talk about. “I can’t show my face around right? Everyone probably thinks the worst of me.” Even though I’m not, you wanted to say.

“Um…” She looked around, pitching her voice low. “I know it’s not my place to say but… something happened after you left. And the pro-hero you were with? He keeps coming back and I’m pretty sure he’s looking for you.”

Shindo, looking for you? A small kindle of hope flared but it was crushed nearly immediately. How much more do you want to delude yourself? You shook your head in sad denial. “Believe me, he’s not.”You were an inconsequential ‘civilian’ that was around for him to brag to. He could find those girls, a dime in a dozen, who would probably prostrate for a chance to be seen with him. You wouldn’t humiliate yourself anymore by pretending it was something more. “Thank you though. It’s..” Probably shows how pitiful I am, probably.

But the fact she came out of her way to talk to you… That was really kind of her. “….Nice to know someone noticed I wasn’t around. I hope you believe me when I say, your shop makes wonderful coffee and has wonderful employees.” You smiled, a little more genuinely than before. “I’ll miss it but I’m sure that’s why people, even Grand, comes back.”

You genuinely meant it. They were your favorite coffee place and they deserved to know it. The barista gave you a flustered look, she hadn’t expected the sudden compliment from you. “So…” You didn’t want to make the moment too heavy. “Would you tell me your coffee secret? I honestly need to know what kind of beans you use so I can buy some at home.” You gently changed the subject.

She enthusiastically gave you a recommendation and you both parted ways with a bit of a smile. Your heart weighed painfully but a little less heavy than before.

The next day, you tried to pick up the pieces of your life. You went out for lunch. You laughed a little more genuinely at a a co-workers crazy business antics. You accepted an assignment to help market another pro-hero agency, making preliminary notes on their current heroes and sidekicks.

“You want me to meet up with them now?” You looked up at your manager, a little confused. You didn’t usually handle the interview or meeting side, preferring to work on the back-end computer-crunching and paperwork when it came to marketing and deals. Your manager nodded and gave you a folder.

“This one likes a more personal and hands-on approach when it comes to their team.” What an unusual approach. You… took the folder.

“Hm. Uravity, huh?” You knew this pro-hero—she was definitely one to look out for. Everyone had said she was one of the sweetest pro-heroes around, preferring a personable approach to her business. She could make friends with even the surliest of pro-heroes  That’s how you found yourself in her office with tea and cookies; you had politely refused but she firmly believed in having delicious sweets to accompany the meeting.

Which you couldn’t resist once she shoved a plate at you. “Gosh, this dessert is fantastic.” You almost couldn’t bear to eat the deku-themed matcha pudding. She laughed as you eventually, ever-so-slowly and sadly ate it.

“Y/N, thank you for assisting us! Call me Ochaco, I look forward to working with you…” She eagerly shook your hand. You had been with her for an hour beforehand, discussing potential marketing strategies and merchandise before gathering up your documents and getting ready to go.

“I’ll send you the preliminary marketing outline by the end of the week..” You didn’t get a chance to say much more since the door opened very abruptly, slamming and startling you. Uravity—no, Ochaco didn’t seem surprised when Lord Explosion Murder, Bakugo shouted aloud, “Get this poser fucking away from me! I don’t want to work with two-face here!” The explosion hero shoved someone behind the door, someone you couldn’t see…

Ah. I should’ve left sooner.

You managed to steel yourself because you heard him before you saw him—Shindo. No, you corrected yourself, Grand. He followed Bakugo in, frustratingly trying to re-iterate his side of the story. You inched towards the door since he seemed focused on Bakugo… You tried to look engrossed into your clipboard and rush past.

“Y/N?” He looked at you incredulously. You nearly escaped without a second look but there seemed to be a brief pause in the conversation between the pro-heroes.

You mustered a tight smile. “I’m sorry but I have to head out.” You pushed past him into the hallway. “Please excuse me.”

You speed-walked to the elevator but diverted to the emergency stairwell, hoping for a moment to pull yourself together.  Shindo was as handsome as when you walked away at the coffee shop. Was it too much to hope that he magically got uglier? The low burn of humiliation still stayed at the pit of your stomach, tempered by time but still there. You could keep your composure but for how long?

Shindo abandoned his argument with Bakugo to follow you. He was a moment too late though, he tried to head for the elevator but saw no one. Damnit. He walked back to Ochaco, determined to find out why you’d been there. He had been looking for you for weeks but you hadn’t come back to the café and he never got your full name to start asking for you.

“Uravity!” She looked startled at both your sudden departure and Grand’s abrupt return. “What’s Y/N doing here?” Ochaco tilted her head in confusion. “She’s one of the civilians on our new marketing campaign.” He gestured impatiently for her to continue. “I can give you her company information and business card if you’re looking for her?”

Shindo nearly tripped over himself to get to Ochaco. “Yes.” He, with cool finesse, don’t let Bakugo tell you otherwise how he fumbled with the card—noted your information and took a picture.

You made sure to throw yourself into work for the rest of the afternoon, ignoring the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach. Shindo was a bad premonition. Like when a black cat crossed your path and mirrors would crack. You weren’t superstitious though so you tried to push it out of your mind.

Work was where you were safe and comfortable. Nothing bad will happen, you reason. So when you finally decided to call it a night much later than usual— it was already 8 pm? They would lock your building soon. You wished you could stop by the coffee store to get more work done… Like I can go back there. You tiredly tried to massage your frown away, rubbing between your eyebrows as you packed up and left. You even thought you smelled their special brew…. No, you were probably imagining things.

Right up until you saw Shindo outside your office door, holding an iced latte in his hand. You stared at him; honestly you thought you were dreaming— so you decided to slam your door shut.  

You gave yourself a moment to breathe. You had run into him earlier today so surely you were hallucinating.

“….Seriously?” You heard his muffled voice through the door.

I’m not dreaming then. You, honest to god, wondered if you could get out of the fire escape. But the likelihood of you climbing out your window and breaking your neck outweighed the nervousness and fear of opening your door, like a normal human being. Just be normal, Y/N, don’t freak out.

So you did open the door.

“Did you find the wrong person? I don’t recall having an 8 pm meeting.” You tried to be curt and short. If not... who knows what you would say?

“Uh.” Shindo was thrown off by your brusque words. Honestly, he didn’t think this one completely though. He had decided to see you, maybe catch you before you could disappear again. He’d been at the coffee shop, dropping by with a hope of seeing you. And with each casual look, with each hopeful inquiry, he realized you hadn’t stopped by since the time with Camie and Momo…

He had sat there on Sunday, hoping you wouldn’t be holding any grudges— but thirty minutes in, Shindo had left. You weren’t coming anymore.

So what though? He had sullenly stayed quiet. It wasn’t like you two were dating, it wasn’t like you two had promised anything. He had nothing to apologize for. He didn’t need to sit in a coffee shop, you didn’t help his rankings.

But he didn’t get to see your laughing face when he re-told his arguments with his fellow heroes. He didn’t get to see the fond smiles you threw his way. He didn’t get to see you standing sheepishly outside his agency with ‘extra’ coffee just the way he wanted it. Black as hell, and not your usual sweetness. He didn’t get a chance to walk you to the station.

He had seen the hurt flicker on your face, he had been at a loss for words. And the worst part was that no matter how he justified himself, he couldn’t get rid of the acrid feeling that lingered in his stomach.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I haven’t seen you since…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to put this. Shindo was rarely at a loss for words, he usually had a number of things to say. He knew what people were like and what they wanted to hear. It was just a matter of pushing the right buttons.

What every girl wants to hear. Shindo lathered on the charm a bit and held the latte for you. “I just wanted to see you. Is it a crime?” He knew the drink was one of your favorites. “It’s a hero’s dream to walk a beautiful girl home after a long day of work, hm?”  He gestured to you and the late night, holding out a hand to you. Hook, line, and sinker.

He knew he got you when you finally looked at him. When you reached out to take his hand… Now everything will be fine, you’d be happy, he’d be fine—

“Go fuck yourself, Grand.” You held up your middle finger.

Shindo was in fucking shock. Shit, if you had a camera out, you would’ve loved to take a picture. You had never seen Shindo’s mouth hang open, the delayed look as he tried to process your words. 

“Oh, I’m sorry? Maybe I should’ve told you more clearly.” You had time to think, you weren’t scared off by public shaming—not here and now. No cutesy, bitchy pro-heroes to stop you now. “I’m not one of your fangirls who’ll fall for that little line. I’m not sure why you’re here but you need to leave.”

You locked the door behind you and walked away.

Walked away from him.

“Y/N.” Shindo tried to stop you. “Why are you being so cold? I thought we were friends, I thought we had something more going on for us.”

You turned around, indignation fueling your sudden and startling courage to walk back and get into his face. You grabbed onto his shirt, pulling his infuriating face to yours. “Us? Shindo, you think I’m something more than a little fangirl who adoringly listened to your stories?” You waited a beat for his answer. “Because you made it pretty fucking clear, that’s what I am.” You both knew what happened in the coffee shop that day.

“Y/N, are you seriously mad about that? What did you want me to do? What did you want me to say?” Shindo glared down at you. What the hell did you want from him? Why were you so angry?

You laughed but it was harsh and acrimonious, to both of you.

“Oh god, is that your answer? You really think I’m just a fangirl. You come up to me, you say these sickeningly sweet lines and you think I’m just gonna fall over for you? You think I’ll follow your script? Did you come because I stopped showing up and losing one of your little worshippers?”

Shindo…. Couldn’t deny it. And you saw from the split-second look of guilt before he schooled his expression into a cajoling one. You knew because you had seen it a million times before, every-time he would face the public, every time he would get on TV. Two-faced was the right word. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve fallen his sugar-sweet words and missed the flash of guilt.

“Y/N…” Shindo knew he could get you to calm down, to soften up towards him….

“Don’t say anything Shindo. I can pretty much guess what one-liners you’re gonna feed me next.” You shook your head, a little in disbelief and a little in hurtful realization of what you’d say next. Because this was the moment, this was when you could face him honestly and get it over and done with.

“Shindo, I like you.” You could finally say it aloud. And you could feel relief wash through your chest at finally saying it. “I came every Saturday because I stupidly hoped you actually liked me and enjoyed my company.”

Shindo’s look soured. “I didn’t promise you anything and I most certainly didn’t encourage—”

“You didn’t.” You gestured to him, a melancholy look peeking through your resolute face. “You hate agendas, you hate when people lie to you, and you didn’t ask for it.” You said this as a fact, and Shindo couldn’t agree more. He despised it. You knew how much people forced things onto him and the overbearing expectations that came with being the so-called perfect hero.

“And that’s why I never said anything, I just wanted you to know that someone actually cared, that I want to listen to you and make you laugh.” The memories washed over you—you both had shared stories in the coffee store until your ribs hurt. There were hours of conversation and stories between you two. You had never asked for more— he gave all that he could give.

You barreled on. “That the heroes that everyone sees? They actually are people, and you don’t ask for people to fall in love and become, I don’t know, become crazy stalkers and shit.” He had numerous experiences with those. He had told you that he moved apartments a number of times. “That you don’t need to be this dumb Casanova everyone thinks you are and you can just be a huge dork.” You loved it when Shindo had admitted to you that ‘cool and manly’ things were kind of shit, that he had secretly made references to dumb rom-coms that you both pretended not to watch.

What little you knew; you knew for certain. “So yes. You didn’t ask for me to fall in love and I never wanted you to know. Friends was more than I could’ve asked for.” You could feel your eyes watering and you wiped it on your sleeve. You looked at him, really looked at him through a hurt smile. Shindo was letting you talk and at least for that, you were grateful you could get this mess of a confession off your chest.

“But I never thought, never thought you’d be cruel enough to let Camie and Yaoyorozu talk to me like that.” You got a little choked up and consolingly ran your hands up and down your arms. The warmth gave you courage to ask about the doubts that had been plaguing you. “What were we? Fangirl to a hero? Friends? Acquaintances?” You no longer knew. From the looks of it, Shindo didn’t know either.

“Whatever we were, I know that I didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.” Shindo looked like he wanted to find the chink in your logic, something to say—but there was no way around it.

“Y/N, that wasn’t what it looked like.” He tried to find the words, he tried to justify himself.

You genuinely wondered what Shindo had to say. “Tell me more.” Because you couldn’t see how it could be anything else.

Shindo…. Found himself grasping at straws. “I wasn’t trying to be cruel, I just didn’t think it mattered to you—“ You both heard what was unsaid. If you were ignored. Some words, even unsaid, couldn’t be taken back. “Shit, I didn’t mean It like that. I just thought you wouldn’t mind waiting. They’re pro-heroes, I can’t look bad in front of them.” Shindo said frustratedly.

“Waiting.” You nodded. “Looking bad.” You shifted the bag on your shoulder, coming to a conclusion by the way you extricated yourself from the situation. “I guess that’s that.” You brushed past him.

Shindo watched you brush by…. Watching you walk out again. Damn if he would let you leave with such an arbitrary statement— he swiveled you and caught your shoulder. “What do you mean by that?”

You gently pried his hand away. “Good luck finding someone waiting as you climb those pro-hero rankings…. Grand.” You pushed him softly back, away from you. To Shindo, this was nothing. You had little strength; it was a gentle tap at best. But damn, did it make him feel like the air got taken out of him. It left him with a dirty, gut-wrenching pit in his stomach with the finality of it. “You don’t need a civilian like me holding you back in front of all those oh-so-successful pro-heroes.”

Shindo watched you walk away from him, latte ignored, and you left the office. Because what could he say? You were right, he desperately wanted to get to the top ten pro-hero rankings and no civilian would stop him.

[brandyllyn]

War makes thieves, and peace hangs them (pt13)

Chapter 13 Frankie’s Epilogue: Wildcat introduces Frankie to a nice girl. “Nice.”

(Frankie Morales x F!Reader/OFC)(Not Wildcat)

Other chapters... My Masterlist

Word count: 4500. Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC-17 (Explicit) oral (f receiving). language. PiV sex.

A/N: This is the final part of War makes thieves, and peace hangs them - a Santiago x Wildcat!OFC fic. But this chapter can easily be read as a standalone Frankie Morales x OFC/Reader (no names used).

The bar was busier than he expected for a Thursday night. Soft music was playing over the speakers when he walked in and he tugged at the bottom of his button down as he scanned the room. He spotted the pair almost immediately, Santi and Wildcat sitting at a high table across from the bar, heads together in conversation.

Frankie grunted, not really in the mood to watch those two snuggle for the night and wondering if anyone else would be joining them. He went to the bar, propping a foot up and ordering himself a beer. He could see them in the mirror in front of him, Wildcat’s eyes on his back before she whispered something to Santi. Lord he hoped they weren’t going to propose a threesome. He wasn’t necessarily against the idea generally speaking - but he wasn’t really interested in whatever shenanigans that particular couple wanted to get up to either. When the bartender brought his beer he dropped her a twenty, told her to keep the change and smiled at her effusive thanks.

He had money now. Didn’t know where it came from. Santi had mumbled something to him about going back for the cash they left in Peru and the next thing he knew he was getting a six figure salary and a Christmas and Independence Day bonus big enough to buy a new Tesla.

But having money didn’t mean he knew what to do with it. He was still driving the same beat up truck, still living in the same crappy apartment. He thought about going in on a helicopter lease - it was amazing how quickly cash had cleared up his license review - but that was really about as rich as his plans got.

Wildcat grinned when he got close to their table and Frankie couldn’t help but grin back. She might be a hundred pounds of crazy in a ten pound sack - but she was fun and Santi was head over heels for her. She’d also saved their asses back on that op on multiple occasions. More than good enough reason to like her.

"Frankie you made it!" She called out with enough effusiveness to make him look behind himself for another Frankie. He met Santi’s eyes and the man just shrugged. Wildcat elbowed her boyfriend and then held her hands out to Frankie. "Come sit, I’ve missed you."

Frankie raised an eyebrow but did as he was told, sitting on the stool next to hers and across from Santi. "Y’all live three miles from me. You could come visit whenever."

"Sorry," she scrunched her nose at him, "with all the travel…"

Wildcat seemed to be having no issues spending her share of the money. Or Santi’s share. Frankie still wasn’t sure how that worked out but between them they had to be loaded. They were constantly off somewhere. He was pretty sure it was Europe last time, somewhere in the Aegean for a few weeks.

"Tell me what’s been going on hermano," Santi prompted. "How you been keeping busy?"

Frankie filled them on what had happened in his life since the last time he’d seen them. The only major thing was the reinstatement of his license which was met with cheers and Santi’s offer to buy the next round. As if any of them couldn’t have bought the place outright if they wanted. It was still surreal.

Frankie let his eyes wander while Santi ordered from the waitress, his gaze catching on a woman who had just walked in. Knee high boots hugged her calves and there were a good several inches from there to a flared blue skirt. He couldn’t see her front but the stretch of skin on the back of her thighs held him captive.

"You should go talk to her," Wildcat prompted and Frankie turned wide eyes on her. She was following his eyes and looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"What? No." Frankie shook his head, turning his attention back to the table. "I never have luck with that shit. Santi’s the one who can just walk up to girls and have their panties off in five flat."

"Oh really," Wildcat turned to her right where Santi was wearing a shit-eating grin. "Is that so?"

"Worked on you," he said and slipped a hand onto her thigh where he thought Frankie couldn’t see.

"Mmhmm," Wildcat muttered, turning her body slightly so Santi’s hand fell between them and the man turned to glare at Frankie.

"Narc," he grumbled and Frankie just took a sip of his beer to hide his own grin.

"She’s looking over here," Wildcat pointed out and Frankie turned before he could help it, saw the swell of her breasts under the top of the dress, the glint of silver at her neck and then she was crossing the room and heading straight for them and his brain short-circuited.

Wildcat was talking but whatever the words were they crackled like static in his ears. Then the woman was turning to him, those beautiful eyes focused on him. He knew he must look dumb, but he couldn’t stop looking at her.

"Frankie?"

She had laugh lines at the corners of her eyes. Not deep, not like his own, but they would be one day. Marks to show how often she smiled, how much joy she found in the world.

"Frankie?"

Her lips parted slightly, her tongue stroking her bottom lip and Frankie bit back a groan, his imagination running wild at the small gesture.

"Frankie."

He jerked his gaze from the woman to look at Wildcat. "What?"

Wildcat was trying to hide a grin and he saw Santi’s shoulders shaking as he turned his head into his girlfriend’s neck and whispered something to her. Frankie couldn’t hear it but caught Wildcat’s reply "Told you."

Frankie glared at the two of them before looking back at the woman. She was smiling at him, her nose crinkled. "It’s nice to meet you Frankie."

"Nice to meet you too… uh…" Fuck, he’d missed her name. But she didn’t seem to notice, just slid onto the empty stool to his left and set her bottle on the tabletop.

"Not your usual scene," she said to Wildcat and Frankie narrowed his eyes.

"You two know each other?" He asked.

Wildcat nodded, "Same line of work."

Frankie felt his eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. "You mean you’re a-"

"Liberator of excess wealth? Yes." The woman finished for him with a wink. "Not as flexible as Cat here, but I have my ways."

Frankie blinked as he thought about her being all kinds of flexible and he swallowed. But he must have done something wrong because the next thing he knew he was coughing and leaning away from Wildcat and the woman’s hands were on his back and her eyes were looking into his and fuck what was the order for breathing. In and out? The simple motion seemed beyond him.

He waved off everyone’s concern and pushed away from the table, heading for the bathroom. He wasn’t there thirty seconds before Santi pushed through the door, spotting him immediately and crossing to lean on the sink next to him.

"Pull your shit together man."

Frankie groaned. Splashing water on his face and then eyeing the even messier picture he presented than usual now that his hair was wet. "Fuck," he bit out, grabbing for a paper towel. "Is this a setup?"

Santi shrugged. "Kitten’s idea. She said her friend just moved to town. Doesn’t know anybody."

"Kitten?" Frankie gave Santi a disgusted look. "You really call her kitten? That… force of nature?"

He couldn’t have described the expression that crossed Santi’s face, but the far away look in his eyes was familiar as the man rumbled, "You’ve obviously never heard her purr."

"Oh for fuck’s sake," Frankie pushed past him and out of the bathroom, halting when he saw Wildcat and the woman leaning across the table in deep conversation.

Santi clapped him on the shoulder. "It’ll be fine, just be yourself."

Just be yourself. Easy when you were Santiago fucking Pope Garcia. Harder when you were Frankie goddammit Catfish Morales - forty years and a drug bust under your belt and the only thing to show from life a streak of moderate luck that had landed him with one dead friend and some cash.

But fuck it, he was going to try. At minimum, he could hold himself together long enough to make decent conversation. He could do that. He could.

"So what do you do?" She asked and he smiled at her. See? Perfectly normal behavior.

"I’m a pilot. Helicopters."

Her eyes brightened, "Oh really? I’ve never actually been up in a helicopter. Managed all kinds of other things, but never that."

"Really," he asked, his smile turning into a grin. "Well I’ll have to take you up sometime."

She seemed genuinely interested, asking him questions about how a helo worked and he scavenged sets of things from the surrounding tables to make a mockup of a cockpit.

"So this lever here, it’s the cyclic controls."

"The joystick?"

Frankie smiled, "Sure. It changes the angle of the blades, which controls movement on the x and z axis, left and right, forward and back. This one," he pointed at the toothpick he’d laid to the left of the cocktail glass 'seat', "is the collective. It’s mostly for up and down." She nodded and he pointed at the two olive pits in front of the glass. "And the pedals control the turn… the… spin. Which direction the helo is oriented."

She pointed at the three controls. "So this one, the cyclic, controls pitch and roll. The collective moves you up and down the y-axis, and the petals control yaw?"

Frankie froze, looking at her. "How do you know those terms?"

"I dated a pilot before, just the fixed-wing kind." She hid a grin in her glass. "He told me helicopter pilots were crazy, but I did learn a bit. Did I get it right?"

"Yeah, you’re basically right," Frankie pushed his hair back. "I’ve had to simplify it a bit because the controls do different things in a hover than when you’re moving - but that’s basically it."

She bit her lip when she grinned at him and Frankie was falling deep into her spell when he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, we’re getting out of here," Santi said. Wildcat smiled at him and then leaned forward to hug the woman. "Good luck," Santi whispered as he gave Frankie a hug.

"Wait," the woman spun on her stool. "I took a cab here because you said you’d give me a ride home."

"I can do that," Frankie offered immediately, then blushed when she turned back to him. "I mean, if you need a ride I can do that."

Wildcat winked at him and then Santi was dragging her out of the bar and Frankie would bet every dime of money he had that those two fucked in the parking lot.

"Okay," the woman turned her attention back to him. "Tell me more about the rotor on the tail. I’m confused."

Frankie did so gladly, even going so far as to raid the bar for swizzle sticks so he could show the aeronautics of the different rotor blade positions. She seemed happy to listen to him, asking good questions and leaning in close enough that he could look down and see the color of her bra in the gap of her dress.

Not that he was looking.

But the bar had to close eventually, and he’d run out of cash to slip to the waitress to let them stay longer. He thought about putting a hand on the woman’s back when they walked out but changed his mind at the last minute, although he did make a point of opening the truck door for her. She gave him her address when he got in and he pulled it up on his phone and set it up against the dashboard.

"Is it out of your way?" she asked.

"Not too far," he replied, wishing he had a newer truck to impress her with.

"Have you lived there long?"

"Couple of years," he grunted, eyeing the street before he pulled out into the lane. She was silent for a moment.

"Where did you live before that?"

"Here and there," he was trying to concentrate on the road and not how good she looked on the bench seat across from him. When he reached for the gear shift her thigh was only a few inches away. Close enough to rest his palm on bare skin if he wanted, if he thought it was welcome. But now she was texting on her phone, not paying attention to him.

"This it?" He asked, pulling up to a small walled garden. The gate was up a few stairs from the sidewalk but he couldn’t see the house past it.

"Yeah," she said, looking out the window. She paused for a minute, not getting out.

"Have a good night," Frankie muttered.

He thought he heard her sigh but she opened the door, closing it and giving a little wave before disappearing through the gate.

Frankie dropped his head to the steering wheel, hands clutching the leather wrap. He pulled his hat out from behind the seat and pulled it on, grateful for the familiarity. Then his phone vibrated in his pocket and he dug it out, turning the ignition with his other hand. It was Wildcat.

W: Frankie what are you doing???

Frankie sat back in his seat, typing out his reply.

F: Im dropping ur friend off.

W: I know THAT. Why didn’t you make a move??

F: She’s not interested. Been texting someone whole drive.

W: She was texting ME you moron. She thinks you’re hot but you ignored her??? WTH man.

Frankie’s jaw dropped and he glanced back at the gate.

F: For real? Ur not shitting me?

W: 100% for real. Go get her tiger.

Frankie turned the ignition back, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair for a second before replacing it. Then he stepped out of the truck and threw the hat inside. Considering how the last night had gone with the damn thing he didn’t want any of its bad mojo around. His phone buzzed.

W: Hey, remember that talk we had back in the jungle….?

Frankie groaned and tucked the phone away. Did he remember? It was all he thought about anymore. Jerking off in his bed while he imagined a woman’s voice telling him exactly how hard or fast to stroke himself. Did Wildcat mean that…?

The gate wasn’t locked, the other side a large overgrown garden. He could hear the bubble of water and passed a small pond with koi in it. A black and white cat was stretched across a rock nearby and gave him a dubious look. He tipped his hat to it, or tried too anyway. He ended up pulling on a lock of hair instead before he arrived on a cozy front porch. Taking a deep breath he knocked.

She looked confused when she opened the door, one eyebrow raised, but then smiled when she saw him. Frankie felt a knot of anxiety loosen in his chest.

"I, uh, I realized I didn’t say a proper goodnight," he said.

She looked at him for a minute, biting her lip, before she backed away a step, swinging the door wider. "Would you like to come in?"

He nodded, stepping past her. The house was cozy, plush furniture in deep jewel tones. Next to the door was a pile of shoes and he toed his boots off without prompting before he followed her into a large kitchen. Copper pots hung from the ceiling over the island and she crouched down for a second before coming back with a bottle of dark amber liquid.

"Scotch?"

He nodded and she passed him the bottle while she rummaged for glasses. He glanced at it and then did a double take. Fuck this shit was older than he was.

"Here," she said, handing a glass to him and taking the bottle back. She poured them each a finger’s worth before holding her glass out. "Sláinte?"

He repeated the word, clinking his glass to hers before taking a careful sip. It slid down his throat like butter and he moaned. "Fuck that’s good."

She smiled back and nodded her head to the living room, "Can I give you the tour?"

Frankie nodded and followed her. Nodding at appropriate times when she showed him the main room, the study, a guest bedroom and bathrooms, and then led him into her bedroom. The bed was enormous, one of those king sizes with a state name in front of it. The damn thing looked eight foot square.

"And of course," she was saying, her toes sliding on the carpet as she spun in place, "the master."

Frankie nodded, trying to look anywhere but at that big bed. "It’s nice."

"It is," she replied, setting her drink on a low bookcase near the door. He remained frozen in place as she wandered through the room, turning on a small light near the bed and tossing a couple of decorative pillows onto a nearby chair.

"Frankie?"

"Yeah?" he replied immediately.

"Get on the bed."

Oh thank God, he thought, sinking to sit at the foot of the large mattress, scotch dangling from three fingers. She sauntered toward him, skirt swaying at her hips and gently took his drink from him, taking a sip before turning away to set it beside hers.

"I’ve been wondering what you look like under that shirt all night. Would you mind?"

Frankie’s fingers had the top three buttons undone and the shirt over his head before she even finished the sentence. He sat there, watching her watch him, her tongue coming out to stroke her bottom lip. Before he could think of what to say she reached down and lifted the edge of her skirt, pulling her dress off in one motion and leaving her in a matching set of black underwear. The damn things were see-through, some kind of sheer fabric with little birds? flowers? embroidered on them that covered up absolutely nothing. He could see the darker skin of her nipples, cupped on one side by what yes on further examination was definitely a bird. He could tell because she was much closer now. Close enough to reach out and card her fingers into his hair.

He moaned, didn’t bother to hide it, leaning in to the touch of her hands and raising his own to rest on her hips. Parting his thighs so she could stand between them and her breasts were right there. When she breathed her nipple brushed across his lips and he pulled it into his mouth, sheer fabric and all. Felt the roughness of the material against his tongue when he stroked her. She made a pleased little noise, raking her nails on his scalp and he shuddered. His hands moved down to cup her ass, grabbing handfuls of her and jerking her body towards him.

She laughed, a pleasant giggle that made him smile in response - until he set his teeth against her sensitive skin and her giggle turned into a soft gasp. So he did it again, and again, moving from one breast to the other. He lifted his hands to cup her, to weigh the perfect orbs in his palms and look up at her.

Oh please let Wildcat be right. "What do you want?"

"I want you to lay me out on this bed and use your tongue on me until I come," she was looking directly into his eyes when she said it and he felt the world shift on its axis. "I want you to lick me and fuck me with your fingers and the very moment I come unravelled for you I want you to fuck me." Frankie could hear bells distantly, his own blood rushing in his ears nearly drowning it out. "Fuck me through it and keep fucking me until I come again. Is that okay with you?"

Was that okay? "Fuck yeah," he growled, guiding her down onto the bed next to him. "That sounds great."

She moved away from him, that perfect curved body stretching out back into the pillows. He followed, stalking her up the sheets and wedging his shoulder between her thighs. He realized his mistake immediately, pulling away to quickly pull the barely there panties from her and then pressing his face into the heat of her. Fucking hell she was wet, and the moment he thrust his tongue through her he moaned. She tasted great as well. What the fuck had he done to deserve this?

Her fingers were in his hair again, tugging him into her and he went willingly, licking at the slickness that was coating her, nuzzling his face into her. She pulled him upwards and he followed, latching his mouth on to her clit and sucking.

"Mmph," she pushed him away, "too much, softer."

He nodded, looking up at her, the curves of her stomach and breasts. He kissed her clit more gently, flattening his tongue and giving it long slow licks.

"Oh yeah," she sighed, "that’s it Frankie."

He could come from the sound and taste of her alone. She was vocal, praising him, guiding him. Telling him harder, faster, or just like that. And when she gasped out "More," he knew just what she needed, sliding a hand under his chin and pressing two fingers deep inside of her. She arched off the bed and he reached up with his free hand and grabbed her breast, massaging it and then plucking at the nipple.

"Fuck Frankie, yes." Her hips were rocking into his mouth, her hands holding him steady and he tried again, sucking her clit lightly and thrusting his fingers into her.

She came undone. Fingers pulling at his hair, body twisting underneath him. He pushed her through it, licking and sucking on her clit, fingers inside her and on her. Until she gasped out "Frankie!" in a pleading tone and he remembered.

He pulled away fast, cursing as he kicked off his pants and underwear and hastily pulled a condom on. He was over her within seconds, slowly easing inside of her quivering cunt. Her hands were on him immediately, grasping his ass and pulling him down while she arched her hips up.

"Fuck me," she ordered and he followed willingly, thrusting inside her with hard snaps of his hips and he could see her eyes roll back, her neck arch. "Oh fuck yes," she moaned, her nails digging into his ass, "yes that. Oh fuck Frankie."

His cock seemed to be drawing her orgasm out longer and he groaned, shifting his knees to get a better angle where he could go faster and deeper. She cried out, the wordless noise telling him he had done something right. He fucked her until her body sank back into the mattress, until she reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead and smiled at him. He slowed down then, settling into a gentler rhythm, drawing out pleased little gasps from that gorgeous mouth.

"What do you need?" He growled into her ear.

She pushed his shoulders and he sat back on his knees, helping her when she sat up and straddled him. He quickly divested her of her bra, tossing it God only knew where across the room. Her hands were behind his neck, holding his forehead to hers while she rode him.

He was panting. The clench of her muscles, the sight of her in his lap - it was too much and not enough all at once. "Fuck you’re amazing," the words left his mouth before he could think about them but he was rewarded with a hard squeeze of her cunt that made him see stars.

"You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself Frankie."

Fucking hell, he’d buy this woman the world if she asked him to. In the meantime, what she had asked for was a second orgasm and he was eager to get started on that. He lifted her up, not losing the connection between his cock and her cunt, but settling her higher so he could suck one of her bare nipples into his mouth. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his head, resting her cheek on his hair.

He fucked her slowly, grinding his hips into hers. Stroking his hands up and down her back and gently playing with her body. He noticed how she shuddered when he ran his fingers down her neck so he followed the path with his tongue, delighted to hear the low moan that fell from her lips. She kissed him, gently, like a lover. Their first kiss, he vaguely noted. He could get lost in her - the taste of her, the slide of her body on his cock.

And then she had his hand in hers, guiding it downwards and showing him precisely where and how she wanted to be touched. It was a gift, one he took with great care. Listening intently to the changes of her breathing, the breathy moans as she praised him, cursed him, kissed him.

She arched away from him and he could see down between them, where his cock disappeared between her thighs. Her slick heat coating him. He groaned, burying his mouth in her shoulder and moving his fingers more roughly. His control was hanging on by a thread and he started praying to whatever saint granted sex requests that she would just…

His name was ripped from her when she came, her body convulsing in his arms and he let go. Pumping into her two, three more times before he felt his own release flood over him. He covered her mouth with his, sharing his breath with hers as they both rode out their peaks. His body felt sensitive to her slightest touch, his brain shuddering inside his head, hell even his fucking toenails were shivering.

He laid them down gently as it passed, holding her body close as she did the same. He could feel the after-effects of their orgasms wracking them both and fuck if he wasn’t going send Wildcat a fucking fruit basket tomorrow.

"You okay?" He asked after a minute and then immediately kicked himself. There was no reason to think she’d been as blown apart by that as he was. This was probably a normal weeknight for her.

"I’m better than fucking okay Frankie," she said instead, curling in to his body. "That was…"

"Amazing," he finished for her and grinned when he felt her nod. He ran his hand down her back. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Only if you want to." She sounded a little hesitant, far from the woman who had ordered him to her fuck her not an hour ago.

"I want to," he reassured her, pulling her closer into his side and kissing her temple. "I really want to."

When he sent the fruit basket he’d have to be sure to get her name from Wildcat. When he eventually married this woman it was something he was going to need.

[nikki-writes-stuff]

Chaser - Part One

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader, Gang Leader!Din Djarin x Bartender!Reader 

Summary: No one knows his name, and no one knows his face, but the man who leads one of the most powerful gangs in New York from behind an infamous mask is still feared throughout the city. You, on the other hand, are just a waitress at the club he owns, someone who’s only just barely dipped her toe into the treacherous water of New York’s underworld. But that doesn’t stop your boss from taking a liking to you, and if you weren’t so terrified of all that his attentions could mean for you, maybe you would notice that fear isn’t the only emotion your employer stirs up within you. 

A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope y’all enjoy this - the very first part to the very first fic I’ve ever written about The Mandalorian! Any and all feedback is appreciated - this is my first time writing for Din Djarinn, and even though my love for him is as deep and powerful as the Mississippi, I had some trouble finding his vibe while I was writing this. Let me know if I’m on the right track! (Also, if your name happens to be Rachelle, I apologize in advance. Please just...skip over a certain couple of lines in this story. You’ll know what I’m talking about towards the end.)

You could feel the throbbing of a quick, staccato bassline in your chest; you always could while you were working. The Boss liked the keep the music loud, and for good reason. It was the same reason why smoking was not only permitted but actively encouraged – the thick smoke and thumping music made it all the more difficult to hear and to see what happened in the dark corners of Club Razor Crest. Here, there were only two rules – don’t start shit, and keep your mask on. As long as they followed those two basic principles, the Boss’s patrons were welcome to conduct whatever business they saw fit in the crushed velvet booths and intentionally shadowed halls of his underworld playground.

With the tips of your red, glossy fingernails, you adjusted your mask now, pulling the plastic away from your heated skin by just a centimeter or two. You could have groaned from how good it felt to have cool, fresh air rush in to caress your sweaty forehead; after a week of working at the club, you’d definitely learned why anonymity was so important in a place like this, but you still dreaded putting the blasted thing on in the evenings before your shift.

Greta, one of the other girls who worked there, strutted past you, looking light as a feather as she waltzed around in her eight-inch heels with a tray of drinks balanced above her head. You, by contrast, knew that you had to look as clumsy as a newborn deer in your own stilettos; just like the mask, they were a mandatory part of your uniform that you still hadn’t gotten used to, and though Greta and the other girls had promised you that the constant pain in your feet would soon start to fade, your soles still ached painfully with every shift of your weight.

“Mask on,” your coworker whispered to you in passing. “Boss is here.”

You’d been just about to explain that you weren’t taking it off, that you’d just needed some air, but the words died on your lips when you heard the last part of her warning. Your spine straightened of its own accord, and the hand on your mask promptly fell down to hang by your waist. Scanning the space, you tried to make out the infamous man you’d heard so much about through the dim lighting and hazy air.

“Where?” you asked, but either she ignored you or just didn’t hear, because she kept on walking to her table without sparing you so much as another glance.

You gulped before stiffly making your way to the bar, slipping past the ‘Employees Only’ gate before gathering together the four glasses you’d need for your table’s order. You let your hands and body go on autopilot as you set about assembling their drinks; typically, the waitresses would just drop off their order slips to one of the bartenders and wait for them to make it, but you’d mentioned at your job interview that you had some bartending experience and didn’t mind helping out with the cocktail mixing.

From there, the head bartender, Quill, had sat at the bar and watched you make him an old fashioned right in the middle of your interview. With trembling hands, you’d done so, feeling the older man’s eyes on you all the while as he stroked his bushy white mustache. After one sip of it, he’d nodded his head, and you’d felt relief wash through you as he threw back the rest of the drink.

“You start on Monday,” was all he’d said.

Now, as you grabbed some triple sec from the top shelf, you caught a glimpse of him watching you out of the corner of your eye, and you turned to give him a smile. Quill had been working at Club Razor Crest for as long as anyone could remember, and he was the only person inside the building who didn’t wear a mask; evidently, him and the owner went way back. He was quiet – gruff, even – but for some reason you liked the grumpy older man. And, if you were correctly reading the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you from behind his thick, bushy white eyebrows, you thought that he’d taken a liking to you, too. Or, at least, to your old-fashioneds.

“How’s it going, Quill?” you asked, focusing once again on the long island iced tea you were making. “Busy night?”

You were expecting nothing more than a grunt in response; that was all most people got from him, and ever since he’d hired you, you hadn’t heard anything else, either. But instead, he opened his mouth to speak, only talking loud enough for you to just barely be able to hear him over the music.

“After you finish those drinks, leave ‘em here,” he instructed. “Boss just arrived with some of his friends, and he requested you to serve ‘em.”

You nearly dropped the bottle of rum in your hands, one that was worth more than an entire week’s worth of pay, and your hands scrambled to get a firmer grip on it. Shakily setting it down on the counter, you turned to Quill with wide eyes, your lips parted in shock.

“The Boss requested me to serve them?” Your voice was so high-pitched that it cracked as you said ‘me’, and you cleared your throat before trying once again. “Why does he want me? I’ve never even met him before.”

At that, Quill let out a sigh and turned to you, pursing his lips together until they almost disappeared under his large, unkempt mustache.

“…He likes old-fashioneds,” he shrugged, the corner of his lips jumping up so quickly that you almost missed the half-smile he’d given you. That would have been enough to perturb you for the rest of the evening; you hadn’t seen him smile at anyone after an entire week of working there – not even customers. But, as it was, nothing could cool the anxiety welling up in you as you finished making the rest of your drinks.

“I wonder where he heard about them,” you remarked, and you thought you caught Quill glance at you sheepishly in your peripheral vision.

Your eyes flitted over the room, looking for his booth; someone had said something to you on your first day about the table he kept reserved for himself and his ‘guests’, but you’d forgotten its location completely after the whirlwind of your first day at this new, bizarre job.

After finishing the four drinks and setting them on a tray, you turned towards Quill to ask where the Boss would be sitting. But, an idea stirred in your mind, and on impulse you grabbed a small glass before scanning the selection of bourbons and whiskeys the bar had to offer. Biting your lip, you felt eyes on the back of your head as you perused the different brands, but after settling on a good blend of the two, you turned around to find no one looking at you. Quill was busy taking some drunk guy’s order, and the other patrons at the bar were too busy with their own drinks or conversations to pay you any mind.

With a sigh, you shook off the strange feeling and assembled the rest of what you’d need for an old fashioned, hands moving on autopilot as you heard your dad’s voice in your ear. Make sure you only use enough bitters to saturate the sugar, you recalled him teaching you. Between four and six dashes should do the trick unless someone requests something different. Mix it with the sugar until it forms a slurry, and always add the ice in large chunks so it doesn’t get too watered down. Never overmix it once you add the spirits, just a few stirs before putting in a strip of lemon and orange peel.

Your fingers felt sticky as you snapped the citrus peels in half, spraying just a hint of their sweet oils overtop of the cocktail before rubbing them over the glass’s rim. After dropping them into the drink and mixing it one more time, you turned to see Quill watching you with one eyebrow raised.

“What? You said he likes old-fashioneds,” you shrugged. “Um… could you point me in the direction of his booth?”

Once more, he pursed his lips before pointing towards the far right corner of the room.

“It’s the only circular booth we have,” you heard him mutter as you walked away. “Can’t miss it.”

Making sure to thank him over your shoulder, you straightened your back and made your way through the main room of the club. There wasn’t any dancefloor, nor was there a DJ, but in the center of the space, there was a large, ornate fountain. Water no longer ran through it, but fairy lights had been wrapped around its tall structure, throwing shadows and low, scattered light around the entire room. Tables were centered around it, but typically only the low-ranking or occasional civilian patrons sat at them; the booths were almost always occupied by those who had a deal to make, those who had private (which almost always meant dangerous) matters to discuss, or those who were doing something that was, nine times out of ten, incredibly illegal. You’d walked by tables covered in lines of white powder before, their occupants knowing better than to worry about someone seeing and stopping them.

So long as no fights broke out and everyone stayed anonymous, everyone kept to their own business, and the paycheck was too good for you to worry about the moral connotations of working in such a place. No one had so much as laid a finger on you, and no one would, not while you were under the employment of the infamous leader of the Mandalorians.

After rounding the other side of the fountain, you finally saw the booth Quill had been talking about. It was raised up on a small platform, just high enough to be able to see the rest of the club clearly. Its table was, indeed, in the shape of a circle, and a large booth wrapped around three quarters of its diameter. Seated at it were four men and one woman; three of the men and she were wearing masks similar to your own, but while yours only covered your forehead and the upper half of your nose, theirs descended down their cheeks to their jawline,  covering the entirety of their face except for their mouths and chins.

As it was, you would have found them extremely intimidating, but now, you didn’t even spare them a second glance. Because your eyes were fixed firmly on the Boss, and you were certain that you could feel his fixed onto you.

No one had told you that his mask covered his entire head, and as you stood there, in shock, you wondered why the fuck no one had thought to warn you about it before. It looked as if it were made out of thin but quality plastic, and various scratches and scrapes covered its grey surface. A voice in the back of your mind whispered that it looked like the goth version of Jim Carrey from The Mask, and you had to fight down a manic giggle as your eyes followed the bottom edge of it, which ran along his jawline, below his ears, and then, presumably, around the back of his head right below his hairline.

The front of the mask was what threw you off the most, though. Instead of having any features carved into it to simulate where a mouth or nose should be, there was only a T-shaped panel of what looked to be black glass. Or was it tinted clear plastic? You felt yourself lean forward, unconsciously squinting to see if you could make out any features beneath it.

You heard someone close by clear their throat, and heat flooded your cheeks as you suddenly realized that you’d been standing there for God-knows how long, just staring at one of the most powerful men in the city. No, staring at his mask.

“I-I,” you stammered, looking down at the floor in horror. It was then that you saw the glass that you were still holding, and you sucked in a breath before looking up again.

“Sorry about that, sir,” you apologized, clearing your throat. You leaned forward, setting the drink down in the center of the table. “Quill mentioned that you liked old-fashioneds, so I took the liberty of-“

You cut yourself off, eyes widening as you realized your second mistake. You looked down at the drink and then up to the Boss’s mask, right at where his mouth would be if he weren’t wearing something that covered it completely. Therefore making it impossible to drink what you’d just offered him.

The horror from just a moment ago paled in comparison to what you felt now as you watched him slowly reach forward, the leather of his black gloves squeaking as he picked up the drink you’d brought for him. His head tilted to the side as he examined it, twisting the glass around between his fingers before setting it down again.

“Lemon and orange, huh?”

You jumped when you heard the voice that came from inside the mask; it was clearer than you’d expected it to sound, but it also had a filtered edge to it. Your guess what that there was some sort of microphone-like device inside of it that projected his voice so it wouldn’t be muffled while he spoke.

“U-um, yes sir,” you nodded, lacing your fingers together and resisting the nervous urge to wring your hands. “That’s how my father taught me how to make them. It adds more of a refreshing aftertaste. Or so I’ve found.”

He let out a short hum, pushing the glass towards the woman seated beside him.

“Was her father right?”

You saw her eyebrows jump up under her mask, but without hesitation she did as instructed, taking a sip of the amber cocktail. Without realizing it, you held your breath as she swallowed, running her tongue along the front of her teeth for a moment as she studied the aftertaste.

“It’s good,” she decided after a moment. “Actually, hold on. That’s really good. Damn. Don’t tell Quill, but I like yours even better than his.”

Relief surged through you, and a smile came to your lips as you let the air rush out of your lungs.

“I promise not to tell him; thank you very much, ma’am,” you nodded, jolting when she let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Ma’am? Pfft.” She turned to the Boss, nudging her shoulder against his as she drained the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Hear that, Mando? She called me ma’am.”

“A decision I’m sure she won’t make again,” he remarked dryly, not even turning towards her as she placed the empty glass at the edge of the table.

“Well. Either way, if you can do that with a drink I don’t even usually like, I’d love to see what you can do with a long island,” the woman grinned. “Think you can do that for me?”

“I actually just made one a few minutes ago,” you informed her; under normal circumstances, you would have felt offended by her question, but something in her smile told you that she didn’t mean it seriously. “What can I get for the rest of you guys?”

From there, you tried your best to recover gracefully from your little bout of foot-in-mouth syndrome. Pulling your small notebook out of the hidden pocket in your dress, you wrote down the rest of their drink orders, noticing that two of the men asked for old-fashioneds. From there, the last of the Boss’s party ordered a whiskey sour, and when you’d turned to ask if he’d like anything as well, he’d simply shaken his head no.

After letting them know you’d be back in just a few minutes, you turned and all but fled to the bar, hands balled up into fists as you approached Quill from behind.

“Why would you tell me,” you demanded, “that he requested me because he wanted to try one of my old-fashioneds if he can’t even drink with that mask on?! Why did you just let me bring that drink over, like an enormous buffoon-“

The older bartender turned around to face you, and you took a step backwards when you saw the wide grin stretched across his face. His shoulders were shaking with barely-controlled laughter, and you watched, stunned, as he fought to gain control over his expression again.

“You were the one who assumed that he wanted to try your drink,” he corrected you, busying himself with salting the rim of a margherita glass. “I never said anything like that, just that he enjoyed them.”

You sputtered in disbelief, throwing your hands up in exasperation before starting on your drink orders.

“So it was just some kind of hazing thing, then, was it?” you asked, not able to deny that you felt a twinge of fondness stir in you after seeing his typical stoic demeanor slip.

Quill snorted, cutting his eyes over to you as you worked side by side with him.

“You think I’d bother with that sorta thing?” You turned to see him watching you with amusement still glittering in his eyes. “Just needed some entertainment to get through the rest of this shift.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you shook your head with a chuckle before returning to the whiskey sour starting to take shape in front of you.

“Well, laugh it up, cuz I’ll have you know I looked like a complete idiot in front of him.”

“I promise you he’s used to that, kid. Don’t worry about it; as long as you get your work done, he won’t pay you a second glance.”

Feeling mildly comforted by his words, you started on the woman’s drink, eyes darting up towards his table. Now that you knew where it was, you could just barely make out the flash of his shiny helmet through the smoke that had settled around the room. Goosebumps ran up and down your arms as, once again, you felt as if you were being watched, and you hastily turned your attention back to drink making.

When all four of them were assembled, you placed them on a tray before stepping out onto the floor once more. You were hyper-aware of the drinks as you balanced them while you walked, and you kept your eyes fixed on only your tray and the ground in front of you. You were not going to spill any of them; you’d already made enough of a fool of yourself, and you were determined not to add a third strike to your record with the Boss.

And, so, you didn’t catch the way his mask had followed your every movement as you crossed towards his table, nor did you notice the knowing smirk the woman beside him was wearing as she glanced between the two of you. You were blissfully unaware of any undue attention to yourself as you passed out each of the drinks respectively before tucking your tray under your arm and turning to the table with a smile.

“Can I get anything else for you guys?” You kept your tone light and friendly, even though you were mentally begging them to not need anything else.

“Just send Quill over; tell him I need to speak with him,” the Boss said. “Cover the bar for him until he gets back.”

“Yes, sir,” you hurriedly assured him.

Biting your lip, you hurried back to the bar and relayed the message to Quill, who just rolled his eyes and set down the glass he’d been polishing.

“Why he can’t walk over on his own two legs is beyond me,” you heard him grumble under his breath.

From there, the rest of your shift went by pretty normally; you made drinks and polished glasses until Quill came back to the bar a few minutes later, once more only answering you with grunts and noncommittal shrugs. He’d waved you off after you’d asked what he wanted, telling you to return to your section but to keep your eyes on the Boss’s table in case they needed anything.

Which they hadn’t. After returning to take their glasses, they’d declined your offer to get them any refills, and when you went to check on them ten minutes after that, they were gone. From there, you only had an hour left until your shift ended at its usual time – 3:30 am. You could have hugged the girl from the morning shift who came to relieve you – as it was, you’d thanked her so profusely for taking over your section that she’d looked worried for you.

“Um… Have a rough night?” she’d asked, eyebrows pinching together under her mask.

“You have no idea,” you sighed, heading towards the back room. “See you around!”

But your walk to the back came to an abrupt halt when Quill called you over, having to shout your name twice before you heard him over the music. Frowning, you walked over to him, leaning against the bar.

“What’s up?”

“Boss wants you to bring an old fashioned to his office,” he grunted, wiping his hands off on a towel. “Something about not getting to try the last one you made.”

You felt the color drain from your face, and you gulped, nodding quickly before making your way around to the other side of the bar.

“Um… Well, I was just about to go home; it was the end of my shift five minutes ago. Could I ask someone else to bring it to him?”

“Boss asked for you specifically,” he shrugged. “It’s on you if you wanna go against his request.”

Well. Shit. You’d made mistakes in your time, but you couldn’t see yourself ever being dumb enough to deny the kingpin of, arguably, the most powerful gang in Brooklyn.

“I…see. Um. Where exactly is his office?”

“Smart choice.”

After making your thousandth old fashioned of the evening, Quill gave you instructions to the office, and though you were still a bit lost on what to do at the end of the third hallway he mentioned, you had a pretty good idea as to where it was located. And so you set out, holding the drink in a white-knuckled fist as you made your way through the twists and turns of the old building.

A few minutes of wandering later found you standing in front of a door made out of solid, dark wood, and a bronze plaque on its surface read Management – Please knock.

“Well,” you whispered under your breath, “here goes nothing.”

You raised your hand and rapped your knuckles against the door, trying to stamp down the butterflies in your gut as you waited for a response. Several seconds passed by, and you bit your lip as you looked around the hallway you were in; the door to the Boss’s office was the only one on this short hallway, but someone had taken the time to put a potted plant next to the door. You smiled, reaching out with one of your fingers to brush against one of its leaves, and it was in that moment that the door rushed open.

You snatched your hand back, as if the plant had burned you, and looked up to see the Boss standing on its other side. After swallowing thickly, you plastered a smile on your face and straightened your posture.

“Hello, sir,” you greeted, holding out his drink. “I brought that old fashioned for you.”

Without a word, the masked man turned on his heel and walked back into the room, gesturing for you to follow him inside.

“Close the door on the way in.”

You paused, heart pounding as you took a step into his office; the two of you were the only ones there. Glancing behind you to the door, your eyes lingered for a second on its handle, wondering what the smartest thing to do here was. If you said no, then he could do so much worse than just fire you. But if you did as he said, well… Anything could happen to you behind that closed door, and how likely was it that the loud club outside would be able to hear you scream?

“Jesus Christ, I’m not gonna shoot you.”

You jumped so hard that you almost spilled his drink, but hearing his voice spurred you to quickly grab the handle and shut the door without another moment’s thought. You turned back to face him the same moment it slammed shut with a bang, and you winced at how loud of a sound it made.

Smooth.

“S-sorry, sir,” you stuttered, hesitantly walking towards him. You held out the glass, looking up at where you hoped his eyes were beneath his helmet. “I hope it lives up to the hype. The drink, that is.”

His shoulders twitched upwards with a short huff of laughter before taking the glass from your hand, the tips of his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You felt heat rise in your cheeks as your eyes fell from his mask, taking in for the first time what he was wearing.

In the low light of the club, you’d thought his suit was black, but now you could see that it was actually a dark forest green instead. The button-down shirt beneath it was white, and the top two buttons of it were undone, showing off a patch of tan skin just below his collarbone. For some second, your eyes lingered on it, inexplicably fascinated by the only bit of skin visible on the man in front of you.

Directly behind the Boss was a large desk cluttered with notebooks, folders, and stacks of various papers and envelopes, and you watched as your employer cleared off a small space to set his glass down on. You were finally able to break out of your bizarre thoughts about his clavicle once he turned back to face you, and you silently hoped that he hadn’t caught you staring at him again.

“Turn around.”

You blinked once, and then twice, before speaking.

“I, um… I don’t understand, sir-“

“Turn around,” he repeated, twirling his finger in the air. “Face the other way.”

Not fully understanding the purpose of such an order, you bit your lip, reminding yourself that he’d told you earlier that he wasn’t going to shoot you. Slowly, you obeyed him, lacing your fingers together and squeezing them tightly. You were now looking right at the door you’d walked in from, the one you were so tempted to walk through right now.

For a moment, the room was quiet save for the sound of your breathing, and you nearly shrieked when you heard his voice from what had to be just inches behind you.

“Don’t look back,” he commanded. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded, noticing a trembling strand of hair out of the corner of your eyes. In fact, your entire body was trembling ever so slightly, and you took a deep breath to try and calm the frantic beating of your heart.

Needing to ground yourself, you looked around at your surroundings, focusing on them instead of what your boss could possibly have in store for you. The walls and floors were a sandy concrete, just like the rest of the club, but there were various personal touches dotted around the space that your eyes lingered on. On either side of the door, there were huge bookcases filled with, yes, books, but also binders and folders and trinkets you wouldn’t have thought a mobster would keep in his office. Things like the small, carved figurine of a horse he had resting next to a copy of Webster’s Dictionary, or the small vase of roses he had balanced on top of a pile of magazines.

After looking over the bookshelves, your eyes scanned the furniture dotted around the room. To your left, there was a black leather couch on top of what had to be a genuine Persian rug. To your right, facing the couch, a loveseat was shoved up against the wall, and hanging above it was a huge mirror in a gilded, ornate frame. As you turned to look at yourself in it, you realized that you could catch a bit of his reflection as well, and you startled when you saw that his hands were on the back of his mask, unsnapping a clasp that held it in place. With a silent gasp, you turned to face forward again, eyes wide.

You held your breath when you heard him pick the glass up again, and it suddenly made sense why he’d asked you to turn around – he just wanted to try the drink without you seeing his face. Your shoulders slumped with relief; you didn’t care if he hated how it tasted. You were just thrilled that he hadn’t brought you back to punish you for staring at him earlier.

There was a long pause as he drank it, and you had to stop yourself from shifting your weight or appearing too restless as you waited for his verdict.

“…Cara was right,” you finally heard, and you gasped at the sound of his pure, unfiltered voice. “Your old-fashioneds are better than Quill’s.”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathed, still recovering from the shock at how rich, how deep, his voice was. “I promise not to tell him.”

“Oh, he already knows,” he assured you. “He told me himself after you got hired.”

Your eyebrows shot up, and you couldn’t fight back a quiet chuckle.

“Quill’s just full of surprises tonight,” you mused.

“Hm. I saw him laughing at you earlier at the bar,” your boss went on, and you heard him pause before something shifted and clicked behind you. “You can turn around again.”

His voice was, once again, the same processed, slightly staticky one you’d heard before, and as you turned around, there was a pang of disappointment in your chest when you saw the mask staring back at you once again.

“People usually have to work here for at least a year before they see him so much as smile,” he went on, turning the glass between his hands as the ice inside clinked together. “And here you are, not even a week in.”

“Well… it’s probably just because I’ve been helping him out behind the bar,” you explained. “I don’t think any of the other girls mix their own-“

“No, it’s not that,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “He has other bartenders to help him with that, and he hates them just as much as he hates the rest of the workers here. But not you.”

You didn’t know what to say, and so you said nothing, wracking your brain for anything – a thank you, an apology, a party trick – anything that could make the air feel less awkward than it had suddenly become. But, eventually, your boss broke the silence, though you never would have guessed what he’d been about to say.

“You’re not a server anymore,” he declared. “I want you behind the bar full-time now. You can replace, uh…” He tapped his fingers against the lip of the glass, and you saw his head tilt upwards as he thought. “…Rayanne? Rachel?”

“Rachelle?” you supplied weakly.

“I was close enough. You can replace her,” he continued. “She can be demoted to a server to take your place, and you’re promoted to bartender to take hers.”

“B-but, sir, I,” you stammered, adjusting your mask as you took a step towards him, “I can’t just steal Rachelle’s job; she’s been working here for three years-“

“And Cara still hates her long islands,” he once again cut you off. “I’ll have Quill email you a new schedule.”

Your mouth was open, but no words came out as you stared at the blank slate where his face should be; this wasn’t really such a bad thing, right? You’d gotten the position honestly, and Rachelle had never been particularly nice to you, anyways.

“…Thank you, sir,” you finally said. “I… I appreciate this opportunity.”

“Mm. How much do you wanna make?”

You pressed your lips together, your nose scrunching up as you mentally did the math.

“Um… Does $13 an hour work?”

Your employer snorted, shaking his head before taking a step towards you. You froze as he reached for your wrist, being surprisingly gentle as he brought your hand up between the two of you, and as you looked up, you knew that his eyes were boring into yours, even if you couldn’t see them. You found that you couldn’t look away as he pressed his empty glass into your hands, making sure your fingers were wrapped securely around it before pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Remind me,” he exhorted, “to never let you negotiate a deal for me.”

You blinked rapidly as he backed away, brain still fizzling a bit from how close he’d just been to you. The spicy scent of his cologne still lingered in your nostrils as he turned back to his desk, and it was only when he leaned against it and inclined his head towards you that your mind caught up with what he’d just said. What had been wrong with $13 an hour? Was it too low or too high? Had you just screwed yourself?

“Um…”

You watched his chest rise and fall with a sigh, but you could have sworn you heard a smile in his voice as he spoke next.

“Report to Quill tomorrow at the beginning of your shift,” he instructed. “You’re getting $15 an hour; he can tell you more about your benefits.”

Too low, then. You paused, not knowing what to say, and, he tiled his head towards the side as he waited for your response.

“…Did you just say benefits?”

This time, it was a full-blown laugh that you managed to coax out of him, and a tentative, hopeful grin spread over your lips as you watched him nod his head.

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed. “Now go home; get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, sir…”

With that, you turned around, opened the door, and floated down the hall to the break room. In fact, after grabbing your things and getting in your car, you floated the entire way home. It was only when you reached for your steering wheel that you realized you were still clutching his glass in your left hand, but you didn’t bother bringing it back; what was one missing glass out of the hundreds, if not thousands, the club already owned?

_____________________

Din sat at his desk for a while after that, half-heartedly doing the least glamorous part of his job – paperwork. Over the years, he’d done a number of horrible things to even worse people, but he still hadn’t hated any of it – the arson, the beatings, the murder – nearly as much as he hated paperwork. But tonight, he was grateful for the easy, mindless task; he wouldn’t be able to focus on much else, not with you on his mind.

The door to his office suddenly opened, but he didn’t bother glancing up to see who it was; Cara had already gone home with some pretty young thing she’d picked up at the bar, and there was only one other person who would dare come in without knocking.

“I gave her a promotion,” he said, not looking up from the check he was writing. “You’ve got yourself a new bartender. Thought you’d like not having to deal with Rachel showing up late anymore.”

“…I’ve been telling you to replace Rachelle for three years,” was his only answer.

Din looked up, watching as his old friend slowly lowered himself into his favorite armchair, groaning with the strain it put on his knees; he’d always had trouble with his joints.

“…Really,” he finally hummed, turning back to the check and scrawling his signature (which was just a wiggly line that resembled more of a curly fry than it did an actual name, but that only helped him in his efforts to remain nameless) across the bottom right corner of it. “Didn’t realize it’d been that long.”

“Because you blew me off and told me to quit complaining anytime I mentioned it,” he fired back. “Why now, all of a sudden? Why her?”

“Look, do you want me to keep Rachel?”

Quill opened his mouth to speak, but he cut him off before he could, already knowing what he would say.

“Rachelle – whatever her fucking name is,” he grumbled. “You get my point.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question.”

Something in the older man’s tone made Din pause, slowly setting his pen down before turning to Quill once again.

“What’s it to you?” he countered. “You got something against working with the new girl?”

“No,” the bartender sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And you know it. Just…remember what happened the last time you took a special interest-“

“Out.”

His friend sighed, standing up with a grunt and taking a step towards him.

“Now, Din, don’t get me wrong-“

“I said…”

He stood from his desk, pressing his palms flat against its surface and leaning towards the older man.

“Out.”

Quill bowed his head, the wrinkles on his face deepening as he frowned, but he didn’t feel anything but contempt as he nodded and turned towards the door. Slowly, Din lowered himself down into his chair once more, but his muscles tensed when he saw his old friend pause on the way out.

“I’m just as much worried for you as I am for her, you know,” he murmured. “It would kill me to see you go through…that again.”

The old man shook his head, looking back at him over his shoulder.

“It would kill me,” he whispered.

With that, he stepped out and shut the door behind him, leaving Din with nothing but bad memories and the taste of bourbon and lemon peel lingering on his tongue.

[toohardtoforgetcth]

Too Hard To Forget

Chapter Four

Warnings: swearing, dirty sexy naked smutty smut !

6,518 words

A/N: Hi angels! Here’s chapter four even though no one asked for it *insert nerd face*, and fuck it I might just post the rest over the next few days ‘cause I got sentenced to self-isolation (fuck COVID) and I can’t go to work now :( Hope you love it! Feedback is encouraged :)

» » » » » »

Friday night, Calum knocked on the door of Parker’s apartment. He had sent her a cryptic text earlier that morning to be ready for 8:00 and to wear something sexy.

She opened the door and Calum made no attempt to hide the way his eyes took in every inch of her, starting with her long legs in a pair of strappy black heels. He lingered a little too long at her chest, and how it was spilling out of the short black dress she had on. He finally brought his eyes up to meet hers, and she blushed when she noticed the hunger flash in his dark eyes.

Parker let her eyes wander over Calum’s outfit—his curls were unruly as always and he had his usual stubble on his face, but he had dressed up, too. He had traded in his scuffed black boots for polished ones, with a pair of fitted black dress pants, and a black silk shirt with red polka dots, topped with his leather jacket as always. He looked despicably, unfairly, mouth-wateringly, sexy. Parker let out a little huff of annoyance at his apparent inability to ever not look good.

“I feel stupid,” she muttered. She never dressed up, and she felt like Calum looked far better than she did.

Calum took a step closer to her, trailing his fingers down her sides, stopping at her hips. “You look incredible, love,” he murmured. “I said wear something sexy,” he let out a low whistle, leaning back to appreciate her once more. “You did not disappoint.”

He took her hand and opened the passenger door to his Charger. He dropped in beside her, starting the engine.

“So why did I have to wear this dress, then?”

“Purely for my benefit,” he said honestly. “So I can admire you.”

Parker rolled her eyes, but she smiled a little. It felt good to be wanted the way Calum wanted her.

Parker felt Calum’s hand come to rest on the bare skin of her thigh, giving it a squeeze, the cold metal of his rings biting into her skin. The contact sent a rush of heat through her body. It was almost shameful how one innocent touch from him set her whole body on fire.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a roundabout in front of Del Dente’s, the city’s fanciest and most expensive restaurant. It was situated completely on its own ten minutes out of the city, perched on top of a cliff overlooking the water. Only the wealthy ate here—Parker had never even stepped foot inside. Calum opened the car door for Parker before tossing his keys to the parking attendant.

“Calum,” Parker whispered. “This place is crazy expensive. I can’t afford this.”

“Quiet, doll,” he shushed her, resting his hand on her lower back and guiding her inside. “You think I would bring you here and make you pay? Let me treat you. And don’t complain about it.”

Parker couldn’t help but get a little turned on by Calum’s assertiveness. She was a perfectly capable and independent woman, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy being taken care of. He ushered her in through the large glass doors and into the foyer where a pretty girl around her age was standing at a podium, ready to greet them. She smiled politely at Parker, but her gaze drifted to Calum and stayed there. Parker was annoyed, but she couldn’t blame the girl—Calum was nothing if not easy to look at.

“Do you have a reservation?” she asked him sweetly, smiling too wide.

“8:30 for Hood,” he said shortly, barely meeting the girls’ eyes—he couldn’t take his own off Parker. She knew it was petty, but she felt the tiniest bit triumphant knowing Calum only had eyes for her.

“Right this way, please,” the girl mumbled quietly, defeated. As they followed her into the main dining area, Parker took in her surroundings. There were two floors, separated by a set of shallow stairs and an intricate wooden railing wrapping all the way around. The entire restaurant was very dimly lit and reeked of high class. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the tables all covered in a crisp white linen tablecloth, decorated with expensive crystal and silverware. There was a large dance floor in the middle of the tables on the main floor, complete with a slightly elevated stage, on top of which a man sat playing the piano and a middle-aged woman was singing into the microphone. A few couples were scattered over the dance floor, swaying in time to the music. Calum pulled out Parker’s chair, tucking her in before shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over his own chair. They were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, floor to ceiling windows next to it. If she looked to her right, she could see the lake below them, illuminated by the city lights. It was a breathtaking view. She wondered if Calum requested this table.

“This place is insane,” Parker exclaimed. “You know I would have been just as happy eating at McDonald’s—I just wanted to see you,” she admitted.

Calum chuckled. “I know. I get the feeling you don’t get treated often, so I wanted to do something special.”

The food was nothing short of spectacular, and Parker concluded that she would probably never taste anything that delicious for the rest of her life. To finish it off, Calum ordered a slice of classic New York cheesecake, giving Parker a bite after every one he took for himself. She supposed she could have asked the waitress for another fork to share, but somehow it tasted better with Calum feeding it to her.

Parker sipped at her glass of wine. She had never had a date like this before, and she likely never would again. She watched as Calum pushed his chair back and stood. He walked over to her, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet.

“Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear.

Calum laced his fingers with hers as she let him lead her to the dance floor. He turned, and in one fluid motion, pulled her tight against him, her right hand clasped in his left. Parker closed her eyes and rested her head on Calum’s shoulder. She followed his lead, swaying gently to the soft music. Parker was in heaven. She was so relaxed, so at ease. If someone had told her six weeks ago she’d be here, slow dancing with Calum, she would have called them crazy. But this night couldn’t get more perfect. She let herself get lost, feeling nothing but complete and utter contentment in Calum’s arms.

For the second time in less than a week, Calum felt truly at peace. Coincidentally, or maybe not coincidence at all, both times were when he was with Parker. Holding her in his arms, dancing with her, he wondered what it was about her that made him forget everything he ever believed about love and relationships. This felt good. It felt good to care for someone other than himself, other than Gram or his boys. He’d spent his entire adult life hating the idea of love and pushing away any girl who tried to get close to him. But Parker had walked into his life unexpectedly, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why she was so different. What was it about her that made all his insecurities melt away? Calum didn’t know, but he didn’t really care. There was nowhere else he’d rather be right now. So he held her tighter and let himself feel.

By the time they left the restaurant, it was nearing eleven and getting cold, being that the restaurant was at a high altitude. As they waited in the foyer for the valet, Parker shivered from the cold air blowing inside. Calum didn’t hesitate for a second before he shed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I’m okay, we’re getting in the car anyway,” she protested, but Calum shook his head.

“I don’t need it, love,” he replied, fingers gripping the lapels and pulling it tight around her frame.

A few minutes later, the valet pulled up with the car and opened the door for Parker. She smiled and thanked the kid before he shut the door. She watched as Calum tucked a bill into the breast pocket of his vest and shook his hand, before rounding the front of the car and settling in the driver’s seat.

Parker reached over the center console and laced her fingers with Calum’s, smiling. “Thank you for tonight,” she said honestly. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know you don't care about the money, Parker. I just wanted to do something to prove to you that I’m serious about this,” he said seriously, squeezing her hand. “And I hope you’re not tired, angel, ‘cause I’m not ready to take you home yet,” he smirked, shifting his gaze forward and pulling the car back onto the road.

• • • • • •

“Where are we?” Parker asked after fifteen minutes of driving in silence as Calum pulled into a spot in an underground parking garage. He cut the engine and turned to her, grinning wickedly.

“I’d love to take you out and show you off, but I’m feeling a little selfish tonight,” he said, watching the path of his finger as it trailed from her knee to her inner thigh, disappearing under the hem of her dress. He planted a firm kiss to her lips, holding her cheek with his free hand. He pulled away, getting out of the car and coming around to her side to open the door.

“Come,” he said, holding his hand out for her to take.

“Is this where you live?” Parker asked curiously as she took his hand and stepped out of the car. His hand was soft and warm when it surrounded hers, and it felt like it was made for her

Calum said nothing, nodding simply. She followed him to a set of heavy metal doors, watching as he punched a code into the keypad next to it.

“After you,” he said, sweeping his hand out and directing her inside. He pressed the button for the elevator and grasped her hand while they waited. The doors opened, and they stepped inside, Calum pushing the button for the seventh floor.

Parker was nervous. She wasn’t sure why—she had been alone with Calum before—but he was so secretive and she didn’t know what to expect.

They stepped out of the elevator, rounding a corner and stopping in front of the only door in the hallway. She waited impatiently as he keyed in a code on another keypad next to the door.

Calum stepped inside and flicked the light switch on the wall, holding the door open for Parker to follow him in. She took in her surroundings. Calum’s apartment was gorgeous—not at all what she was expecting from him. It was much bigger than hers, decorated very tastefully. Lots of black, white and grey, with an open concept living room and kitchen. She could see a hallway to the left of the kitchen which she assumed led to the bedroom and the bathroom. In the corner of the living room sat three different guitars on stands, along with a piano and a wall-to-wall bookshelf filled with vinyl’s, CDs and books. Parker was distracted from her appreciation by a sharp clicking sound on the laminate. She turned her head in the direction of the noise to see Calum crouch down and scoop up a fluffy little black and white dog, scratching his ears and talking to him as the dog licked at his face and wagged its tail.

Parker’s heart swelled. “I didn’t know you had a dog,” she remarked, walking over to him. The dog stopped as she approached, eyeing her warily and sniffing at her.

“This is Duke,” he said, setting him down so he could sniff around Parker’s feet. “He’s an old man, so he can be grumpy. He’ll get used to you,” Calum chuckled as Duke let out a little sneeze and trotted away when Parker bent down to pet him. She frowned, standing and watching as Duke left the living room and headed down the hallway where she assumed he had come from.

When she looked back at Calum, his eyes were hooded, gaze dragging up and down her body shamelessly. It made Parker blush.

“Your place is really nice,” she forced out, suddenly self-conscious of his eyes on her. “You really love music, huh?” she asked, gesturing to the instruments and records in the corner.

“I work at a record store, love,” he chuckled. “Of course I love music.”

Parker rolled her eyes at his sarcastic comment. “Speaking of work,” she commented, “and I mean this in the most polite way possible, how do you afford all this?” She wandered into the living room, taking in the artwork decorating the walls and the shelves. “This place is amazing. And your car,” she trailed off. “I mean, it makes my place look like a cardboard box,” she laughed.

Calum shrugged. “Gram takes good care of me.”

Parker looked over to the corner where all his instruments sat. “Are they just for show, or do you play?” she smirked.

Calum shot her a dry look.

“Play something for me.”

He grinned. “Guitar or piano?” he asked.

Parker considered his question. She loved the sound of an acoustic guitar, but there was something sexy about a man who played piano. “Piano,” she replied confidently.

“Any requests?” he asked, sitting down on the bench and lifting the lid. He flexed his long fingers, drumming them lightly on the keys.

“Surprise me,” she smiled, plopping down on the couch and resting her arms over the back to watch him.

Calum’s back was to her on a slight angle, so she watched the set of his shoulders and the movement of his nimble fingers as he played a soft melody that caused a wave of calm to wash over Parker. It made her want to close her eyes, but she didn’t, because she wanted to see him. Then, unexpectedly, he started to sing, and Parker was mesmerized. He had a beautiful voice—deep and raspy. Parker wondered how much more there was to learn about Calum—he was full of surprises. He sang a verse and a chorus and then stopped, turning to face her.

She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. “Wow,” was all she could say.

Calum chuckled, standing and walking over to join her on the couch, tucking his arm under her knees and pulling her legs over his own as he sat down.

“You keep surprising me,” she mused thoughtfully. “I had no idea you could sing. That was—you’re amazing,” she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief.

Calum leaned forward in response, closing the distance between them and kissing her softly. It had been too long since he kissed her, and he missed the feel of her lips on his. Parker let him lead her, deepening their kiss and letting their tongues dance together. He moved his hand to cup her cheek, his right hand resting on her leg. After a few minutes, Calum slid his right hand to the underside of her thigh, pulling her onto his lap so she was straddling him. She still wore his leather jacket, and he was painfully aware of how hard she was making him.

“You look so fucking sexy in my jacket,” he murmured, grabbing the lapels and pulling her even closer to him.

“So you don’t want me to take it off, then?” Parker questioned slyly, her lips swollen from kissing and her eyes half-lidded.

Calum let out a low growl. “Don’t tease me, doll. I was gentle last time. I won’t be so forgiving this time around.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be gentle,” she challenged.

“Careful what you wish for,” Calum warned as he tore the jacket from her shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the side. He leaned down and attached his lips to Parker’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin, sucking and biting and leaving his mark on her. He unzipped her dress from the back, letting it fall off her shoulders. He lifted it by the hem and tugged it over her head. She had forgone a bra tonight, so she sat on Calum’s lap in nothing but her panties.

“Fuck,” he swore, his large, tattooed hands skimming over her bare back and then moving to her front. Parker moaned as her head fell back, Calum’s lips and tongue exploring every inch of her upper body, littering her skin with marks. His hands slid down to grip her ass, squeezing hard and landing a firm slap against her left cheek. She jumped at the surprising but not unwelcome sting. He rubbed his hand over the sensitive spot. “I can play dirty if you want me to, love, but I need to know you want it,” he murmured, kissing along her jaw.

“I want it,” she whispered.

“If it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Parker nodded.

“Up,” Calum commanded abruptly, gripping her hips and sliding her backwards on his lap, forcing her to her feet. He stood, wrapping his arms around her thighs and throwing her over his shoulder. She shrieked in surprise, protesting for him to put her down, which landed her another hard slap on the ass. He carried her to his bedroom, throwing her down on the bed forcefully.

Parker scooted back, leaning back on her elbows and watching him with hooded eyes as he undid the buttons on his shirt, one by one. Calum was teasing her, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

God, he was so sexy.

Calum shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders and moved to the button on his pants, flicking it open and stripping his pants and his boxers off in one swift movement. His cock sprang out, already hard and waiting for her.

He knelt down on the bed, moving towards her with a wicked grin on his face.

He let his fingers trail up from her knee to her thigh, slapping the skin of her inner thigh and causing Parker to yelp. He let his fingers ghost over her most sensitive spot, feeling how already wet she was, soaking through her panties.

He clicked his tongue. “Naughty girl.”

Parker tried to lean forward, desperately wanting to touch him, but he shoved her back down on the bed.

Calum hooked his fingers in the waistband of Parker’s lace panties, ripping them in two pieces and exposing her naked center to him. He tossed them to the side, moving up the bed to press a bruising kiss to her lips. Parker moved her hand between their bodies to grab him, but he caught her hand in his own, using it to pin both her wrists above her head.

“Not yet, doll,” he whispered. Calum reached his free hand between them, dragging his middle finger through her heat. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned. He rubbed small circles on her clit before thrusting his finger inside of her, his mouth never leaving hers. She moaned loudly into his mouth, and Calum took it as an invitation to add a second finger, pumping them in and out. Parker’s kisses turned sloppy, unable to focus while he was stimulating her.

“Please, Calum,” she whined, thrusting her hips towards him.

“Please what?” he taunted, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean one at a time. Parker groaned at the loss of contact, trying to wiggle free from where his hand was still holding her wrists above her head.

“I need to feel you.”

“Soon,” he replied, pressing one more kiss to her lips before letting her hands go, sliding down the bed and burying his face between her legs. Parker’s hands flew immediately to his head, tangling her fingers in his curls as he licked at her core. Her breathing became shallow and ragged, and Calum could tell she was close. He pulled away abruptly, denying her release and bringing his face level with hers once more. Parker cried out impatiently.

“I can’t wait anymore. Please,” she whined.

Calum wanted nothing more than to see Parker’s pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, but he had to admit, he didn’t want to wait anymore either. He rolled over her, landing on his back.

“Go ahead, then, doll,” he encouraged, smirking as she scrambled up onto her knees, swinging one leg over so she was straddling him. She grasped his shaft, lining him up with her entrance, and sank down. She threw her head back in ecstasy at finally having Calum inside her, and it made him even harder, if that was possible. Parker leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest as she bounced up and down on his cock. He rested his hands on her hips, guiding her and jerking his hips up slightly to meet hers so he could bury himself deeper. Every so often, he would land a slap on her backside, grinning devilishly at her reaction. His hands rested on her breasts, squeezing and pinching, leaving shallow red marks from how hard he was squeezing her. After a few minutes, Calum lifted Parker off him and flipped her roughly onto her back again. He lined himself up and pushed in, ramming his hips into hers. He paced himself slowly for a few seconds, then set a fast pace, thrusting hard and hitting her g-spot. He had to stop a few times to keep himself from coming, wanting to make it last.

When Calum could feel himself getting close and unable to hold off any longer, he wrapped his right hand loosely around her throat. He met her eyes in a silent question, making sure she was still okay with it. She nodded, and Calum tightened his grip, the cool metal of his rings biting into her neck.

“I want you to come for me, angel,” he told her, picking up his pace and slamming into her. Parker moved her hands up, raking her nails down his back. He hoped there would be streaks there tomorrow, a reminder of Parker on his skin, the same way he was leaving his mark all over her body. Calum thrusted a few more times before he watched as Parker’s body started to shudder, a scream ripping from her throat as she came all over his cock. Watching her come undone was all it took to push Calum over the edge, collapsing on top of her and groaning loudly as he pressed his face into her neck, spilling inside of her.

Calum stilled, both of them breathing heavily and a sheen of sweat coating their skin. He rolled off of her, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck,��� he cursed, lifting a hand to push the damp curls off his forehead. “You’re somethin’ else, doll.”

Parker stared up at the ceiling in Calum’s bedroom. She sighed heavily, entirely content in this moment.

Calum moved closer to her, stretching his arm around her left shoulder and pulling her into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her head, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. He felt so at peace with Parker. He was happier than he ever remembered being. They stayed like that for a while, Calum trailing his fingers up and down her naked back, Parker’s legs wrapped around his own with her cheek on his chest.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmured quietly.

Calum felt her smile against him. “Please,” she replied.

He hesitated. He was about to cross a line with Parker he’d never crossed before, and he wasn’t sure if there would be any coming back from the honesty and vulnerability he was about to divulge in. In this moment, Calum didn’t care. He wanted more with her.

“I’ve never brought a girl here before.”

She rolled on top of him, folding her arms under her chin and resting them on his chest. “What do you mean?”

Calum stared down at her.

“Like, never ever?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Parker tilted her head, furrowing her brows.

Calum chuckled as he held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor, baby.”

She giggled at his gesture—somehow she couldn’t picture Calum as a boy scout. “Why?” she questioned.

Calum thought about this for a moment. He didn’t want to scare her away, but he wanted to be honest with her.

“It was just a promise I made to myself. I’ve never stayed the night at a girls’ house, and I’ve never brought one back here. Until you. I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not a very open person, and I just didn’t want to share my home with someone I didn’t care about. I did it to make sure things never got serious. So I was always in control.”

Parker wasn’t sure if Calum’s confession alarmed or flattered her. On the one hand, it was obvious that Calum was, for lack of a better word, experienced. She’d gathered that on the few occasions she’d seen him leaving the bar with some of the most beautiful girls Parker had ever seen, and the confidence he carried when they were being intimate. But on the other hand, it was clear Calum felt differently about Parker if she was the only one lucky enough to be invited into his home.

“You don’t fool me, you know,” Parker said knowingly, continuing when Calum quirked a brow, his interest piqued. “You have this intimidating front that you put on, like you want people to be afraid of you so no one gets too close. But I can see right through it. You have a lot to give, I can tell. You just haven’t found the right person to give it to.”

“Or maybe I have,” he replied, smirking.

Parker blushed. He grasped her chin in his hand and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. Nothing like the ones they shared earlier in the night. It made Parker dizzy how he could switch from being dominant and aggressive in one second to soft and sweet the next. As she got to know him better, she realized that part of the thrill of being with him was that he was always surprising her. Being with Calum was unpredictable and exciting.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” she asked suddenly.

“I thought you could see right through me,” he challenged playfully.

Parker shot him a dry look.

He chuckled. “What do you wanna know, love?”

“How come you have an accent and Grace doesn’t?”

Calum laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t born here. Grace was,” he said simply. At the intrigued expression on Parker’s face, he elaborated. “My granddad’s from Australia. He met Grace while she was over there for work, only she never left. Not until recently. I only moved here when he passed away, when I was eight or so.”

“I’m sorry,” Parker said quietly.

“S’alright, love. It was a long time ago. Anyway, that’s why my accent’s so diluted. Some words you can still tell, though, I guess,” he shrugged.

Calum rolled Parker over onto her side, the front of his body pressed against her back. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close and reveling in the feeling of the skin-on-skin contact. She drifted off to the sound of his breathing, steady in her ear.

» » » » » »

Calum woke the next morning still naked, Parker sleeping soundly and taking up most of the covers. He took this moment to admire the softness of her features while she slept, her blonde hair a mess on his pillow, her pink lips slightly parted. She really was beautiful.

He woke her up with featherlight kisses up her arm and her shoulder. She peeked her eyes open, smiling as she snuggled closer to him.

“Come shower with me,” Calum murmured.

“I’ve already had enough of all the energy you have in the morning,” Parker groaned. “I’m not ready to get up yet.”

“Fine. Five minutes,” Calum chuckled, letting her cuddle up to him and wrapping her in his strong arms.

Twenty minutes later, Calum tried again to wake her up. He could hear Duke pacing around the kitchen, meaning it was time for breakfast, and he needed a shower.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Time’s up.”

She mumbled incoherently, rolling over and tugging the covers over her head. Calum smiled mischievously. He was done playing sweet and innocent—if she wanted to play games, fine. He rolled out of bed, stretching his arms over his head before moving to the foot of the bed. He ripped the duvet off of Parker and yanked her down the bed by her ankles, until his face hovered over hers. She gasped in surprise, curling up to cover her naked body. Calum wasn’t sure if it was because she was cold from the sudden loss of the blankets, or if she was embarrassed, but he didn’t care.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he grinned, face just inches away from hers. “Shower, now.”

Parker rolled her eyes, wiggling out from underneath him and shuffling past him towards the bathroom. He followed, landing a swift slap on her naked backside. She jumped in surprise, whipping around to face him.

“I’ll fight you. I swear I will,” she warned, giggling.

“I’d like to see you try, angel.”

• • • • • •

After a long, hot shower with more giggling and fooling around than actual showering, Calum and Parker made their way to the kitchen, Calum shirtless and in sweats and Parker in a pair of Calum’s underwear and one of his t-shirts, since he ripped hers to shreds the night before. Calum busied himself with making breakfast while Parker tried to convince Duke that she could be trusted, but Calum’s little dog wasn’t having it.

Calum dug a scoop of dog food out of the bin under the sink and dumped it into a bowl. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Parker. “Maybe he’ll like you a bit more if you feed him. After all, the way to a man’s heart is his stomach,” he winked.

She made a face, snatching the bowl from his hands. She crouched down, setting the bowl on the floor in front of her, a few feet away from where Duke was sleeping. “Come here, handsome. I’ve got breakfast,” she called.

Duke eyed Parker suspiciously as he made his way slowly to the bowl. He started eating, looking up every few seconds to eye her up again. She backed away, giving him space.

“He’s old, cut him some slack,” Calum laughed when he saw the disappointed expression on Parker’s face as she jumped up on the counter beside him.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be afraid of me if you weren’t such a recluse,” she teased, poking him in the side. “He clearly inherited his dads’ sunny personality,” she said sarcastically.

“He’ll warm up to you eventually,” Calum promised. “I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s ‘cause I’m amazing.”

Calum moved over to where she sat, wrapping his arms around her and slotting himself between her legs. Even sitting up on the counter, he was still taller than her. He placed a kiss to her lips. “That you are.”

She smiled against his lips when he didn’t pull away, their foreheads pressed together. Calum smelled so good. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, lips moving against his, when the door to Calum’s apartment opened, and in walked three boys, chatting animatedly amongst themselves.

Parker pulled away, blushing, trying to tug the t-shirt down to cover herself. Calum merely turned his body towards them, eyebrows raised, one hand on his hip and the other on the counter beside Parker’s thigh.

“Mornin’, boys. Any particular reason why you’re in my house?” he asked nonchalantly. He didn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that Parker was in little more than underwear in front of them.

They looked up in unison, surprise registering on the faces of two of them when they realized Calum had a guest. The third, the tallest one, seemed entirely unfazed. He sauntered over to them, taking Parker’s hand. She giggled, blushing as he placed a kiss to the back of it.

“Pleased to meet you, babe. I’m Luke,” he said smoothly. He was ridiculously tall. At 6’1, Calum was tall, too, but this guy was still another three inches taller than Calum, with shiny, golden curls, a pixie nose and the brightest blue eyes Parker had ever seen.

“Do you mind, mate?” Calum questioned, though he didn’t seem angry; he just shook his head, letting out a laugh.

Luke flashed her a charming smile, swiping a breakfast sausage out of the frying pan on the stove and popping it into his mouth before flopping down on the couch.

“Hey, you made breakfast!” one of the other boys exclaimed, mimicking Luke’s action and grabbing a sausage, too. He hopped up on the counter next to Parker. He turned to her, blonde fringe poking out under a black snapback and partially covering his sea green eyes.

“I’m Michael, by the way,” he smiled warmly, holding his hand out for her to shake. He had the most contagious smile, and his eyes sparkled with genuity. Parker could tell she was going to like Michael.

“Parker,” she smiled back, shaking his hand.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize you had company,” the third boy said to Calum, jet-black hair falling in his hazel eyes. He turned to her. “I’m Ashton,” he said. “You must be Parker,” he guessed, holding his hand out. Parker was surprised that he seemed to know her, though she figured Calum must have mentioned her.

Calum just laughed, facing her again. “Well, these are the boys,” he said, gesturing to the three of them. “No boundaries, as you can clearly tell.”

Parker laughed. “Nice to meet you all. I’m just gonna go, uh—put on some pants,” she jumped down from the counter and tugged the shirt over her barely covered behind, rushing down the hall to Calum’s bedroom, which earned her a low whistle from Calum, and a wink when she turned around to glare at him.

“Cal, there’s a girl here. In your house,” Michael stated dumbly.

“Good observation, bro,” Luke replied sarcastically, leaning over the arm of the couch and giving him a dry look.

“I just—I mean, you never have girls over.”

“She’s different. This one’s special, ain’t she, Cal?” Ashton grinned, elbowing him in the side.

Calum ran a hand through his hair, smiling. “Yeah,” he breathed. “She’s special, all right.” He glanced down the hallway as Parker emerged from his bedroom in a pair of sweats she must have found in one of his drawers. They were miles too big for her, but he really liked seeing her in his clothes. It made him feel things he’d never felt before. “Can you animals be nice? You’re gonna scare her away.”

Luke put his hand over his heart and shot him a fake wounded look. “I’m always nice,” he countered.

Parker re-entered the room to the four of them goofing off, shoving each other and laughing, acting like a couple of teenagers. It made her smile, seeing Calum so happy and carefree. He loved his boys—that was obvious. Instead of interrupting, she decided to take over Calum’s abandoned pancake mix and continue making breakfast. Calum glanced over and caught her eye, giving her a lopsided, boyish grin before shifting his attention back to the boys.

“Pancakes, anyone?” she called out after frying the first batch, setting a stack onto a plate and pushing them to the edge of the counter. Michael scrambled over and claimed them before anyone else could, stuffing his face. The other three boys joined him on the stools lined up along the island.

Michael leaned over to Calum. “I like her,” he said with his mouth full.

Calum laughed. “Me, too.”

Parker smiled, eyes down on the stove. She could get used to this. She had known them for all of ten minutes, and they already made her feel welcome. The boys were like a little family, and it was so easy to picture herself being a part of it.

After breakfast, Calum and Ashton cleaned up while Luke and Michael sat on either side of Parker on the couch, bombarding her with questions.

“It’s different with her, isn’t it?” Ashton questioned, noticing the fond look on Calum’s face watching Parker with his two best friends.

Calum turned to look at him, grinning. “I don’t know what it is, mate. She’s just—she’s incredible.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Ashton observed, helping Calum load the dishwasher.

“Like what?” he questioned, tilting his head.

“Happy.”

Calum sighed deeply. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I guess I am.”

taglist: @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23 @tunnnelvision

[cassiopeiassky]

Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here.  I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one.  I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall.  Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve.  So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters​ and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day.  (Inspired by a song?  Me?  No.  Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in.  It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown.  I don’t know.  I just write what the muse tells me to write.  

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper​ for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town 

Plot:  You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K  Yep.  Knda got away from me

One last author’s note:   This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks.  ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!!  It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space.  Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot.  Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants.  The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled.  It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over.  Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married.  And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this.  I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress.  Why am I even here?  What did I expect?”  There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be.  You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in.  You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station.   According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it.  You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked.  There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right?  It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening.  Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened.  “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car.  Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding.  “You know what, Lydia?  Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.”  You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter.  And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands.  He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.  

“Do you have blended drinks?”  He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe.  On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor.  There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines.  On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn.  Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile.  “Would you like a menu?  The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?”  At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri.  “Thought as much.  I’ll check back in a bit.”  You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips.  It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it.  Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign?  He doesn’t speak this time.  It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes.  I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest.  What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf.  I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living?  My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly.  Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that.  But 5th grade?  Damn.   His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International?  They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here.  If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.  

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart.  Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless.  No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights!  You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you!  And so do the horses.  You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along.  Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks.  Wait, you’re Hawkeye!  The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH.  Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly.  He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes.  There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny.  It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program.  You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise!  I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here.  His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus.  You know, rules and shit.  You interested?

Absolutely!  Just let me know.   You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace.  He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me.  But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it.  He seems to have good taste.  He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods.  Duty calls.  Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.  

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.”  A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.  

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him.  If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice.  She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league.  Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what?  Even I have standards.  How do you fuck someone that tall anyway?  I’d need scaffolding!”  They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high.  It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before.  He’s not clever.

Ignore them.  They’re lonely, small little men.

I know.  Thank you.  His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected.  This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself.  You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries.  You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse.  Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right?  Right.  You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink.  Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you.  In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall.  Are they uncomfortable?  God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables.  You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.  

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?”  A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction.  “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic.  “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them.  The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn.  His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him.  He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image.  Should you…maybe?  No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach.  It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”  Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile.  “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile.  He just stares.  Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings.  Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today?  It does.  It really does.  So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile.  “You’re welcome.”  A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall.  As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top.  A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down.  There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do.  You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror.  “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.”  You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her.  “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it.  I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt.  I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it.  The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men.  “Thank you. That’s really good to know.”  She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.”  The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt.  “Well, shit.  I just bought this shirt.  No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye.  Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out.  Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse.  “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?”  She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you.  “You’re a genius.  And an angel. An angelic genius!”  She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her.  She’s nice.  “You’re welcome!  I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you.  In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town.  He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise.  They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently.  But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.”  She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name.  “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me.  My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.”  You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar.  What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.  

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him.  The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”  You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth.  Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention.  Is this really the same guy that was playing pool?  The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’?  “For what?”  

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard.  “It’s not nice to stare.  My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes.  The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what?  “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.”  He shrugs and studies the bar top.  “Your eyes looked sad, though.  I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes.  Can I make it up to you?  Buy you a drink?”  

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent.  He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses.  Maybe he has some insight.  Is this guy decent?  He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?  

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you.   Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.  He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him.  “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”  He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!”  Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm.  “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not.  Guess I’m really off my game today.  I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter.  “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint.  “Hey, you wanna grab a table?”  He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox.  “It’s quieter there.  We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Why not?  Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement.  So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice.  Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him.  “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA.  I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused.  “That’s your first question?”

“Do you?  Or would you have to kill me if you told me?  Have you been to space?  Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions.  “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.”  You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston?  Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day.  Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology.  But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm.  I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?”  You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle.  “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry.  Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that.  Wow.  So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound.  “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him.  “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet.  “It is really incredible.  Thank you for thinking so.”  He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.”  He meets your eyes again.  “Or both.  I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance.  It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud?  “Well, they suck.  And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look.  But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job?  What are your responsibilities?  What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really.  His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced.  And you thought he was gorgeous before?  His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain.  Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”  Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer.  “Ish hot!  Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met.  Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.  

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth.  “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move.  Deflect or come clean?  You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going.  “Yeah.  It was her daughter that got married today.  Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really?  Why?  What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing.  Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine.  Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close.  She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier.  She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.”  You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong.  In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me.  And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens.  Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else.  I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations.  The thing is, I wasn’t more mature.  I was just tall, so I looked more mature.  Eventually it kind of came true, though.  Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me.  I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.  

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be.  I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm.  Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.”  You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously.  I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now.  I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her.  It just…it puts my head in a bad place.  You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment?  The negative is in everything she says.  Everything.  I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?”  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.  

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers.  Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively.  “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors.  I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman.  The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch.  No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding.  Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.”  You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.”  He gazes at you.  “You know she’s a princess, right?  

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman.  She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall?  So what.  You’re fuckin’ royalty.  Own it, Princess.  Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it.  Amazon Princess.”  

“What?”

“Yep.  Say it with me.  Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system.  “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!”  Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy.  “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really?  You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk.  “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases.  But he doesn’t need to know that.  “Yeah,” you murmur.  His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts.  You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him.  She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then.  You grin back and remember what she said.  “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels.  “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that.  I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these.  And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites.  It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in  – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast.  You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar.  He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.  

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet.  For the first few measures, you just stare at each other.  It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.  

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts.  He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist.  Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected.  “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.”  He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck.  “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine.  Fuck. You like him.  One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like.  He feels familiar.  Safe.  You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens.  You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious.  Yes.”  He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours.  “Are you offering?”  

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were.  His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip.  He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.  

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest.  This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable.  The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already.  His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides.  Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things.  “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot.  Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel.  He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.  

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin.  Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door.  It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here.  Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.”  He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain.  He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again.  He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick.  You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off.  Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!”  His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.”  Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again.  Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it.  Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed.  “You like what you see, huh?”  

“Damn right I do.”  You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?”  He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side.   “Goddamn, darlin.”  Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra.  It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest.  “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him.  And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed.  “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk.  Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.”  His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them.  “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious.  “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass.  You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance.  It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.”  His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal.  You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill.  Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want.  I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.”  Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy.  And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move.  Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.  

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on.  “More.”

“More?  You want me to fuck you harder?  Is that right?”  He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh.  “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold.  Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside.  He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both.  The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move.  Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck.  “Hold on, Princess.”  He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed.  After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body.  “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down.  “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going.  “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.”  He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this.  I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No.  I don’t.”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination.  “I don’t care.”  And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth.  He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.  “Fucking delicious.”  Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits.  Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does.  You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room.  “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin.  You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately.  “I’m – it’s too much.  I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes.  “You’re incredible, you know that?  I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows.  Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress.  “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.  

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god.  “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“  Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention.  His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for.  Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh.  Oh.  Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago.  You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.  

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position.  “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking,  “I did not know I had a spot that could do that.  Fuck.  I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later.  Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard.  Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you.  His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss.  “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are?  You feel so good.  So fucking good.  Wanna make you feel good.  As good as you make me feel.”  Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.  

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon.  Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right.  Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there.  I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now.  Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants.  The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor.  The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow.  He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep.  But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back.  It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?”  Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower.  And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off.  My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?”  He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that.  I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes.  It’s adorable.  “Nah, no god here.  Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before.  Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.  

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches.  This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror.  “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried.  “I’d like that.”  You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.”  Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.  There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink.  It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by.  Some didn’t see you this way at all.  “Don’t look too close.  I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours.  “We’ll have to agree to disagree.”  His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin.  “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself.  He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake.  The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.”  His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes.  “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up.  “I should probably come clean.  The bartender from last night?  My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks.  He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together.  Oh.  Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder.  “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes.  Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug.  “I’m not mad.  Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours?  It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.”  You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul.  “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did.  We both did.”  It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss.  “Good morning, beautiful.”  It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline.  “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly.  “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet.  “Yeah.  I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup.  “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in.  It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat.  It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away.  You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures.  Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them.  “Whoa.  They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window.  “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm.  They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.”  He’s quiet for a moment.  “You like horses?  Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd.  You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads.  You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are.  Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy.  Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply.  “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic?  I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture.  “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate.  Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door.  “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky.  I’m not five feet tall.  I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that.  But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can.  You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that?  He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known.  It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab.  “C’mere.  You look cold.”  

It was hot when you’d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car.  “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze.  The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by.  It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am.  Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.”  He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply.  You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet?  Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck.  “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin.  The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.  

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”  

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate.   Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand.  “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you.  But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears.  You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.  

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you.  “I’ve had him for 20 years.  I got him when he was just a colt.  Trained him myself.  He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.”  Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards.  “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge?  Oh, you like that?  That spot right there?”  You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.”  Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.”  Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you.  Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew.  Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace.  But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time.  “We, uh, we should get going.  I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?”  You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?”  He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in.  “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs.  “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down.  They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him.  “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really?  Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno.  I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”  

“Huh.”

“What?”  There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around.  “That so weird?”

“No, I get it.  You definitely shouldn’t settle.  I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet.  Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so?  How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you?  Genuinely curious?  It’s impossible to tell.  “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend.  You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about.  And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed.  Like, really really good.  You’re the whole damn package.”  When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again.  “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks.  I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”  

“Huh.”  He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down.  Do you need to take it?  No, but you love that he offers anyway.  He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side.  Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.  

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No.  Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy.  “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss.  It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress.  “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head.  “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep.  Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow.  “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!”  It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin.  “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on.  Kind of.  They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating.  “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi?  I’m looking for my niece?  I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water?  About my height?  Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing?  It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now.  The thought is nothing short of glorious.    

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh!  A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable?  Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement.  Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour.  I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening.  Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am.  I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out.  “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now.  “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want.  To go,” he growls, stooping down.  “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either.  Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.”  Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck.  I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.”  Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What?  Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.”  Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck.  “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time.  It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant.  “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said.  “What? Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I get it if you have to get back.  But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you.  I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear.  “We can do more of this.  I like this, too.  A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face.  “I’d like that.  I’d really like that.”  Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him.   He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you.  “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess.  A good fuckin’ day.”

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[atreegrowsinnorthnywrites]

A little v-day love story

I was on my second helping of Dad’s infamous enchiladas when my older brother, Sam, clapped his hands together and declared, “We’re going out!”

My fork clattered to the half-eaten plate and I gave him a stern shake of my head.

“Come onnn, Em,” Sam whined, precariously tipping back his chair so it hovered on two legs. “You can’t sit around and mope forever. Silas and Sean will come too.”

I looked to my two other older brothers with a challenging raise of my eyebrow as Dad leaned forward and cuffed Sam over the head. 

“Hell no I’m not,” Sean said without hesitation. All four legs of Sam’s chair returned to the ground with a disappointed thud. “I love you and I’m here for you, Em, but no.”

I chuckled at my eldest brother’s immediate reaction. With a family of his own, and an hour and a half drive back to Tucson, I was not surprised in the least. Silas’s lips were pursed and he actually appeared to be considering. 

“Just say no,” I muttered as Sam egged him on. 

“I have to text Paige,” Silas said slowly, “but if she doesn’t mind.”

“YES!” Sam pumped his fist triumphantly. “Dad?”

I looked to our patriarch, mid-lift of his beer to his lips, who snorted. “I’ll pass, but so thoughtful of you.” I stifled laughter at Sam’s disappointed face. 

“Alright, Em. Go get ready.” 

“I’m not done eating?”

My plate disappeared with a quick swipe of Sam’s hand and he waved me away with the other. “You are now.” 

---------------------------------------------------------

An hour later we were pulling out of the long driveway that led to Dad’s ranch. I was wedged in the back seat of Silas’s truck between his work boots and tools, Chattahoochee blaring through the speakers, Sam and Silas arguing about the best bar in Bisbee on a Friday night, and it hit me this was the first time I had ever gone out with my brothers. 

If I thought about it more, it wasn’t that surprising. After the divorce-court mandated summers in Arizona with my dad and brothers had ended my senior year, I never came back for an extended period again. My mom, my friends, and college were all back in Michigan. Once I met Thomas my sophomore year at Michigan State, I had spent my holiday weekends with his family in Chicago instead of visiting my own. 

“You need more air, Em?” Silas asked from the front seat, smiling at me in the rear view. 

“I’m good,” I murmured back, a wave of guilt flooding me. 

Guilt that reminded me the five years of my life I had spent on Thomas had been a waste, and when the engagement and subsequent wedding had been called off, it had been my dad and three older brothers who had welcomed me home. It was my dad and brothers who had no judgement or questions. 

“You better not sulk all night,” Sam warned, whipping around and eyeing me warily. 

“I won’t.” I crossed my arms and scowled. 

“Good.” 

It had been three months since I had broken down in sobs at a dinner with Thomas and proclaimed I couldn’t marry him. Though I would die before admitting aloud any of my brothers were right, it was indeed time to get out of the house.  

After Silas parked the truck in downtown Bisbee, we made our way down the string-light filled main street toward a packed bar with live music. Wafts of cigarette smoke, and definitely weed, greeted us outside the door. Silas and Sam shuffled me inside, pushing passed bodies to inch our way towards the bar. The crowd was far more eclectic than I would have guessed for my western brothers, with a band that sounded more like folk rock than country. 

“What’ll it be?” Sam shouted over the music.

“A margarita,” I yelled back. “Spicy, if they can.”

He gave me a thumbs up and approached the bar while Silas waved to a group of guys from across the bar that had recognized him. During my summers on dad’s ranch, the only friends I ever really made were friends of my brothers, but I had not seen any of these guys since high school. The band played the final notes of their song and the crowd cheered enthusiastically as they announced a short intermission. Then I heard a high-pitched whistle.

“Ho-ly shit.”

I turned at the curse and came face-to-face with a brown haired, short-bearded, six-foot-or-so man wearing a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and vans. I squinted, and then he said my name.

“Emmeline Collins.”

There was only one person I had ever heard drag the “i” in my name that way.

“Lane?”

My stomach was in my throat. I remembered, very clearly, the last time I had ever spoken to Lane Diaz. He was smiling despite my memory, his right hand wrapped around a bottle of Corona and his left in the pocket of his jeans.

“Didn’t recognize me?” He asked with a laugh, and I debated admitting the truth. He looked great. Better, actually. But his southern accent had faded, and his cowboy look from all the years romping around the ranch with Sam was gone.

“Diaz!” Sam cried as he approached with two bottles in one hand and my cocktail in the other. He distributed the drinks for Silas and me, and then gave Lane a hug. “What’s up, man?”

“Just getting reacquainted with Em.” I frowned. Were we though? “Y’all didn’t mention your little sister was back in town.”

Sam looked down at me and then back to Lane. “Oh, right! You two haven’t…since…oh...right.” Sam took a long pull of his beer, and I stared him down the entire drink.

“Weekend visit to see the family?” Lane asked politely.

“Uhm,” I sipped my margarita for courage. A bite of jalapeño, just the way I liked it. “No. I’m uh, here for the summer.”

“Just like when we were kids,” Lane observed. I took another drink.

“Oh, hey!” Silas announced loudly, moving towards the crowd, “I see uhm...yeah I’ll be over here.” 

Silas hurried out of sight, but when Sam went to follow, I dug the heel of my sandal down into his foot.

“What’s it been? Six years?” I asked Lane, taking a third sip and willing the alcohol to hit quickly.

“Seven in August, actually.”

Oh, he remembered.

“I’m going to let you two catch up,” Sam declared bluntly, extracting his foot from under my heel through gritted teeth and patting my shoulder as he walked by. The band was returning to the stage. Lane nodded to a pair of empty seats that had just vacated next to a window, on the far side of the bar from the band. I was trapped and agreed with a jerky, awkward nod.

“You look as surprised to see me as I am to see you,” He noted as we sat down.

“My brothers didn’t mention you were still around,” I replied. I was not entirely surprised he was, considering the rate of people who never leave a small town, but Lane had always seemed different. It was what had attracted me to him all those years ago.

“I moved back last summer,” He shared as the band started up again.

“Where were you before?” I asked over the growing sound.

“Army.”

Now, that, I did not expect. We had talked about going to college together on the west coast before everything happened.

“And you?” He asked, “What are you doing here?”

The question was edged with a coolness I deserved. His face was serious, his warm, brown eyes watching me intently. I did not want to rehash my screwed up, disappointing life with my ex-boyfriend, of all people.

“Another drink, hon?” A waitress asked from behind and I realized I had drained the cocktail in my hand.

“Yes,” I agreed quickly, “Margarita with jalapeño.”

Lane chuckled as the waitress walked away.

“What?” I asked him defensively.

“Why am I not surprised Em Collins’ drink of choice is tequila and spice?”

Ouch.

“The same reason I’m not surprised yours is Corona. What are you on vacation in Rocky Point?” I scoffed.

“You know I asked for a Pina Colada, but they gave me this instead.”

I laughed, and his stoic expression split into the friendly grin I had seen when he first caught sight of me in the bar.

“How long were you in the Army?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me. He had a knowing look on his face, aware that I had dodged his question, but polite enough not to call me out. Yet.

“Four years.”

The waitress returned with my drink, and I made sure to put it on Sam’s tab.

“Good for you,” I replied, “Thanks for your uh…service.”

Lane cringed and took a sip of beer while I briefly contemplated throwing back my entire drink so I could at least claim my awkwardness was from blacking out.

“So, where’s your fiancé?” He asked. 

I froze mid sip of my drink and looked up at him. We had not been friends on social media since my freshman year of college when a few months into dating Thomas I did an inventory of old photos and took down all of those with Lane and removed him as a friend. A little dramatic, thinking back on it. 

“How did you…”

“Sam and I are still friends, Em.”

Duh. My stupid brother had probably told him ages ago. The alcohol was starting to go to my head, making me light and loose-lipped. I didn’t even know why I was skirting around this. I had nothing to prove to Lane Diaz. 

“I broke off the engagement a couple months ago. We’re not together.”

It was the most abrupt way I had said it yet. It felt painfully final. Despite my boldness, I could not look at Lane’s face and so I followed it with a shrug and stared out the window.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” Lane said gently. 

“It was for the best,” I said quickly, glancing at him and seeing furrowed eyebrows, “Trust me.” 

“Doesn’t make it any less hard,” He noted. No, no it did not.

“It sucks, but what do you do,” I replied pitifully, taking yet another drink.

“Is that why you’re back?” He pressed. Lane was never scared to push me. I remember that about our two summers together. He always asked the questions I did not want to answer. Challenged the things I thought and believed. 

“Part of it,” I admitted, “Honestly, uhm...I’m having a bit of a quarter-life crisis.”

“I see.”

“I knew my dad would be more understanding...”

A look of recognition crossed Lane’s face and he winced for me. I had almost forgotten our daily phone calls nearly every night of my junior year.

“How’d your mom take it?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’re a jackass,” I said with a flourish of my straw, flicking droplets of my drink in his direction. “Because you know exactly how well she took it.”

He coughed on his drink of beer and we both broke into laughter.

“Still a little high strung then?”

“A little?”

“Worse?” Lane gaped.

“After I told her we broke up, she called me back and said I needed to beg for Thomas’s forgiveness. Tell him I was having mental health issues or I would fracture my future.”

“Jesus.”

I finished the rest of my second margarita at the memory of my mother’s shrill voice on the phone. We had spoken once since, and that conversation had been even worse.

“How’s your ma?” I asked, desperate to change the topic.

“She’s good. She was sick last year, but she’s feeling better.” He paused at the look of my face, and I bit my lip to keep from asking more. I had my assumptions with the smoking habit his mom, Eileen, had back then. “She would love to see you.”

He placed emphasized on the word love, and I looked away, uncomfortable at the very thought of going back to Lane’s childhood home where we used to hang out alone when his mom was working nights. Lane seemed to regret the statement and drained the rest of his beer. Regardless of my discomfort, I was not heartless.

“I’d love to see her too,” I added, and Lane relaxed. When his tense shoulders fell, I noticed how much more muscular he was than when we were kids. His brown skin wasn’t as tan anymore though, so he must work indoors. My eyes subtly trailed down to his hand, where I noted no ring on any fingers.

“Another round?” The waitress asked and Lane opened his mouth to answer, but instead gestured to me to decide.

“Sure,” I agreed, and she winked at me, obviously assuming we were on an early date. 

“You don’t have to,” Lane said. “I understand if you rather go find your brothers.”

Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe it was pure curiosity, but I shook my head. “No, this is…nice.”

He gave me his iconic frown smile I remembered well. “Well, alright then.”

The waitress returned with our drinks and when he offered up his credit card, I placed my hand over his and smiled sweetly at her, “Put them both on Sam Collins’ tab. That’s S-A-M.” 

When the waitress walked away to do just that, I realized my hand was still on top of Lane’s, my body angled close enough to his I could smell his minty aftershave. He smiled softly and I dropped his hand, quickly reaching for my third drink. The most sour margarita they had made me yet. My mouth puckered and I shivered as it went down.

“There’s the girl I remember.” I tilted my head with curiosity at his comment and Lane laughed, taking a drink instead of elaborating.

“I’m nothing like that girl anymore,” I declared defiantly. 

“Good,” Lane said, his smiling fading as he set down his beer. His eyes softened, and his voice dropped. “Because that girl broke my heart.” 

[aroaceslytherin]

Fairytales Always Have a Twist

Hope Howell had always believed in fairy-tales. She loved reading about them in big chairs at the library close to the motel room she called home. She grew up lonely. A wallflower with the nickname “anti-social bookworm” with no parents to turn to. They abandoned her when she was six years old. So she was told.

Hope ran from the Christian orphanage at sixteen, found a minor job as a waitress in her favourite cafe, found a home in motel rooms, and shopped at farmers’ markets. She went through guys like no one’s business; making out with them under the bleachers at school (she was forever grateful of the family she lived with for two years for keeping her in school even if they could not keep her any longer), or finding them in the libraries, at the farmers markets, or even bars. Yet she struggled to find one that accepted a poor and orphaned weirdo.

That all changed when she was being chased down an alley-way at twenty-two by an inky black shadowed figure.

“STOP RUNNING!” Someone yelled from in front of her.

It was too late, she barrelled into the person and tumbled to the ground with them.

The stranger jumped to their feet, shielding her under his arm as he blasted some sort of light at the thing that was chasing her. Hope clung to the stranger as she breathed deeply to calm her adrenaline. It was a huge mistake as this was the best smell she had ever smelled in all of her life.

He took a firm grip on her shoulders and held her upright, his amber eyes looking into her dark brown orbs with worry. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Diolch.” She answered. “What was that thing?”

“Boggart.” He answered firmly and confidently. He chuckled at her confused expression. “Amortal shape-shifting non-being that takes on the attacker or observer’s worst fear. In your case, just an inky blob as I assume you are non-magic?”

Magic?! Oh my God! That explains the light. She chuckled half-heartedly. “Your kidding, right? Who are you? You're a wizard?”

He extended his hand. “Proper introduction, I see. Right, pardon me.” He cleared his throat, squaring himself. “Lyall Lupin.”

She shook his hand firmly with a nod. “Hope Howell.” She giggled. “Should you be telling me this?”

“Aye, I graduated not that long ago. I am cleared. Anywhere ‘round here nice enough to chat and tell you my story?”

“Asking me out just minutes of meeting?”

Lyall shrugged, hands in his pockets, looking around the alley-way.

I would suggest my home, but that would be weird with a stranger and… well… would he judge me? He seems like he comes from a wealthy family. Take a risk, Hope. This could be it for you! Fairy-tales, remember? And damn does he look like a prince! Don’t forget magic… okay, this isn’t just about that. He’s a nice guy, shouldn’t go after him just cause’ of that. Off topic… oh! Answer him, Jesus! “Uh, yeah. If it isn’t too weird we could go to my place?”

He nodded. “Sounds fine to me. I won’t bite.” He joked. “Happen to have a car? I wouldn’t want you to leave it around here.”

Nice, considerate, and funny. How the hell did he get here? Why was I fated to meet him? She nodded, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah, just a short walk that way.” She pointed to the left where they had entered the alley from. “I had just ended my shift when that thing chased me from my car. Boggart, you said?” She looked up at him as they walked, his eyes darting across the dimly lit streets like he was looking for something.

“Uh, yes.” He answered, sprinting to the driver’s side and opening it for her. “M'lady.”

She blushed softly, minding her head as she dropped herself into the seat. Gentleman. No guy has ever held doors for me, not that I mind because I can do it myself, but it would have been nice sometimes.

She started the ignition as Lyall got in her car.

If I wake up in the morning and this is all a dream, I will hunt him down. This is way too real like to be a dream, but yet he is so chivalrous that it seems like a dream. Dreams can be realistic. Although reality can be like a dream as well.

She pulled into the motel parking lot, her heart pounding as she thought of all the worst-case scenarios but when she looked over at Lyall, he was getting out of the car like nothing was unusual. He bent over to look at her.

“Expecting me to know which one’s yours?” He smiled.

Hope smiled back, turning off the ignition and grabbing her bag as she threw her keys in then grabbed her motel key.

“Just over here.” She answered, guiding him to the stairs.

The dim light did little to aid her, and she growled in frustration, blindly guiding the key into the slot with growing frustration as the nighttime air became colder, nipping at her bare arms.

Lyall looked around before pulling his wand from his sleeve and giving her light. Hope glanced up at him with a blank expression before looking back at the key and jamming it into the slot before forcefully turning it and kicking the door open with her heeled foot.

“Damn door.” She grumbled, throwing her bag to the floor and her keys in the dish on her counter. Lyall shimmied the door shut and locked them in. Hope let her light brown curls cascade down her back as she headed to the bathroom. “I’m just going to get comfortable. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, if you desire.”

Lyall looked around from where he stood to take in the room; a queen bed just a few inches from touching the wallpapered walls, a green couch with a coffee table in front near a small kitchenette, and the small closet next to the bathroom sink and small bathroom Hope was in. He made his way to the couch and took a seat when the bathroom door squeaked open and Hope emerged.

“It’s not much-” she started.

“It is completely fine. I am just telling you my story.” He chuckled. “I just met you. What kind of blokes have you been with?”

She sat on the cushion farthest from him and sat with her legs crossed. “Childish men. I would not even consider calling them men.” She scoffed. “Every chance they get they would be up a bird’s skirt.”

“Well, I would never take advantage of a woman.” He smiled softly at her, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his blazer as she became more comfortable and uncurled from pulling into herself.

He told his story to her about how he came from a pure-blood family in Leicester, England and went to a magical school named Hogwarts in Scotland. She asked him what he was doing in Newcastle Emlyn Wales and he told her he was exploring.

“...anything to get away from my parents' pressure on finding a kind woman.” He chuckled softly. “It seems to be this big thing in pureblood families.”

“What happens if you do not comply with the one they choose?” Hope asked.

“You get disowned.”

***

Six months in of them dating, she had asked him to pinch her one night. He chuckled and complied. Afterwards asking her why. She pulled him in for a kiss and whispered; ‘I need to make sure this is still real.’ He smiled and entwined their hands together as they walked around the pond another time. From then on he had always made sure she knew this was real by holding her hand, hugging her, kissing her, making her smile. He loved her smile and making her laugh. He had never had that with a woman coming from the life he had previously lived. Now all he wanted was to live in her world.

Three years later she found herself in Hogsmeade trying different things, learning about a whole other world she could only imagine in her dreams. She had never been this happy in her life. Lyall had told her that once she shared all her favourite shops and foods with him, he wanted to do the same. This man was unbelievable to her. Hope still couldn’t believe they had met that fateful night. He listened, he acknowledged her interests and even tried to learn more about them; he was funny, kind, sweet, and caring. He protected her, loved and cherished her, and after the fifth year she knew there was no turning back.

Lyall had proposed to her and they got married a year later. He ignored his family’s outlash and ran away with her to Newport, Wales where they bought a small home with three bedrooms. After two years of being married, she found out the most exciting news. Lyall came home that day from work at the Ministry and she leapt into his arms. He dropped his case to the ground, catching her and wrapping his arms around her.

“What’s got you all happy?” He chuckled, kissing her neck as he held her around her waist.

She giggled. “We are going to have a baby.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Really?” He asked, slightly nervous but mostly happy. Then the fear kicked in.

“Yeah.” She slid her legs down his, standing on her toes to place a kiss on his lips. “What’s wrong, Lyall?” She caressed his thick, chestnut coloured, wavy curls.

“Nothing, I’m happy.” He picked her up and spun her around, kissing her again with a chuckle at her worried expression. “Honest! It is just a slight shock is all, as for everyone.”

“Well, I guess I am just happier as I haven’t really had a proper family.” She pat his shoulder. "You would tell me if we were in danger, right? There is nothing you are hiding from me?"

Lyall squeezed her into a soft hug. “Hey, darling. I’m thrilled, I just struggle with my emotions sometimes. You will make a wonderful mother, and we will have the family you always dreamed of.” He kissed her softly again. “Now, let me make that recipe you love so much, will that cheer you up?”

She smiled, kissing his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

He dipped her, kissing her deeply. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Nine months later she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She held the fragile bundle in her arms, looking up at Lyall with tears in her eyes. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Welcome to the world, Remus.” Lyall smiled as Hope placed their baby in his arms. “I love you so much, no matter what.”

Hope smiled up at her boys. She would never leave her baby, show him the world is dark and dangerous, or make him feel unloved. He would get everything she never had. She would make sure his life was happy, bright, and loving.

However… that didn’t last long.