#it's even more painful if you imagine a rather chaste kiss instead of a passionate make out session

[moondvncer]

listen to me listen. to. me. casper is that type that 100% sighs super softly when you kiss him and he's also convinced that you don't notice the fact that he leans in even more like, he hugs you closer as if he wants to mold your bodies together and - okay no I'll stop here

[moonlights-inkwell]

Why Don’t You Just Tell Them All to Fuck Off Love, And Be Mine

Jaskier x Reader  

Word Count: 5,670

Summary: You and Jaskier partake in a game of pretend, with some unexpected consequences.  

AN: The sequel to Oh Can’t You Hear The Scratching that no one asked for. Oops.  

Warnings: Smut. Oral (female receiving). Dirty Talk. Feelings.  

“You know,” Jaskier says lightly, cutting through the silence of the empty tavern, making you look up to meet his eyes. “You wore that dress the first night I met you.”  

You had almost forgotten Jaskier was still in the tavern. He was being strangely quiet before speaking up, so quiet you could have sworn he had gone home when the drinkers had, yet there he is. Sat there, still holding his Lute on his knee and watching you like a hawk. He’s taken to performing on nights when you work. Locals love him, bards seldom come through your village, and those who do don’t stay for long, so Jaskier's songs have been well received, even if your employer has been shooting your lover death glares every night he has performed. You don’t know if he recalls that it was Jaskier that swept you out of your life in the village so long ago, or if he’s just jealous of how you allow Jaskier affection so freely, but the older man scowls and jabs and jibes, and with him going through the coins earned tonight upstairs, there has been silence. Just you and the rag and a silent Jaskier. 

It’s true though, you did wear this dress the first night you met him. It’s a white and wine-coloured affair, pretty enough to flatter your frame but easy enough to move in during your hours working. It’s nice, flares out when you turn too quickly and dips to a respectable if a little coquettish square neckline that makes your chest more obvious. The dress is usually enough to encourage men to be more generous with their coin without hearing any comments about your being some sort of whore, and your hands leave the rag you had been using to clean to smooth the fabric about your hips. You hadn’t paid that much mind when you tugged it on this morning, but under his watchful eyes right now, you flush as though it had been deliberate. Clothing has never been something you pay much mind to but, with how Jaskier is eyeing you, you can tell that he has paid attention to it, and you realise something you hadn’t noticed earlier. He too is wearing the exact same thing he wore the night the two of you met, deep violet and sky-blue doublet and trousers, pretty and attention grabbing- but somewhat toned down compared to his usual garb.

“it was clean.” You say shyly, tucking a few stray curls behind your ear to hear him chuckle quietly.  

“It’s beautiful. You're beautiful.” Jaskier says things like that as if they’re obvious, unintentionally making you feel foolish for any insecurity. A pathetic laugh comes from you and he tilts his head like a pup, the island of the bar between the two of you makes you feel safe; he'd never hurt you, that much you can stand your life on, but the distance between you keeps you from doing something foolish. Like kissing him.  

He’s been distant since the first night he returned to you, never letting his touch linger longer than would be considered chaste, his kisses never turning passionate, never finding his usual respite between your thighs as he once did. He sleeps beside you, presses kisses to the space beneath the corner of your lips, still sings and leans into you but doesn’t... touch as he once did. It’s as though you've fallen into some sort of time warp to before the first time you were intimate, when he was so concerned about making you uncomfortable that progressing seldom seemed like an option at all. You have no clue how to fix this rift that has developed, unsure if this distance is simply because of the time you spent apart or because he’s no longer interested in you as you’re interested in him.

“It’s just a dress.”  

“It’s a dress that makes you look beautiful, Little Miss.” The bard insists, settling his Lute down on the newly cleaned surface of the table before walking around it to approach you. Be it nerves or something more embarrassing than that, you turn from him to continue your cleaning. “...The moment I saw you wearing it, I knew I’d laid my eyes on the most divine creature the lands have ever known.”  

“The moment you saw me you had a woman hanging off each arm.” You retort. It’s intended to be playful, but comes out colder than expected, and you cringe at the sound of your own voice. Petty. Absolutely fucking petty, because you know as well as him that once you smiled his way and brushed past him to serve drinks to a group of patrons his lady-friends were gone, and Jaskier had sat at the bar and spent the night talking to you as if you were the only person in the world. You aren’t jealous, truly you aren't, the person your Dandelion had been before you had even known him has never been your concern, and now you sound like an envious adolescent. It’s enough to make your flesh crawl with shame. Were you paying more attention to anything but your own words you might have heard Jaskier say your name firmly, but no, you remain in your own head until your stomach is pressed gently against the counter, kept in place by his warm, firm body behind you. “Jask?” Stupid question. Who else would it be?  

“I thought you were the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes on.” He breathes into your ear, sending shivers down your back. “A muse, a godsend, beautiful and intoxicating and...” His voice trails away to nothing at all while his hands rest on your hips. “Gods above and below, Missy. The sight of you alone had me willing to spend a whole night ignoring everyone else, content to spend my night obsessed with the Beauty before me and fisting at my cock until i slept to the thought of you rather than try to find someone else to spend my night with.” His voice is little more than a growl, and breathing is growing harder with every honeyed word that drips from his lips. “You, beautiful you, who didn’t care about my songs or my reputation- just so kind and perfect and fucking beautiful.” Cold hands slide upward from your hips to rest in the dips of your waist. “So perfect I asked you to come with me. So perfect I feared telling you how I felt. Skilled with a sword and with your tongue and so much better than I will ever deserve.”  

“Julian.” You start, but no other words will follow his real name. You could worry that he's going to do something foolish, or give in and push his hands up to your breasts, but instead you simply sigh and relax into his touch. His lips press to the expanse of your throat and you feel him smile against your skin.  

“Even before I asked you to be mine, I wanted you. Needed you. Came with my fist in my mouth to the thought of you so I wouldn’t wake you. So, do not question when I tell you how I feel about you.” His growl is enough to send a rush of heat to your cunt with each word, and a painful sort of warmth to your heart. “Even without being with you, my heart has been yours since the moment I met you.”  

Logical thought dies an honourless death at the suggestion of Jaskier's want for you. Weeks of nothing at all and he decides that he ought to break that run by informing you that the first night he had even met you he had worked himself to climax to the thought of you. That the thought of you alone was enough to have him spilling onto his hand even before he had so much as kissed you. You swear you could choke at the thought, but there’s something more you want to choke on. Still, he pulls back from you, the world is off kilter and you swear you’re going to fall to your knees until you turn about to press your back to the counter, it takes less than a second for him to all but throw himself onto you- mouth over yours, tongue dipping into your mouth as though he's some adventurer trying to map out uncharted land.  

Eyes shut, his mouth on yours, you feel the tavern around you fall away, the wind gusting through your hair and along your décolletage. There is no tavern, no employer, no cleaning, no childhood home that will almost definitely be cold as death by the time you get home. None of that exists, none of it matters at all. All that exists is his mouth, his tongue, how he manages to somehow be everywhere and nowhere at once, intoxicating and intangible. You could be anywhere, everywhere, with your eyes clamped shut as they are. With no effort at all, you could imagine yourself anywhere, the hidden spot behind a curtain while a ball happens less than a foot away from you, the sandy alcove of some far-off beach, but the place your mind settles on is somewhere you don’t know at all, making you fill in the gaps to create something out of your own memories. Oak coloured, and warm, furnished all with deeply coloured leather, books and instruments, like Oxenfurt, but cast half in shadows by flickering lights and scented like smoke and molasses, like Yen's home. In spite of all of that, or maybe because, it feels like home: especially when Jaskier's lips dip down from your lips to the corner of your mouth once more to kiss at the space he calls Your Kiss.  

Lettenhove, your mind supplies the name for the place it has created, faster than you can remember where you know it from. Jaskier's home.  

He’s mentioned it to you once, maybe twice, in all the years you’ve known him, only ever to complain and insist how he hated it and would never return, but here you are, creating it in your mind. It seems only right, that he has kissed you in your childhood home that you can at least imagine his. It feels wrong though, even if the thought remains, like a sick secret.  

“Darling?” He asks softly, drawing your attention back to him.  

“Yes?” You ask gently while his fingers trace circles into your waist.  

“You look sad, Dear Heart. I know I’ve been distant but please tell me that look is not disappointment as I assume.”  

“No, no. Just thinking.”  

“A dangerous past-time.” Jaskier says solemnly with a shake of his head which you ignore.  

“Why have you been so distant of late?”  

“I. I've had a deal to think about since. Well, since.”  

“Since the mountain.” You finish the sentence for him. He nods and you nod in return. He hasn’t told you what happened, except that Geralt and himself had parted ways on less than amicable terms. Why that has meant the two of you haven’t been intimate is beyond you though, and you feel awkward to ask such a question.  

“I didn’t want to do anything while my mind was not entirely focused on you, My Muse.” He admits, tracing fingers across the details of your face. “I spent months without you, trying to remember just how your skin turns pink as you climax, the delicate arch of your back, the contortion of your lips. Months of cumming to a memory, and months of cumming to fantasies of you before I had you. I wanted the real thing, and to appreciate it. And that meant not being distracted.”

“I could have put my mouth on you. That always relaxed you.”  

“A sweet offer, truly. Probably would have taken you up on it too.” He admits, “But I want to pay attention to you.” Traitors that the mind and mouth are, you can’t find a single word to say, but your lips turn up in a subtle smirk and you pull away from him, slipping from his grasp.  

“Darling-" he argues at your sudden movement, but you press your fingers to his lips with a soft shushing sound.  

“Play a game with me a while, Dandy?” You ask intently, which catches him off guard, his hand wrapping around your wrist. Pet names are his forte, wordplay his bread and butter, so it doesn’t take a hair out of you when he calls you by one, but you use them fairly infrequently and they always have him blinking like a startled doe.  

“Name the game.”  

“First impressions.”  

“Can’t pretend I know that one, Dear Heart. If it’s anything like Gwent I can’t see my being any good either.” He chuckles and you pull back from him with a laugh of your own.  

“Not like Gwent. More of a playing pretend sort of game.” You clarify, though saying it makes you feel childish. “We... we pretend this is the first time we have met.” He smiles at that, head tilting to the side.  

“A pretend game.” He repeats, smile growing as he mulls over the idea. “I like it.”  

“I’m glad.”  

“Are there any rules to this game?” He asks and you blink. Rules had not even entered your mind, but he was right. A game should have rules.  

“...We can’t acknowledge anything we’ve been through.” You say easily and he nods. “And we can do whatever we wish we could have done when we first met.”  

“Sounds good to me. But one thing before we start?” He asks gently, leaning in and loosening your hair and pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Perfect. Now I can pretend not to have known you.”

“I... think we ought wait for Kacper to leave for the night.” You whisper meekly, and though Jaskier lets out a pained little groan he nods slowly, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss the heel of your palm.  

“Fine. Can’t have that vile little man watching as I have my way with you.” That makes you choke, staring at him, wide eyed and gaping like a fish out of water while he smiles down at you like he’s simply commented on the weather.

“You. You say that like I would have let you- “ You falter and snap out a quiet, “That vile little man is the reason we can afford food and clothes!”  

“Little Miss, please.” He interrupts you flippantly before bringing his lips down on your own once more, albeit only for a second or so. “I have eyes. I’ve seen how the bastard looks at you. I’ve seen how every bastard looks at you.” You dont know what he means. Kacper, yes, the man is uncomfortable and not someone you want to spend any time about, but everyone? He’s a fool, and a paranoid one ay that.  

“Be that as it may!” You say, hoping he doesn’t realise that you’ve essentially agreed with him. “You’re acting as ifi would have let you bed me having known me less than a night.”  

“We'll be playing at having just met, not completely forgetting everything. And besides, you said we could do anything we wished we had when we first met, no?”  

“I. I did.”  

“And, from the moment I met you, I’ve wanted to taste you. And I have every intention of creating a first meeting between us where I was not such a coward as to not even attempt it.”  

“I never thought you a coward, Jaskier.” You argue but he shakes his head.  

“I know that, Dear Heart, and I wouldn’t change our time together. But it’s just a game of pretend.”  

“Just a game of pretend.” You agree.  

...

“I’ll be off now, Missy.” Kacper says tiredly, holding onto the door for purchase. “No bard?”

“He's home and asleep by now.”

“You should go home yourself. I can walk you if you-"  

“No, no. I'll finish cleaning, it oughtn't take too long. Go rest.” You reply easily, pushing the hair that’s escaped your bun away from your eyes. “I'll be fine. I’m a big girl. I can cope.”  

“You can stay in my house if you want to avoid the walk.” He says insistently. Your flesh crawls at his lecherous smile but you fake a smile all the same.  

“I’ll be fine, Kacper. But thank you. Sleep well." The response is sharp and firm, and the older man ducks his head in a suddenly sober nod. “Good Night.”  

“Goodnight Child.”  

Child. The looks he gives you should not be given to a child.

The tavern is empty, and you wipe at the counter in front of you out of boredom until you hear it. The click of the latch lifting followed by the soft squeal that tells you the door is opening. Your eyes stay focused on the wet surface. In this pretence of a night too long ago, you consider pretending to serve drinks to patrons that don't exist, but decide that to be a step too far and instead drop the rag to toy with your hair, leaning against the counter as if watching people that are no longer there.  

Try hard enough, and you can make out the people who had been there that night; the table of drunken older men playing Gwent who had always been especially generous in tipping you in the hopes that you might stay a while and bring luck with a smile, your own friends gathered about a table and shouting old pet names to lure you back to their table with ale, the gaggle of older women cawing and cursing about how wrong it is for a girl of your age to be working in a pub, tempting their husbands and sons. It’s familiar and alien and nostalgic all at once, making your heart ache. It was like that not four hours before, and you hadn’t had any such feelings then, but now that it is empty it feels like watching ghosts lingering at empty tables, phantoms sat in empty chairs.  

“Is it always so busy?” A voice asks from beside you, making you let out a squeak of surprise. You take in the bard as if you’ve ne’er seen him before, and it’s strange. Gods, he’s beautiful, that you already knew, but the way he’s swept his hair to one side has you convinced he’s testing your patience on purpose. He deliberately loosened your hair so you looked closer to how you had, but his hair is swept to the other side entirely. Bastard. You know he’s done it to see if you will immediately try and sort it out. You’re tempted.  

“Oh? It’s early in the morning on Freya's day at a tavern. It’s always busy.” You’re surprised how level your voice is, tinged with sarcasm. “You aren’t from here.”  

“Beautiful and Observant. Are all women in this town like you?” He smirks and leans on his elbow, not realising how wet the counter was until it slides along the surface, making you cackle unexpectedly.  

“Only in that lines like those won’t work on them, stranger.” You struggle out between laughs. “Ale? Wine? Food?”  

“Wine, please.” He grumbles out, pushing himself off of the counter. Any mortal man would be ashamed of having almost knocked out their front teeth on the bar, but not the bard, his lips turn up in a smirk. “And the name of the radiant being in front of me.”  

“Wine it is, Stranger.”  

“Not a stranger. Stranger has some awful implications, Pretty Thing, and a stranger is only a stranger when you know not their name.” A pale, calloused hand is thrust towards you. “Dandelion. Well, Jaskier, famed bard. Surely you've heard of me.” His voice is overcome with confidence, and you can’t help but lean on the driest part of the counter to observe him closely before breathing out your name, which he repeats.  

“That’s my name.” You say simply, leaning back to seek out a bottle of wine and pouring out a glass for the bard in front of him. “And I can’t pretend I know who you are, Bard. But if you’re famed then I presume that you can pay for your drinks.”

His face falls at that, and he begins to ooh and awe, looking through his pockets which you already know to be empty.  

“Now, Angel of the Ale, famed doesn’t necessarily mean rich-"  

“And, Bard, pretty eyes and notoriety doesn’t necessarily mean you'll get a free drink from me.” Your hand covers the brim of the glass and begin to slide it backwards toward you. “This is an establishment, not a charity.”  

“Now, Missy. Let us not be too hasty.” He argues, with a small smile. “surely a song is enough payment for a single glass of wine?” This elicits an unamused sigh from you, and you lift your hand from the cup.  

“Fine, Bard. Have it. But not a word of this to anyone. The owner will have my head if he finds out.”  

“No song, Missy?” He asks and you laugh and shake your head.  

“No, no. I’m. I’m hardly one for a song. You would just be wasting a song.”  

“A shame." Jaskier drawls out, taking a sip of wine before settling you with a smile that is just on the right side of leering. “I like to believe my songs are good enough even for those who don't know much of music. I hear I have a very clever mouth, and a talented tongue."  

He has a bastard of a tongue. The sort that has you flushing without obscene words, and with them? Oh, Melitele's tits you feel like you'll fall apart. The shock written across your face is true, and he chuckles like it’s a funny joke between just you two. It is, you suppose, or would be, were it not for the vile looks that your employer sends your way when he thinks your eyes away from his.

“Excuse me-?”  

“Come, Pretty Thing, play at a role that suits you. Shocked virgin might be believable at your age were you not the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes upon.” Jaskier says dismissively, eyes unblinking and following you as you escape from behind the bar. It’s easy to feel like prey under his watchful gaze.  

“Not that my sexual activity is any of your business, but I am.” You respond, shakily; watching as Jaskier saunters to you, holding his chalice in one hand. “A. A virgin, I mean.” You all but whisper the last sentence, and he grins; terrible and beautiful, all teeth and gums, and he reminds you of the wolves that lived in the woods during your childhood. But then he slinks closer still, the comparison between Jaskier and wolves are not quite right. No. Geralt, wherever in the world he is, is a wolf; built to survive hardship. Close enough to resemble a person who could be kept, but far too large and dangerous for that. No. Jaskier is no wolf.  

Jaskier is a fox. Slim and small and ready to rip out your throat. Easily mistaken for a pet, even willing to play at the role, but as soon as you stop eyeing him, he returns to a state that is closer to feral than kept. You feel like a chick, eyed like a feast, waiting for him to just. Strike. And he does, just not in the way you expected- he cups your cheek gently and swipes his thumb across your cheek.  

“Then everyone in this village must be blind, if they aren’t willing to fight to the death to Kiss you, never mind bed you.” His voice is smoke and molasses and you feel like you could drown on dry land.  

“They’ve wanted to.”  

“But you haven’t?”  

“Never met someone who I had any interest in.”  

“Is your... employer here?”  

“N-no.”  

“Then, at the risk of pushing, darling-maid, I’d rather show you what pleasures the flesh can hold.”

“Push. Please.”  

.....

Games of pretend as an adult are much different than they were when you were a child. As a child you toyed at being a princess, a dragon, a knight; now, you’re pretending not to know the love of your life as he buries his face between your thighs, shoved over a table that you cleaned while his clever tongue works it’s way inside of you from behind.  

The wood under you is so, so cold, but his mouth is intoxicatingly warm. Having his mouth on you is nothing new, not at all, but it has you feeling drunk: like having gulped down a tavern's worth of wine, giddy and all appendages tingling. It’s right and comfortable and new all at once. This position especially, face down on a table with him down on his knees before you, the Bard insists on seeing your face- be it so he can kiss you or see the minute changes in your face that tell him that you’re close, but tonight all you can see is the floor and not the mop of brunet locks and wide, blue eyes. The change is fine, welcome, but not enjoyed as much as the alternative.  

He’s made a romantic out of you, you don’t know if you should like or despise that fact. Women in the pub ask often about your musical lover and his talented tongue and fine fingers, asking if the length of them extends to other more personal parts of his anatomy, which you always laugh off. Small villages such as this thrive on gossip and you couldn’t bear it were your intimate goings on to become the talk of the town, but really, you’ve other reasons to be silent on the matter. How do you explain to someone that it’s not about the fingers that crook within you as it is the fact he always knows exactly where to do so? Could you ever find the words to describe that talented though his tongue may be, it’s the fact that you feel him use it to trace the words I love you against your most personal flesh, as he is right now? Can there be a means of saying that large as your lover's cock might be, and that he is well aware how to use it and that he uses it well, your pleasure comes more from the softness in storm-coloured eyes that bore deep into your soul all while that thick length fills you to the point of no return? Never mind a romantic, he's made some poet out of you. You never knew poetry and syphilis were transmitted the same way but you'd rather the former than the latter.

Missing his eyes on you, you whimper and reach back for his hair only to have it pinned to the table beneath you. With a long lick from your clit down to your entrance Jaskier pulls back, only to stare at your sex while panting- the warm air passing along your soaked cunt and making you quake .  

“I was right, Pretty Thing. People should fight to the death to Kiss you. Especially kiss these lips you so cruelly hide.” He sounds as drunk as you feel, words slurring over themselves.  

“Bard. Bard please.” You whine, digging your nails into the table. There's a breathless chuckle behind you, followed by a wet kiss to the meat of your thigh, where leg meets arse.  

“Do you want something, Angel of the Ale?” He chuckles, nipping at the skin.  

“Julian~” You whine loudly and Jaskier lets out a whisper of something that sounds suspiciously like finally, followed by a sharp swat to your cunt, wet slap echoing through the empty air. You'll never be able to work comfortably again, instead you'll be haunted by the memory of Jaskier's most triumphant performance to date: being able to bring you to the brink of orgasm without talking. No compliments, no whispered coos of Little Miss or Dear Heart to encourage you. Just his tongue.  

“So much for your game of pretend, Little Miss.” Jaskier sighs, but there's nothing but amusement in his voice. “I thought we were strangers?”  

“Changed my mind.” You choke out while his fingers spread the lips of your entrance wide open. “If I wanted to fuck a stranger, I would. I want my Buttercup to make love to me.”  

“Make love to you, eh?” Words fan across wet flesh and you could swear you have reached nirvana.  

“I want the love of my life to stop playing silly buggers and fuck me until I sob, yes.”  

He moans at that, weak and wanton as he bucks his hips into your calf, the proof of his want dragged against your skin like a dog rutting. Ever since he called you that in Oxenfurt, it’s been a secret sort of weapon for you. Losing an argument? Tell him he’s the love of your life. See him glaring across the tavern at a man whose eyes have been on you a second too long? Love of your life. It might be cruel were it not true.  

“Gods, Dear Heart, you're a cruel mistress.” You feel him smile as he bucks against you once more, thick and hard under layers of fabric. “Play pretend, Jaskier. Make love to me, Jaskier. You're the love of my life, Jaskier. What next? I simply won’t rest until your cock is in my mouth, Jaskier? You're going to be the death of me.” He smiles, you can feel soft lips as he kisses up from beneath the crease of your arse to the thickest point. “I’m half convinced you’re trying to kill me.”  

“Never.” Comes the earnest reply. “I can hardly spend forever with you if you’re dead.”  

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re half convinced you’ve gone too far but a thought creeps unbidden into your mind to fill the gaps. Something he said in Oxenfurt, which slips from your mouth with honest ease.  

“I'd marry you this second if I could.”  

Eyes slip closed as if waiting for some inevitable fallout, but none comes. Instead, you’re rolled onto your back and tugged up with such an intensity you worry the table might capsize.  

“... A hell of a place to propose, Little Miss.” He returns your own words back to you, eyes soft while his hand comes up to frame your face, fingers ghosting across the scar on your eye. The wound that kept you apart so long. The other rests on the crook of your neck, where if you cast your mind back far enough, you recall a wound being once, from some sort of vampire. He’s held your life inside you with trembling hands more often than you would like to think about, and you reach up to rest a hand over the space on his chemise where you know his heart ought be. It thunders along at a pace too fast for you to know it as you normally would, reminds you of how your own feels after fighting, fucking, but your own heart is beating slowly, pumping along at a relaxed pace under the touch of his fingers.  

“Well. I’m no poet.”  

“No. No, you aren’t.” He agrees. “I. I recall someone else saying that once before too.”  

“Well.” You reply melodiously, fingers straying from the fabric to the thatch of hair across his chest. Downy, dark hair, always keeping you a layer away from him- thick enough to keep you from seeing the flesh beneath but fine enough to feel his warmth seeping through. “He never got about to proposing, so I assumed I could take the line for myself.”  

“Excuse you, Dear Heart!” He sounds scandalized, like some rich old bat who asked for petunias and was gifted peonies by mistake. “I think you will find one of us refused to propose in his old place of education and spent every day afterwards trying to earn coin enough to buy you a proper ring, and as soon as I did you near died- oh. Oh shit. I didn’t mean to say that.”  

“You. You bought me a ring?” You ask incredulously. It doesn’t sound real. Jaskier bought a ring. For you.  

“Of course.”

“You. You, Jaskier, bought me a ring?” You ask again, mind unable to fully understand what it is he's said.  

“I told you I wanted to marry you!” He replies sharply, eyes narrowed a little as if anticipating a fight about it, but all you can do is grin up at him.  

“You want to marry me.”  

“I do.” He confirms, softening from the annoyance as easily as he hardened into it. “Not where I wanted to propose-"  

“Then don’t. Not here.” You insist. “Melitele's tits, I like to think I'm quite free and easy about these sorts of things but I’d rather you not propose in the tavern I work in.”  

“Good. Especially as I don’t have the ring to hand.”  

“As long as you plan on marrying me, I don’t mind when it happens.”  

You mean it too, but he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you softly on the tip of your nose.  

“You commandeer my proposal, destroy the element of surprise, make me tell you my plans. What am I to do with you?”  

“Keep me forever?” You prompt and he smiles and kisses you gently, hands sliding down to your hips, tugging your skirts up once more to eye your quim. “Jaskier?”  

“I need to get you home right now.” He whispers softly, eyes moving from your sex to your eyes. “So that I can make up for lost time.”  

“...Why not start here?”  

“It’s hardly romantic after admitting I want to marry you.”

“Bath and Bed?” You offer but he chuckles.  

“I think some things may need to go in the middle and the end.”

[writingsbychlo]

more ways than one (08)

word count; 7323

summary; a further look into his past reveals some secrets he never wanted to acknowledge, and a new pathways forwards after his death.

notes; I know the warnings might freak you out, but bear with me, okay?

warnings; reference to death, gore, violence, mentions of suicide, adultery, abuse, mentions of self-harm, torture and mentions of depression.

You felt numb and hollow, your fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes as you looked down at his body on the ground. The pack had been working around you for days, cleaning up the mess that had been the loft, and while you knew it was wrong - borderline creepy - you weren’t really sure what to do with the man before you.

What exactly did one do with a dead angel?

If he was decomposing, the wolves would be able to smell him by now, and yet he was exactly the same, his skin was paler but he still looked at peace, simply as if he was asleep, and you smoothed your fingers over the lines in his forehead, hoping to rub them away delicately with the pad of your thumb.

You were all cried out over the boy on the floor, your eyes were stinging, your skin was raw from tears, and your throat sore, and now you just felt hollow. Like he’s been a part of you, and something within yourself had died when he did. His skin was cold to the touch, and he almost looked as though he’d been chiselled from marble, a perfect creation that would remain untarnished for a millennia. His fingers, the ones that remained, would blow in the breeze each time the door opened, and you pulled your knees up to your chest as you sat beside him on the uncomfortable floor, crossing your arms across the tops of your legs and resting your cheek upon them as you simply watched him.

He had changed you monumentally, you may have saved him but he had saved you too. You had felt hopeless, useless and utterly lifeless before he had come along, something had always felt missing and with him, you felt as though that spark for life and passion had come back. You had your friends, who were more like family at this point, and yet he had made you feel more complete, like you finally had everything you needed in life.

You wanted to bury him, to put him to rest and let him be, to make him a beautiful grave that you could visit and thank him for each time you remembered the reason you were alive was because of his selfless bravery, and yet you still had no idea how he would want his life to have been celebrated, how it should be, you knew nothing, because you had never had the chance to ask.

A hand landed on your shoulder, and you looked up, a familiar face with warm whiskey-coloured eyes peering down at you as he squeezed comfortingly, and he took a seat beside you, wrapping an arm over your shoulders and holding you tight as your face pressed into his neck, muffling your sniffle of sadness.

“I really cared about him, Stiles.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. He saved my life too, y’know. He was a pretty cool guy, even if he did let me get possessed.” You let out a watery laugh into his skin, but you soon cut it off, hiccuping back a sob. He rubbed his hand up and down your back, trying to ease your aching heart as he watched you mourn for the man you cared so deeply for, the man you may have even loved, as he lay dead on the floor having sacrificed his life for you.

“I miss him.”

“I know.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your skin, scattering you hairline and temple with the sweet affections as he did his best to comfort you, and your hands gripped his shirt.

“I want him back, Stiles, there’s so much I never got to say to him.” He shushed your erratic mumbles, soothing you delicately as you hid your splotchy and wet face in his shoulder. “I wanted to show him the world, I wanted to show him everything that was amazing in the world.”

You coughed to clear your throat, feeling your body shaky, and a pair of arms hooked under your legs, pulling you away from Stiles,  your head snapping up, a scowl on your lips as you looked at Derek, pushing against his chest angrily and his arms only tightened around you.

“Put me down, Hale! Let me fucking go!”

Yoe scratched at the arms holding you, and he hissed at you did, the wounds quickly healing but he never let up as he walked towards the spiral staircase in the room, and you caught sight of all the sad eyes watching you go, the pack looking on remorsefully as you were carried upstairs.

“Derek, please, I need to be with him!”

“You’ve been sat there for two days, it isn’t healthy. You need to sleep.” He dropped you down on the bed, frowning at you in a way that didn’t read as anger but more of concern and brotherly love, and you fell back into the pillows as he effortlessly tugged the blankets out from underneath you, dragging them up and over your body as the hand on your shoulder pushed you to lie down. You protested, but only for a second, before a yawn was cutting you off, and he chuckled down at you as he crossed his arms. “Exactly. You’re tired. I’ll be downstairs, okay? Please, get some sleep.”

He drew the curtains, the darkness only making you more tired, and the cosiness of the bed was really drawing you in, and so you pressed your cheek into the pillow beneath you, silence encasing you as the door clicked shut softly, footsteps receding until the only sound was your light breathing and your steadily beating heart.

Within only a few moments, darkness was taking you over, and you let it, sinking into the sweet relief of unconsciousness, as it temporarily relieved your guilt and lifted the weight that was crushing your heart, even it would only be for a little while, because as the darkness took you in, you finally felt like you would get some peace too.

Pride

There he was, watching himself, like something from ‘A Christmas Carol’ as he watched his own actions from another perspective. He could remember this particular moment clearly, his previous self chuckling away as he watched his charge of the time march an army into battle, despite knowing that they would lose. He was invested, he was prideful, and he wanted to win the game, because it was during this time that human life had seemed as trivial as a board game to him. He felt nausea twisting in his gut, knowing that if he was going to relive his life, have it flash before his eyes, it wasn’t going to be something he would be proud of, something he’d have wanted to share.

His head pounded, so painfully his eyes closed for a split second, before he was opening them once again as the pain dissipated, and now he was seeing something new, a different moment. It was the day you’d had your breakdown, the first and only big argument the two of you had ever had, and he watched on as he swallowed down his own ego and pride to come back to you, after sulking in the woods for a while, and despite knowing how this oh-so-recent memory played out, his heart was still racing in his chest as he watched you drop to your knees, clutching at your chest as you struggled to breathe.

His own eyes watered as he watched you, your body trembling so violently he thought your teeth may crack, curled up on the floor as you struggled to contain yourself. He wasn’t there yet, his previous self, and he reached out a hand to touch you, to ease you, seeing you in pain only making him feel worse. His hand was placed on your arm, and yet, he couldn’t feel you, he couldn't do anything to help, and his chest felt like he was the one who couldn’t breathe as he watched you suffer. Finally, he watched himself stumble into the room, and at that moment he’d never been so grateful that he’d been able to come back to you despite the argument, despite knowing he’d been in the right and you’d been in the wrong, because you ha needed him, and as his counterpart scooped you up as he remembered doing so clearly, he felt slightly more at ease.

Gluttony

He merely blinked, before the room was gone was again, and he spun around on his heel, panicked as he searched for you, and the loft he was so familiar with was now simply a long white corridor, no end in sight in either direction but exactly where he stood were doors, four on either side of him. He wasn’t nearly as lucky as ‘Ebenezer Scrooge’ had been, he didn’t get a guide, or someone to show him the way, he got nothing at all. Instead, he was standing in a large corridor, so gleamingly white and pristine that it almost made his eyes sting, and he took in the doors before him.

Six of the eight doors were hanging open, just a crack, not enough to give him a glimpse of what lay inside, the lights out in each. One door, the door labelled ‘pride’ was tightly closed, and he sighed, running his fingers over the wood carefully. The other closed door was unlabelled, this one had a lock on it, and he suspected it to be sealed, not that he was expecting anything good to lay on the other side, in fact, he assumed that to be where his fate lay.

Looking to the next closest door, he read the words carved into a golden plaque across the front, a frown pulling on his lips as he placed his palm flat on the wood and stepped into the room. Before him, he was presented with the loft, two scenes simultaneously laid out before him. One was himself, sitting at a large table with more food, wine and varied delicacies than he could possibly imagine, his feet popped up on the table as he stuffed himself full, never sparing even a scrap to the other dining places around his table. It wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, he’d never been one to share, if he had it then he wanted it, and if he didn’t want it he’d rather it go to waste than for someone else to enjoy it.

He was scowling at his former self when your giggle cut through the reverie, his head snapping to the side as he watched you struggle to pour yourself a glass of pop while laughing, a movie he remembered you promising him was good flickering across the TV screen silently, a box of pizza with one slice remaining in it, and you were looking straight at him. This version of you could see him, and he made his way over to the couch tentatively, taking a seat beside you as you watched him.

You were still smiling, offering him half of the blanket you were snuggled under as you tucked it over his lap, and despite the fact you could see him, he still couldn't feel your hands on him as you smoothed the soft fabric down around him. He used his foot to push the box towards you, his stomach rumbling hungry, clenching in hunger as he looked at the final steaming piece of pizza, but he offered it to you anyway, knowing just how much you loved it.

You had split it, sharing the final piece with him as you held it out to him. It had been messy, bits of cheese and sauce dripping from the torn slice, and he’d had to dangle it over his head just to be able to eat and catch any pieces that fell, but it had been worth it. You had both ended up with greasy fingers and sauce all over your face, but he would much rather have shared with you and gone hungry then have eaten it all himself and been satisfied.

It was one of his fonder memories, of being with you and getting to take part in such an intimate time, and despite knowing it would have no effect, he placed a hand over your cheek in his memory, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. It was as though the second he tried to interact with you in a way that wasn’t a part of his lesson to learn that everything came crashing down. You were gone, in front of his eyes you slipped away, his arm dropping down to the couch, and the room trembled as cracks formed along the concrete.

He stood up quickly, the room shaking, and his eyes widened as the building began to fall away before his eyes. Nothing but an empty black void filled the space as the loft crumbled away, and he stumbled backwards, watching the tv, the couch, the blanket you had once been sharing all fall away into oblivion as he fell over his own feet towards the loft door.

He moved back through the door in such a rush that he barely registered the flash of the white corridor before his eyes, before he was falling through the door on his other side, landing on his back with a huff, a groan on his lips as he felt winded.

Greed

Feet rushed past on either side of his head, stepping over him and telling him to move, and he found himself on the floor outside of an office building, one he recognised from the late nineties. This was the charge he’d had just before he’d been assigned to Stiles, somewhere at this very moment, Claudia Stilinski had been in labour, giving birth to a boy that would change his own life without even knowing it.

At this moment though, his previous self had been distracted, never once making any moves to stop that path he had sent his charge down. This was the day he was assigned to Stiles Stilinski, because this was the day he let the man he’d been guarding before take his own life. His fingers wrapped around the handle, the door to the office not budging in the slightest, and he banged his hands on the wood, ramming at it with his shoulder, doing anything and everything he could to get into the office. Everyone else in the building could see him, he was getting odd looks and murmured whispers as he screamed as best he could, his eyes widened as he watched through the glass, seeing the man sitting at the desk, neatly arranging the photo frames of his family as he tidied away his belongings and left a neat desk.

This was the same man he’d allowed to embezzle almost $60,000 from a charity organisation, just because he had wanted to see what would happen. He remembered the sick feeling of satisfaction he’d had upon guiding him down a path of greed and fraud, and he remembered himself suddenly being assigned a new charge, never having been bothered to even find out what had happened to this one.

The gun laying on his desk was enough to tell him, the simple way that he was humming as he readied himself to die, and his back hit the wood as he slid to the floor, covering his ears and screaming loudly as the solid wall behind him shook with the loud bang that had gone off, the silence of the office building encasing him before screaming had taken up.

Tears were spilling down his cheeks, and he didn’t have to be shown anything this time, as you were already the only thing flashing through his mind. All the times he’d put your needs ahead of his, all the times he’d put your happiness before his own, all the times you’d meant more to him than anything he needed or wanted possibly could, as he tried to bury the guilt of the actions that had just taken place behind him.

Bodies hustled around him, someone fumbling with a set of keys as they tried to get the locked door open, and he fell backwards through it the second it opened, the smell of printer ink and metallic blood washing away as he rolled form stingy office carpet and back to the pristine tiles of the corridor of his reckoning.

The door slammed loudly behind him, just like the other two, and he lay on the ground, panting for only a second, before eventually dragging himself back up to his feet.

Lust

The atmosphere was already one that sickened him, and it was different from the rest. It was older, perhaps by a hundred or so years, and his body felt heavier as he tried to move. He felt like he could barely lift his legs, like he was weighed down to the ground, and with every step he took, it was harder and harder for him to move. This was perhaps the 1700’s, a time when he’d taken a particular liking to bending certain rules, adultery being one of them. He recognised the areas surrounding him, and he felt like a knife was twisting in his gut when a familiar-sounding laugh and voice, muffled from the door he’d entered through got clearer and clearer.

Large, meaty hands were sitting on your body, lips pushing against your own as you were backed into the room towards the bed, the man he’d been controlling already pulling at the strings of your corset, and anger flooded his system. He screamed, screamed and shouted and begged for it to stop until his throat had burned and his face had been red, before he'd pushed his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, and ignored the fact that he was being shown an illusion, something to hurt him.

He didn’t want anyone else’s hands on you, he didn’t want anyone else’s lips on you, he wanted you to be able to choose. Despite how much he’d been wanting to hold you, to kiss you, he’d always done his best to leave that to you, to let you make the first moves, he wanted it to go at your pace, and he hated the idea of someone else getting to touch you and hold you in a way that was meaningless, in a way that meant nothing other than some quick entertainment just because you were there.

You were so much more to him than just a lustful distraction.

With everything he had within him, he dragged himself to the door, it grew harder and harder, his fingertips bleeding and body aching as he pulled himself out of the room, not wanting to be present to such an illusion, to such a punishment, even if he did deserve it.

Sloth

The pain in his body seemed to slip away, and he almost felt like he’d stepped into something wonderful. This room was different, he wasn’t present like he was in the other, instead, he felt as though he was looking through a scrapbook. The room was stacked high with papers, each one holding a different task that he had failed to complete, another assignment or challenge, another duty he had neglected, the stacks reached the roof, papers covering the floor as he walked and stepped on the memories.

Sitting on the stacks, dotted around the room, hung on walls and lying on the floor were picture frames, and he navigated his way past the painful reminders of everything he had failed at, choosing to pick up a photo frame. It held a brief memory, playing out as he looked back on the time you’d taught him to cook, and he’d gone to the effort of learning, so that he could help you, or make the meals for you both instead on the days when you were particularly tired.

Another held the day he’d learned to do his laundry, the two of you unable to use the washing machine as you hid your presence from Derek, and he hand washed his clothes in the sink and hung them out the window so that they could dry, and you wouldn't have to take them home to wash and return for him.

He moved between them all, searching and hunting for more, until he was sure he’d seen every single one, and this room didn’t hold pain, it held an aching nostalgia as he watched the two of you smile, and he spent a while in there, laying the framed out on the floor in the order he remembered them, so that he could walk along and rewatch the development of his relationship with you.

When the time came, he wasn’t rushed for the room. Each frame seemed to flicker to black, progressively until each one showed him his own reflection, tear-stained cheeks and a wide smile, and it was with peace and satisfaction that he pulled the door shut behind himself, pressing his forehead to the wood, even if only momentarily, while he let the joy sink in.

Wrath

The loft was once again present when he entered the door leading to this sin, only two to go. He was well aware of everything he had done, reminders of his past sat around the room, and he ignored the group you called your friends as they cowered in the corner, choosing instead to look around at the trinkets and possessions he knew didn’t belong in Derek’s loft. The battle-axes sitting in a crisscrossed shape on the wall above the door, the dates of the battle carved into them.

The matching sets of slightly different rifles hanging on the coat rack, each with a hard-shelled helmet sitting on top, the dates of the world wars carved into each one, and the boxing bag in the corner with the gloves sitting on top of it, collecting dust. The fight that had ended his life had begun, and he knew how it played out, phantom pains of the bullet wounds on his chest beginning to flare up, and he pressed a hand to them absentmindedly. This room was a reminder of his biggest sacrifice, all the times he’d let fights and anger, malice and hatred get the best of him, and the one time he’d let his love take over as he gave everything up in a bid to protect and defend instead of attack and fight. He didn’t want to relive his death, he didn’t want to see you crying over him again, he didn’t want to watch himself break your heart, and so he made his way back or he door, not once looking back as he heard the bullets spray that had killed him open fire.

The deafening noise of the battle was silence as he stepped back into the corridor, only one door remaining, and he looked at it carefully, chewing on his lower lip with anxiety, before stepping towards it.

Envy

He had left this one until last for one very specific reason; because he already had a nauseating sickness telling him he knew exactly what was lying for him within this room.

He had always struggled with envy, it came hand in hand with greed, and while you’d been able to help him with every other issue he’d had, this was not one you could help him with. You made it worse, he wanted you, all of you. He wanted your attention, your love, your heart. He could never blame you for your friendship with Stiles, but he’d been jealous of it even before he’d been cast out, and he had never been able to move past it even when he was.

This room wasn’t a memory, the clock in the room was ticking loudly, the calendar on the wall was crossed off only two days after his death, and he was laying in the middle of the room. His guts twisted with jealousy as he watched you sitting beside him, Stiles making his way across the room to talk to you, to wrap his arms around you and hold you so close, to be the one who would still get to hold you, to love you and treasure you for the rest of his life.

There was no lesson to learn in this room, because no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to suppress it. This was his strongest weakness, his worst sin, because he wasn’t strong enough to overcome it, even with your help. He was always going to want love, and attention, and to be everything he possibly could. His reasons may have changed, but that simple fact would never go away, because he wanted to be everything to you, and he never would be.

He felt sick, watching as Derek scooped you up, carrying your screaming and thrashing body away from him, before the two of you disappeared up the stairs, and he followed after you both, watching as Derek disappeared with you into a bedroom with you still in his arms. He followed, stumbling over his feet and only catching sight of your tear-stained cheeks, and he wanted to be by your side, to sit with you as he saw you mourn, to ease your pain for him, and he screamed out in anger as he fell through the doorway.

The room slipped away, your body gone as he was back in the corridor, and he spun around, pushing idly at the now locked door of envy. He pounded, kicking and screaming as he willed himself to be able to return to your side, even if you couldn’t see him, he shouted your name, and punched at the wood until the white paint was smeared with blood and his knuckles were bleeding, tears flowing down his cheeks until he gave up, slumping against the wall as he was filled with despair.

The final door - the unlabelled one that had been locked, until now - creaked as it swung open, only an inch or so, to match how the others had been now that they were all locked so tightly behind him. His lesson had been learned, and despite what was on the other side of this door, he understood what he’d been told. He moved to it cautiously, peering at it with anticipation, but continued to lurk outside.

His hands trembled as he looked at the final door, the clicking of a lock sounding so loudly that he winced, and the noise echoed along the corridor to either side, his heart skipping a beat in his chest before he felt like it had stopped entirely, nothing but fear coursing his body.

You had shown him what it meant to care, to really try, and even if it had been too late to redeem himself, you had meant more to him than anything else ever had. You’d given him the power to change himself, and he’d done it without even meaning to, just for you. He’d changed, he’d learned, and it brought him peace as he managed to steady his racing heart and still his shaking hands enough to grasp onto the doorknob.

He expected fire, he expected agony and suffering and pain to match everything he had done. He expected to be burned, and tortured, and spend an eternity being inflicted with the same trauma he’d forced on everyone he had interacted with before you had come into his life, dragging him into the loft and forcing him to get better, forcing him to change.

With your face flashing behind his eyes, the feeling of your body still pressed to his as he remembered the hugs, the smiles and the laughs, he had the power to push the door open, and step into the blinding white light within as he whole-heartedly accepted everything he had coming to him.

You shuffled downstairs, swallowing thickly as you passed by the body that was still laying on the floor, now covered neatly with a white sheet, and you wrapped the thick bed covers that you’d brought with you even tighter around you, closing the warmth in to replace what you felt you’d lost, a cheap imitation of the warmth he’d brought to your life.

Stiles stumbled out of the kitchen when he heard your footsteps on the stairs, and he offered you a shaky smile, your best friend holding his arms wide out to you, and you slowly moved across the room, falling into them and he chuckled as a wad of cover smacked him in the face.

“I haven’t seen you wrap yourself up like this since I got possessed.”

“I like to become a burrito when I get depressed. It makes me feel safe. I’m a depression burrito.” You mumbled, voice muffled from where your face was pressed into his shoulder and he laughed loudly, the sound rumbling in his chest underneath you, his body shaking a little, and he squeezed you a little tighter before letting you go.

“All right, well, how about we get you some food, okay? Everyone but Scott has gone home, and Derek made a roast chicken. I don’t know where he got the chicken, he just arrived back with it after going for a run.” Your face scrunched up as he guided you to the kitchen, and you could see Derek scowling at Stiles from his place beside the oven.

“You saw me come in with a fucking grocery bag, Stiles, I didn’t wolf out and steal a fucking hen.”

You laughed loudly at the exclamation, pointing your friend a look, before you struggled to hop up onto one of the bar stools in your wrapped-up state, but managed it, Scott sending you a funny look from across the table, his face screwing up in a way that made you giggle, despite your sadness. The smell of chicken cooking in the oven, basted and seasoned filled your nose, and you let out a content sigh as you watched Derek wear his apron and chop potatoes to go with it, Stiles filling out a crossword in his puzzle book, and Scott texting away on his phone and doing his best to help Stiles, though he knew none of the words for the ‘diabolical’ level of puzzle.

“I need a six-letter word for ‘lacking of capability’.” He spoke aloud, and Scott began to eagerly scream off any synonyms he could handle, no matter what their letter count or real definition, and Derek snorted from the counter he was facing.

“Stiles.”

Scott cracked up laughing, and even you managed a smile, Stiles stocking his tongue out behind the werewolf, and as if sensing the motion, Derek flipped him off over his shoulder, before gasping loudly. “It fits.”

That only spurred the entertainment in the room, Derek chuckling as he scraped the chopped potatoes into a large pan of boiling water, before washing his hands and turning around to face you all at the kitchen counter. “How do you feel?”

“Despite being insulted, I am still sailing high, cruising a great mood, completing my crossword a-”

“Not you, dipshit.” Stiles beamed cheekily as you giggled, and he dropped one eye in a lazy wink, before going back to chewing on the tip of his pencil as he focused on the words he was missing, racking his brain extensively, his foot tapping under the table and the sound went unnoticed, as you were all used to his twitching by now. “I’m making you roast potatoes, I know you like them.”

“Derek, you don’t want to hear it, but I love you. You’re a cuddly wolf, really.” His lips formed a thin line, his eyes narrowing on you, but his cheeks heated up as he moved across the room, wrapping his strong arms around you and sealing you in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you too. But don’t tell the others, I’m not saying it to them all, some of them are too annoying.” He spoke the final word loudly, Scott’s lips flicking up as he heard the whole thing with his enhanced hearing, but Stiles merely scoffed, mumbling some reply in insult before it trailed off into an exclamation of joy as he solved another word.

Derek went back to cooking, and you were happy to just settle into the atmosphere around you. You weren’t sure how long had passed by, but the light from outside had darkened down, stars twinkling in the sky as the loft was lit up by lamps and soft lights. Clearly, you’d passed out for hours, the entire day having slipped by you, but you couldn't deny that you felt better, physically.

You were in the middle of chatting to Scott about the difference between ‘Quicksilver’ and ‘The Flash’ when he suddenly stiffened, Derek doing the same, and you and Stiles looked between them carefully.

“Dude, what’s up?”

Stiles waved a hand in front of a frozen Scott’s face, and the wolf snatched at his hand and batted it away, before they were looking at one another, Derek and Scott both going on the defensive. “Heartbeat.”

Stiles all but fell out of his seat, his hands flailing around himself, and fear rose up in your chest. You had been so sure that you’d ended the benefactor threat, you were so certain it was all over, and yet now you were on edge again. A cough, a single cough echoed through the loft from the main room, and the group of you stumbled back into the large space, eyes wide as you looked around, claws out on both of the wolves.

A scream tore from your lips as you took in the sight before you, your eyes watering as your knees buckled beneath you, causing you to fall backwards into Scott’s chest and he stumbled to support you. On his hands and knees, a red splotch of blood that he’d coughed up onto the white sheets, was the man you had presumed to be dead, your eyes wide and entire body trembling violently as you stood frozen in shock.

Your fingers grasped at the duvet wrapped around you, your jaw hanging open, and Stiles moved first, travelling towards his double and patting his back as the man groaned out, wiping his mouth and mumbling the word ‘water’ as best he could on a dry throat. You couldn't move, you felt like your head was spinning, and at this point, you weren’t even sure if you were really awake or whether this was a dream that your grief-riddled mind had dreamt up to ease your suffering.

A frantic Stiles buzzed past you, emerging only a few moments later with a glass of water, the liquid sloshing up over the sides of the glass and splashing across the concrete as it hit the floor. Holding it out to him, he took deep chugs, drinking the entirety of the glass before handing it back to Stiles and thanking him. Both of the wolves had put away their fangs and claws, eyes simply wide, and you weren’t even shaken from your almost traumatised state when Scott nudged you forward, you just watched on with a hanging jaw and watering eyes as he finally looked up to you.

He stood on shaky feet, stumbling for a second and wiping the blood from the side of his mouth, before he was offering you a small smile, arms hanging simply by his sides as his eyes softened upon seeing you. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

His wounds had healed, everything from the slight grazes and scrapes on his skin all the way to the bullet wounds that had taken him from you in the first place. Colour was dripping back into his complexion, bringing his life back with every second that passed, and his feathers were falling away slowly, the broken ones and the still pure ones falling away to a heap on the floor until his shoulders were once again sitting bare.

His arms opened, lifting barely at all but his palms stretched out as he watched tears roll down your cheeks, your bottom lip held prisoner within your teeth and you let out a squeaky sound before dropping the blanket you had wrapped around you, darting across the room and throwing yourself into his arms, to be wrapped up in him instead. His arms sealed around you just as tight as yours were around him, his face buying in your neck as your chin sat on his shoulder, and he squeezed you tightly as you released a needy sob, tears splashing onto his bare skin from your cheeks.

His hand cupped the back of your head and his own body was trembling underneath you, your legs going weak just from the ecstasy of being held by him, and the two of you sunk down to your knees, never letting one another go as you did, until you were slumped on the floor and clutching onto one another desperately.

You heard the others shuffle back into the kitchen and you twisted your head, pressing your forehead against his cheek as he lifted his own, and you felt his breathless chuckle wash over your skin. “I got you, I got you, I promise.” He pulled back enough to cup your cheeks, pressing a shaky kiss to your forehead and you laughed, more tears spilling down your cheeks and his thumbs soothed them away, his lips pressing to the skin your tears had been upon as he soothed the sting. “Why are you crying? Don’t cry.”

“It’s good tears! It’s such good tears, I can’t believe you’re back, you’re back with me.”

“I’m back for you.” He whispered, his eyes fixed on your own, and the two of you watched one another carefully, before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his as your eyes slid shut, and he let out a low breath that you didn’t know he’d been holding. “I saw. I saw you cry, and I saw how I am with you, and there was some kind of message, I’m not really sure but what I am sure about is that you are so important to me, and I need you.”

His lips pressed a tender kiss to the tip of your nose, his face barely moving, and you circled your arms around him even more tightly, holding him close to your body as you express everything you didn’t say in words with your actions instead. Your hands spread out over his skin, rubbing up and down his smooth skin, before you jumped back in surprise, and he startled a little in your touch.  “Your wings are gone! You lost your wings, and your life, for me!”

“And I would do it all over again, a thousand times, if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Yeah, but, you don’t have scars this time.” You placed your hands on his shoulders, turning him around, and he looked back over his shoulder as far as he could, your eyes widening and mumbles of awe leaving you as you took in the detailed ink work on his skin. From the tops of his shoulders to just under the hem of his sweatpants was a beautifully detailed set of tattooed wings, covering the expanse of his back and almost hiding the patch of moles under his right shoulder, but you would never miss them.

Leaning in to press a kiss to the constellation on his skin, his muscles tensed and fluttered under your lips, and your fingers traced the intricate designs from the top to the bottom, covering all of the subtle lines and detailing. “What is it?”

“It’s.. incredible. It’s wings, a tattoo of beautiful angels wings, your wings, from your shoulders to the bottom of your back, and it’s breathtaking.”

“I wish I could see it.” He joked, and you tapped his shoulder, stumbling to your feet and he rose up after you to steady you, but you were already tripping over your own feet as you dashed across the room to grab your phone from where it was sitting on charge in the corner. Making your way back over to him, you positioned him under the lights, snapping a few pictures from different angles, before coming to stand at his side and holding up the phone screen before him.

You flicked through all of the photos, zooming in and pointing out different patches, until eventually, you realised he was no longer looking at the photos. Glancing up, you found his eyes already on you, a small smile on his lips as he stared at you, and your brows raised up. “What?”

He shook his head, licking over his bottom lip before taking the phone from you and tucking it into his pocket, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, his eyes fixed on yours and your lips parted under the intense gaze he was fixing you with. “I love you.”

You took a sharp breath, eyes wide but you couldn't reply before his mouth was descending onto yours, his eyes sliding shut and lips meeting yours, pressing timidly to your own and a low moan sounded out. Your arms came up to wrap around him, your lips dragging together as he pulled back, before he was diving back into you with more confidence, pressing his lips to yours in a series of quickly deepening pecks, the kiss moving from short and chaste to passionate and drawn out, the smacking of your mouths together filling the silence of the room as his hands slipped down to settle on your waist, sliding around your body to hold you to his body tightly.

Your chest was flush up against his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing back into him with just as much enthusiasm and joy, your fingers weaving into his hair as his fingers tickled along your spine, running up and down in soothing patterns as he towered over you, your mouths connected in a heated exchange of emotions.

Your lungs were burning, and you pulled back, just long enough to take a deep breath and let your eyes flutter open to take in his ruddy cheeks and swollen lips, darkened eyes studying you so intensely that you felt yourself go pliant in his hold as his strong arms supported you. “I love you too.”

He beamed at you, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours, sucking on your lower one teasingly as his tongue poked it’s way into your mouth, tangling with your own. This kiss wasn’t as needy or frantic, it was slower, and more intimate, a sigh leaving you and escaping into his mouth as your tongue played visible between your mouths each time your heads tilted and shifted to get deeper angles to one another.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, feeling his thumping just as excitedly from where you weer pressed together so closely, and you sunk back down from your tiptoes to resting on your feet properly, your breathing laboured as you tried to steady it, unable to hide the grin on your face as you felt him pepper your face and cheeks with kisses.

“Are you hungry? Does coming back from the dead make you hungry, or feel sick? It’s not exactly common knowledge.”

“I’m starving, actually.” His words were hummed out, and you laced your fingers with his before pecking his lips, pulling him in the direction of the kitchen as he followed after you. Glancing back over your shoulder, nothing but warmth and pure love filled you as your eyes found his, and he offered you a dazzling smile in reassurance, his fingers squeezing your own in reassurance, and finally, you felt like everything in your life had fallen perfectly into place.

[tyranttortoise]

TT, how would you rank skelebros in "who's the best kisser"? Starting from the absolute mind-blowing?

*I’m honestly surprised I’ve never done this.

Mutt

Red

Stretch

Edge

Blueberry

Axe 

Sans

Papyrus

Blackberry

Crooks

Okay, hear me out while I break these down under the cut and show that I’m only slightly biased.

Let’s face it.  You want Crooks to be an amazing kiss, but he’s never done it before.  He’s excited; he doesn’t how it’s supposed to go since he doesn’t have lips, but he knows it involves mashing your mouths together.  His teeth are jagged, some of them sharp.  He becomes over-enthusiastic and grabs you, quite literally sweeping you off your feet.  Your heart’s pounding in anticipation, but his grip… It’s too tight.  You inhale in a wheeze just as he mashes his mouth against yours.  His teeth unintentionally bite into your lips, and you make a sound of discontent, pressing your hands against his chest.  One of the broken edges feels like it’s drawn blood.  “Too rough,” you manage, pushing against him harder.  For a moment, he doesn’t respond; no, instead, he pushes closer, and you feel the electric tingle of his tongue as it slides across your bottom lip, tasting your blood.  

“Papyrus!”

Finally, he seems to snap back to his senses, and his hold relaxes enough that your feet touch the ground again.  He doesn’t realize what he did that you didn’t like, so you have to instruct him on being gentle and not over-eager.  The next kiss is better, but he needs practice.  

Speaking of over-eager, that’s why Blackberry is only one slot above Crooks.  Blackberry also doesn’t know what he’s doing, and that combined with his fangs, isn’t a pleasurable experience.  He’s shaking when he goes in for the kiss, a combination of excitement and nerves that’s virtually unheard of for someone with as much confidence as the tiny tyrant.  To cover this up, he tries to make his movements deliberate instead of unsure, but it really just comes across as rough.  His teeth mash against your lips, and his grip on your shoulders is bruising (he doesn’t even notice he’s holding onto you, but you’ve become an anchor for his nerves).  He’s grinding his teeth into your lips a little, and it’s painful, but when you open your mouth to try to tell him, his tongue abruptly pushes past.  The electric charge of his magic makes the kiss feel better, but his exploration is too fast and too clumsy.  It’s only when you gag and tap your palms against his chest that he finally breaks the kiss, his face flushed with a bright blush.  

“HOW WAS THAT?  THE BEST KISS OF YOUR LIFE, CORRECT?  WHAT ELSE DID YOU EXPECT FROM THE MALEVOLENT SANS!”

…. Yeah, teaching him without hurting him is a delicate process, but don’t worry.  Once his nerves calm and he slows down, he’s a much better kisser.

That brings us to Papyrus.  He’s similar to Crooks in the way that he doesn’t know how kissing works without lips, but WOWIE, he’s willing to try.  Paps has the advantage of teeth that won’t hurt you, but let’s face it.  His kiss is chaste, and involves just holding his teeth against your lips for a moment, then pulling back with a bright pink blush and telling you that was nice.  It’s a sweet kiss!  There’s nothing bad about it.  But, if you want something more, you just have to teach him.  Watch some rom-coms, or just sit him down on his racecar bed and explain how tongues work in kisses.  This is one where you probably need to take charge and show him what you like.  

……. Have I written this before?  I can’t remember.  If I haven’t, I need to.  

Sans is just above his brother because he knows how, but his kisses are gentle and lingering, the kind that always leave your lips tingling and you wanting more.  He has much more control than most of the skeletons, and he holds onto it through the first several kisses.  There’s no tongue, but you could almost swear that you feel some sort of magic almost mimic lips.  It feels nice, but if you’re wanting a proper make-out session, you’re going to have to be the one to press things further.  

You climb onto his lap, and his fingers ghost your hips.  He chuckles, but the joke he was about to make dies in his throat as you kiss him.  You feel his fingers flex against your hips, his touch more firm, and your tongue traces his teeth.  His body feels more tense than usual, his careful control beginning to slip, and when your hand cradles the back of his neck, fingering the spinous process of a vertebrae, his teeth part as he sucks in a sharp breath.  

You take the initiative and slide your tongue between those teeth to meet the magical tongue he’s already manifested.  He makes a sound in the back of his throat, and your tongue traces the length of his.  

In the next moment, he’s flipped positions on the couch so you’re lying down, and he’s on top of you.  

So, Sans has the potential for a phenomenal kiss, but I think it would take a few kisses – or a determined partner on the first one – to get him to really go HAM.  

Axe is just a step above Sans because he’s someone that has much less control.  He goes for it, he isn’t afraid to bust out the swoon-inducing moves (such as dipping you back ;D ), and when the moods strikes, he can really bring the passion.  His only downfall is that his kiss can be a little sloppy, but once he slows down for a breath, you find that you just can’t get enough.  

Yeah, Blueberry’s pretty high on the list, and that’s because he’s such a motivated datemate.  He’s one of the most passionate and eager of the skeles, but he’s studied for this moment.  He’s ready.  

He’s also someone that can easily read the way you respond.  He knows when you likes something – and he also wants you to tell him how you like to be kissed.  Is there enough tongue?  Too much teeth?  Well, there’s not much he can do about that one, but he’ll certainly try!  He’s been daydreaming about this, studying the way humans kiss, and he can’t wait to knock your socks off.  

Just make sure you pick them up afterward!

Edge is surprisingly high on the list, but you know that skeleman is just waiting to sweep you in a passionate embrace.  He’s the dominant one in the kiss, definitely, and you’re going to find your back pressed into a wall, his body trapping yours.  It’s easy to lose yourself in the kiss.  His fangs don’t hurt; he has careful control, though you can definitely expect to see his teeth grazing your neck as soon as you breathlessly break the kiss.  

His draw-back is that although he’s confident and telling himself that YES, HE’S THE BEST KISSER and you CAN’T GET ENOUGH, he’s still new to it and isn’t overcompensates with more tongue than you’d like.  It wrestles with yours, sweeping across your mouth, and he doesn’t take your cue right away to ease up.  But once he sees that he’s doing a decent job, and you like it, he’ll be less in his head and more apt to ease up.  

Stretch is way up there because c’mon, you guys have read the way he kisses.  I’m going to copy/paste it and then fan myself over this one:

This time, he responds in earnest, his other hand molding to the curve of your hip, and his long legs unfolding so he can draw you onto his lap. Your knees spread on either side of his hips, and the arm around his neck grips the back of it, the spinous processes of his cervical spine protruding between your fingers.

His teeth part, and you take the initiative and slip your tongue between them to meet his magical one. It feels different from Red’s; it’s longer and thinner, not as wet, and the magic doesn’t seem to be quite as concentrated. It doesn’t make your mouth feel numb. You massage your tongue against his, and he proves that his tongue is rather dexterous by curling the tip around yours. A tiny, contented sigh escapes you, and you rake your fingernails against the protruding bone of his neck, causing him to groan and pull your body tighter against his.

He kisses you breathless, taking his time languidly– yet thoroughly – exploring your mouth, while the fingers of one of his hands tangles within your hair. Neither of you are in a rush to pull away, but you finally break the kiss to properly swallow and catch your breath. Despite the fact that he doesn’t have lungs, Stretch’s ribcage is expanding rather rapidly, too.

You don’t know what to say, so you just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Wow.”

I think that speaks for itself.  ;D

And you also know I’ve written enough Red kisses to know why he’s got the next spot.  I’m going to link you guys to this imagine where you make-out with Red at a party because it perfectly encompasses what it’s like to kiss Red.  

I’m also going to leave this here:

This time, there aren’t any physical fireworks going off in the distance, but there may as well be. You find yourself clinging to him, your fingers curling around the backs of his ribs and your palms skimming the cracks within them.

There’s a familiar tingle as his magical tongue traces the line of your lips, urging them to part. As soon as you comply, you feel a rumble build in his chest. In the next moment, you’re falling backward, onto the couch –

–but then you land on something much softer, your back bouncing upon impact. The music is completely gone. You break the kiss just long enough to check your surroundings and find that you’re back in the hotel room. Red’s clothes are in his fist; he was mindful enough to grab them from the couch mid-teleportation. He demands your attention again by resuming the kiss, his tongue automatically invading your mouth. It feels electric, tingling against your tongue with the faint taste of whiskey.

Hot damn, am I right?

So how does Mutt top that?  His kiss is basically Stretch and Red’s rolled into one.  He can bring the passion, the fangs, the electricity of his magic, but he also has that long, dexterous tongue and all the patience in the world. He knows how to make your toes curl, how to get you grasping at his jacket, your heart pounding in your chest.  He alternates between languid, thorough exploration and a passionate heat that has his phalanges pulling your head back to deepen the kiss.  He leaves you feeling light-headed, holding onto him as if he’s your anchor to reality, and when he finally pulls back, he’s smirking.  

“mmm, not bad.”

That doesn’t even begin to describe it, Mutt.

[caliboyjaeffrey]

How Long I’ve Waited (Ryeowook x Reader)

Rating: M, with plot 

(A/N) Ayy it’s ya girl Ry back at it again with that plot filled smut that everyone loves and craves like crack lol I’m actually seriously proud of this one bc I worked my ass off and put my heart and soul into my writing. I love Ryeowook so much like he has such a special place in my heart. I miss him so much and I will literally cry a waterfall of joy when he returns from the army. Please enjoy some plot and smut fam!!!!! I had to even insert a Keep Reading because it was long AF lol

"________, I know this isn't the best timing but I-"

"I'll wait for you."

"I'll always wait for you."

Staring out the glass window of your apartment as the rain poured down on Seoul, you remembered the last conversation you had with him, with Ryeowook. It had been rainy that day too, much like this one, before the sun had shown softly on the day of his conscription into the army. You remembered you had been fighting with him out of fear, scared because he had decided to join the military as an active duty soldier rather than a public worker. It terrified you thinking of Ryeowook holding a gun, trained to possibly shoot and kill if need be, to be on the front lines if duty called. He'd yelled at you for the first time that day, hands gripping your shoulders and tears threatening to spill down his cheeks from his soft brown eyes. You yelled back because you loved him, and he didn't know it, you were his best friend first and foremost. "Stop treating me like I'm not a man, ______!" "I'm not treating you like a kid for fun Ryeowook!" "Then why?!" "Because I love you, goddammit!"

You remember the shock you felt of those dreaded words passing your lips, the shock on Ryeowook's face as his grip suddenly lightened and his eyes searched your face for more. The heavy quiet in your apartment was deafening, and his soft voice, no matter how he murmured, still felt like a shout to your heart. "What?" You couldn't bear to look at him anymore, turning out of his grip and wrapping your arms around yourself as you stared out over the city skyline. The ambient light would have been beautiful if your tears weren't blurring everything from view as you tried to calm the pain in your chest. You finally turned to him with a hurt smile on your lips, "I love you, Ryeowook. I've always loved you." With his arms hanging limply at his side, he was rendered speechless, looking unable to formulate a complete thought as he could only stare at you with those big brown eyes. Inside, you urged him to say something, begged him to accept or reject you instead of just staring at you like the fool you were. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you turned away from him again and walked towards your bedroom, realizing with a bitterness that he didn't love you like you loved him at all. Silence was the only answer you needed. "The door's over there." "_________-" You had slammed the door shut, collapsing on your wood floors of your bedroom in a heap as the sobs wracked through your chest and made your throat sore. You remembered the silence again, except for the soft creaks of the wooden floors as Ryeowook showed himself out, the door shutting quietly behind him with a definitive click. Staring out the window now, you remembered the absolute agony you felt knowing that the next day he would be gone. Not forever, but two years would feel like forever. It would have been forever if that night you hadn't stayed up in your living room, staring at the black screen of your television as you thought of all the ways your last conversation with him could have turned out differently. You had thought he would never want to speak to you ever again after how you had treated him, until you heard hurried knocks on the door through the deafening sounds of the rain and rumbling of thunder in the distance. You had stood up too quickly, dizzy as you stumbled over to the door and whipped it open to find a rain soaked and breathless Ryeowook, warm eyes wide as the world. "Ryeowook...?" You were barely able to get his name out before he embraced you, arms tight as he pulled you securely into his damp chest. If you weren't surprised beyond all belief already, when he suddenly pulled away and cupped your face you knew this couldn't be real. Placing his petal soft lips on yours, Ryeowook kissed you with as much passion as he could convey in one gesture. Your eyes slid close at the feeling, clinging to his wet jacket as you pressed closer to him, craving the warmth that lurked beneath his clothing. It felt as though he had pulled away all too soon, lips swollen as he looked down at you with so much adoration you felt your heart seize. "________, I know this isn't the best timing but I-" You silenced him with another kiss, knowing what words were about to come from his mouth. You didn't need to hear them to know what he meant, just his presence and the fact that he came back was enough. You caressed his lips chastely with your own before pulling away, stroking his cheek tenderly as you looked up at him with determination in your eyes. "I'll wait for you." "I'll always wait for you." And that was the last time you spoke to him in person. You sighed to yourself still gazing out over the drizzling skyline of Seoul like you always did, like he would appear in the window of some apartment building waving at you. You exchanged letters with him, because that's all he was allowed with non-family members, besides the one call a month he was permitted after begging his superiors time and time again. He had been assigned extra duties because of it, but he had told you it was a labor of love, just hearing your voice for ten minutes made it all worth it. You treasured his velvety voice over the phone too, replayed it in your mind over and over to stop yourself from missing him too much. You couldn't help yourself though, you loved him. You were startled out of your thoughts as the phone in your apartment rang, the sound echoing off the walls of the clean interior. You jumped up from your favorite chair and scurried over to the kitchen where the phone was ringing cheerfully, sliding along in your fuzzy socks on the slippery floor. You did a spin for fun before snatching up the phone without looking at the caller ID, your voice as bright as you could muster, "Hello!" "________?" You nearly dropped the phone, catching it in your grip clumsily as you cupped it to your face with both hands, flabbergasted, "Ryeowook?!" He exclaimed in relief, and you could hear the excitement in his voice, "________! I don't have a lot of time but let me first tell you that I-" "I know!," you grinned, cutting him off as he chuckled on the other line. You could hear the smile in his voice as he teased, whining cutely, "When are you going to let me tell you? "Not until we can see each other in person again," you smiled, lips pressing softly to the phone as you imagined kissing him again. "Well then, guess I don't have to wait that long because I have something to ask you," he mumbled, a little shy suddenly as your perked up at his words. "And what would that be?," you asked, practically itching with curiosity as you bounced on your toes impatiently, squinting your eyes in suspicion, "And why do you sound so embarrassed, Wookie?" "Well," he swallowed, and you heard him turn away to clear his throat. "The base I'm stationed at is going to be having a gala, a black tie event of sorts and they asked me to sing at it." "That's wonderful," you smiled, glad that Ryeowook was still able to get the opportunity to perform, even during his enlistment. "But I'm still confused-" "Will you go with me?," he blurted out, voice stuttering nervously as he continued, "We can invite one civilian to escort and, of course, you were the first and only person I thought of, but if you can't go-" "Yes!," you exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly. "I'll go, I'll go!" You couldn't help but hold the phone to your chest and let out a scream of excitement. "You'll go?," he sounded so relieved that you wanted to wrap him up in your arms for being so effortlessly cute. You heard a faint 'yes!' as he pulled the phone away, and you grinned at the thought of him thinking he had to convince you to go. "So it's really fancy?," you asked, shuffling your feet in excitement. "Like black tie and everything?" "Yep," he answered, his voice giving away all his happiness. "You'll have a room booked at a hotel close to base and I'll come pick you up. You should receive a letter in the mail from one of my superiors with all the details." "Okay," you smiled, cradling the phone close to your cheek. "I can't wait to see you, Ryeowook." "I can't wait to see you too, sweetheart," he spoke softly, his voice like silk. You felt your heartbeat quicken at the pet name, never having heard it come from his lips before. You loved it more than you could say. "I have to go now," he said suddenly, sadness creeping into his words. "But I'll see you soon, okay?" He teased you gently, not wanting to leave you on a solemn note, "Don't miss me too much." "I'll try," you but your lip to hide your grin. "I'll see you soon." With that he hung up, unable, like always, to say goodbye. Ryeowook never said goodbye, even when the two of you were just friends, it was always "See you soon!" or "See you later!". You liked that about him, it made him feel continuous and eternal, like  he'd always be with you somehow. Setting the phone down, you released the real scream of jubilee that you had been holding in since picking up the phone. You spun around your apartment, laughing maniacally as you slipped your socks off and opened the sliding glass door to your tiny balcony. Ignoring the rain you gripped the railing tightly as you hung over and shouted out to the skyline for joy, "God, I love him so much!" And even with the distance, you knew he could hear you and that comforted your heart, wrapping it in an excitement that made your limbs buzz with energy and your head to spin. You don't know how long you shouted your love for Ryeowook to no one in particular, but when you finally ran back inside, your clothes were sopping wet and your hair was dripping. But you could care less, you were going to see him. Be with him. Touch him. Kiss him. Love him.

Just like Ryeowook said, you'd received a very formal and fancy invitation to his military gala. You smiled down at the gold embossed lettering of his name, indicating that he would be giving a special performance during the event. You scurried to your room and reached under until you found your memory box, opening the dingey light blue box to find keepsakes, special cards, and such things. You carefully placed the invitation on top of the pile of notes and letters you'd created and resealed the top, sliding it back underneath your bed. You stood up and dusted yourself off, already eager to pack for the trip to Ryeowook's base tomorrow. You'd even already bought a dress especially for the occasion, going out and spending your latest paycheck on something beautiful the moment Ryeowook had invited you over the phone. You packed quickly even though you weren't going to be leaving until early tomorrow morning, your eagerness could not be quelled. Soon enough and not even half an hour later, your single suitcase was completely packed, save for a few needed toiletries. It being late already, you dressed in your pajamas, brushing your teeth tiredly as you readied yourself for bed. You stretched and flopped back on your bed, wanting the hours to speed by so tomorrow could come faster. You shut your eyes and tried counting sheep, but impatience kept you awake for a while before you finally drifted into a restless slumber.

You remember vaulting out of bed like a rocket, scrambling to your closet and stressing for about twenty minutes about what you would wear. You settled on something comfortable, but put together because you would be traveling for most of the day anyway. Soft blue linen shorts and a well loved coral top that was just the right amount of worn to still be considered fashionable. You didn't even bother with makeup, far too preoccupied with your eagerness to leave than your appearance. You'd stress about your hair and makeup later before the gala.

After gathering all your things, you took a taxi from your apartment building to the train station that would carry you all the way to Ryeowook's base. It wasn't that long of a ride, but felt like ages before the fast train peeled to a halt gracefully, the doors opening fluidly as you grabbed your bag and jumped to your feet. Walking out of the train station, you went to hail a cab but lowered your hand when you saw a man holding up a sign with your name standing beside a sedan. You smiled and jogged over to him, raising your own hand in greeting, "Hello!" The man was dressed in standard army uniform, not a pin or hair out of place as he turned toward you, "Ah! Are you Miss _______?" "Yes sir, that's me," you grinned wheeling your suitcase in front of you as he took it from your grasp and placed it in the trunk. He opened the cab door and gestured for you to get in as he smiled, "Ryeowook made special arrangements for one of us to pick him up, he's always picking on the trumpets." "The trumpets...?," you furrowed your brow in confusion as he slid into the drivers seat. He looked at you through the mirror as he spoke, "Didn't you know? Ryeowook is part of the 37th division military band. That's where he was stationed, didn't he tell you?" "He told me he was singing but he never mentioned anything about being in the military band," you couldn't help but smile, feeling relieved that he had been placed somewhere he could still sing and perform. The rest of the drive was spent in polite chatter with the obvious trumpet playing driver, talking about Ryeowook and all the crazy antics he got into at his base. Everything sounded like him and you wanted to to hear more, but your arrival at the hotel cut you short. Your heart was pounding, didn't he say he would pick you up at the hotel? You hurriedly got out of the car, not even waiting for the driver to get your suitcase for you as you wrenched open the trunk and barreled toward the automatic sliding glass doors of the shiny hotel. You arrived in the lobby breathless, looking around and turning in circles as you searched the crowded and busy lobby for Ryeowook's face. You frowned when you didn't find him, a receptionist calling you over politely, "Ma'am? May I help you check in?" Pulling your gaze away from the hoards of people, you walked over to the lobby desk, smiling apologetically as you answered, "Yes, please." "What name would the room be under?," the woman asked, fingers posed over the keyboard as she looked up at you expectantly. "Ryeowook, Kim Ryeowook," you said quickly, your heart racing at just the sound of his name escaping your lips. The receptionist looked surprised as she typed in the name, bewildered as she clicked on the name, "Ryeowook? As in Super Junior's Ryeowook? Are you his girlfriend?" You nodded shyly, taking the key card that she handed you, "Something like that. Thank you." "Have a nice stay," she said with a smile, already whispering to the other receptionist beside her excitedly. You hurried away with a blush toward the elevator, your suitcase rolling behind as you pressed a button indicating the tenth floor, where the suits were apparently located. Leave it to Ryeowook to spoil you, even from a distance. Once you'd arrived outside your room's door, you slid the key card in and opened the door breathlessly, heart hoping Ryeowook would already be in there. You dropped your suitcase and ran into the room, "Ryeowook...?" But there wasn't a soul besides your own in the room as your shoulders sagged in disappointment. Your heart felt heavy from tension as you glanced at your phone, wanting nothing more than a text from him to indicate he was on his way to get you. You were simply greeted with the time, alotting you a little over an hour to get ready and look presentable. Your eyes grew wide at the numbers on the screen, throwing your phone down as you picked your suitcase back up and unzipped it, rifling through its contents for your dress and makeup. Forty minutes later, after a scalding shower and fifteen minutes stressing over your hair and makeup, you were dressed for the night. You took a look at yourself in a large mirror that hung on the wall of the hotel room, turning in a circle slowly as you searched for any mistakes of strings out of place. You smoothed down your dress, already knowing it was something that Ryeowook would definitely like. It was a simple, yet elegant black silk gown with an open back and thin straps framing a sweetheart neckline. It accentuated your curves in a demure way, not too risqué, but just the right amount of sexy that men would give you a second look. You grinned and bent over to slide your heels on, glad you had chosen your most comfortable and easy to walk in pair. The timing was almost too perfect as you stood up and you heard a few solid raps on your room's door. You froze where you were, heart beating so fast you swore you could see it as you stumbled over to the door in your heels and ripped it open. You pressed a hand to your mouth and let out a sob of happiness as you were greeted with the only sight you wanted to see. Standing there looking trim and clean in his camouflage uniform and black beret, was Ryeowook. He grinned at your reaction and instantly pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck, "________." You could only sob into his chest as you clung to him, not even caring if you ruined the hard work you had put into your hair and makeup. You said his name over and over, gripping his uniform in your fingers as your tears soaked it, "Ryeowook, Ryeowook, Ryeowook..." He rocked you, gently pressing kisses to your neck, face, and lips in between the sound of you saying name. He felt his own tears spill down his cheek as he murmured, "I'm here, I'm here. _________, I'm here." You pulled away and looked up at him, laughing through your tears as you pressed a hand to your mouth, "Ryeowook, I can't even believe-" "I know, sweetheart," he smiled, wiping away his own tears with a laugh before swiping under your eyes carefully with his thumb. "This doesn't feel real." You couldn't help yourself any longer; the need to have him close as possible beyond an embrace made your heart ache. You cupped his face and brought his lips to your own, smiling against his mouth as he stooped down to bring you back into his arms. How long had it been since that night when he first kissed you? It felt like a thousand years, but you'd wait that long again just to have him like this, to kiss you softly in the doorway of some hotel. It began chastely, until his hands began to run up and  down your sides heatedly, his thumbs brushing against your rib cage through the thin silk of your dress. He took a step closer, letting his hips press against your own, the intimacy of such a simple gesture made heat pool in the bottom of your stomach. You let out the softest moan you could muster, his name escaping past his kisses as you gripped the front of his uniform, "Ryeowook. Don't we...?" He pulled away with a smile full of longing, nodding as he bit his lip, "I guess we'll have to wait until after the gala, right?" He grew sheepish as his thumb tried to subtly wipe away the lipstick that traveled outside the shape of your mouth, "You might want to reapply your lipstick before we go." You stepped inside your room and regarded the smudged mess of your lips, grinning at his reflection behind you, "And you might want to wipe your mouth." Ryeowook saw the mess of his own lips with wide eyes and laughed, dampening a washcloth and wiping his mouth with a grin. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you swiped a fresh coat of lipstick on, choosing a more kissproof one this time. It felt so natural to be with him again, doing such menial things like this made you flush with happiness as you grabbed his face and kissed his cheek while he protested, "I just wiped it off-" "Kiss proof, you dummy," you grinned, turning his face so he could see his lipstick free cheek in the mirror. He looked cutely surprised, "Oh." A mischievous look appeared on his face as quickly changed his mind, leaning in again, "Well in that case." "Nuh-uh, Mr. Casanova," you grinned, hands on his surprisingly muscled chest as you pushed him away teasingly. "Are we going to this party or not? I didn't get dolled up for no reason, you know." You grabbed your clutch and keycard, urging him toward the door as you stepped into the hotel hallway backwards, unable to take your eyes off of him. He took your hand and flashed you a smirk, his eyes roving over your figure as you stepped out of the room, "You mean this wasn't all for me?" You blushed and looked down bashfully, lacing your fingers with his as you headed for the elevator, "Of course it was for you." His finger froze right above the down button before he pressed it, his own face turning red as he stooped down to place another peck on your lips. You smiled softly to yourself as the empty elevator opened, stepping in with his strong hand around the curve of your hip. After the long ride down, and Ryeowook pressing you against the wall for a quick and heated kiss that left you breathless, you stepped out of the lobby and into the evening air. He had a car waiting, a twin to the one that had picked you up earlier sitting parked close to the building. Ryeowook held the passenger door open for you as you slid in eagerly, a winning smile on his face, "Princess." Your face heated up from the nickname, realizing you might have a little something something for that kind of thing. You fanned yourself before Ryeowook slipped into the driver's seat, trying your best to appear poised and unaffected as he smiled at you, "Ready?"

Under normal circumstances, the base would have appeared to be rather bland and spartan. But with such a special event like the annual military gala, the base seemed to have been spruced up a bit to appear, dare you say it, more romantic. The party was held in a training field next to the main buildings in a big white event tent that seemed impossibly large, the inside dancing with twinkling lights and a removable wooden floor. You wondered at everything with wide eyes as Ryeowook guided you into the tent, arm laced formally with his. Many people, of course, gawked at the two of you. Who would've thought that Super Junior's Ryeowook would bring his famous and almost mystical girlfriend that he bragged about to his division constantly. You were welcomed with open arms after the initial shock, blushing beautifully whenever Ryeowook would introduce you as his girlfriend to everyone who asked, even if they already knew. He seemed so proud to have you there, unable to take his eyes off of you as you socialized with his fellow soldiers and their significant others or friends. It made you glad to know that Ryeowook had made friends with these people, glad that he wasn't cooping himself up.

A man with many glittering medals walked up to Ryeowook, who entangled his arm from yours for a mere second as he saluted politely to him, "Sir." "Private Ryeowook," the man nodded curtly to him before he turned a softer eye on you and tipped his cap to you, "Ma'am." "You're needed for mic testing, Private, please report there immediately," he commanded swiftly, nodding one last time as Ryeowook replied cleanly before he walked away. "Yes, sir," Ryeowook replied, saluting once more as the man walked away to maybe terrorize another young soldier. He turned to you, an excited look in his eyes, "That's my queue that it's almost showtime. They asked if I would sing songs from my mini album!" You smiled at how he was practically bouncing on his toes from excitement, "I'm so proud of you, Ryeowook." You cupped his face and gave him one last kiss as he jogged away happily. He suddenly turned around and walked backwards, mouthing words and gesturing with his hands as you spoke them out quietly, "Every...song...is for...you." You covered your smile with your hand as you watched him walk onto the small raised stage at the head of the tent, changing from soldier Ryeowook into the natural performer he was born to be. There was something incredibly hot about how Ryeowook commanded a stage, commanded attention with not only his beautiful voice, but with his gestures and gaze. You saw that look in his eyes many times whenever you would watch him perform, it was both sultry and passionate and made your belly burn with excitement. They did a few mic tests, tech crew scurrying around on stage as Ryeowook warmed up his vocals with his usual routine. You made your way to the front of the crowd gathering around the stage, many people getting ready to finally start the party and dance the night away. Even on the base, Ryeowook had a bit of a fan following and that made you incredibly happy to see grown ass men and women so excited to see your boyfriend perform. He introduced himself politely, bowing respectfully as he smiled, "Good evening everyone, tonight I'll be performing for all of you. I hope you will enjoy my singing and have a good time while listening and dancing." People cheered and whooped for him, clapping as he positioned himself on stage. Ryeowook seemed like he had something else to say as he pressed his lips to the mic in his hands to hide his grin, "And all these songs are dedicated to my beautiful girlfriend, _________." He looked down at where you stood in front of him, "Standing right there in that lovely black dress. So guys, hands off, I mean it." People laughed and clapped loudly, making you blush as you smiled shyly up at Ryeowook. He sang all your favorites, songs he knew you loved and that he loved as well; songs that held special meaning just between the two of you. Any normal listener wouldn't have thought twice, but to you they meant everything that you and Ryeowook felt for each other. People danced together, swaying happily together with the music as your boyfriend filled the air with his velvety voice. You danced by yourself, moving rhythmically with Ryeowook's vocals as he crooned each song for you. One of your favorites came on, a song from his Little Prince mini album, called Foxy Girl, that he later told you he had written about you before the two of you had gotten together officially. It was your song and you looked up at Ryeowook excitedly, who hopped down from the stage and wrapped his arm around your waist with a smirk, pressing his forehead to yours as he sang. "I'll let you know my love," he crooned, moving his hips with yours to the beat as he practically serenaded you in front of everyone. "I'll let you know my heart." You heard people cheer from around you and you blushed from happiness, feeling absolutely beautiful as Ryeowook spun you gracefull around the dance floor. You moved your hips to the flow of the sexy song, making him smirk at your boldness in front of so many people. "Look at me," he commanded in his song, pulling up close once again and burning you with his gaze. "I want you girl, I need you girl." Your eyes glazed over and your body melted into his at his words, knowing exactly what he was wanting and thinking. You wanted nothing more than to give him what he desired right then and there, but the whoops and hollers of the other partygoers pulled you from your haze as he sang the last note. Ryeowook spun you around slowly before dipping you, capturing your lips passionately as you laced your arms around his neck to return his kiss. When he finally pulled you up for air, you were ready to leave with him and drive back to the hotel as fast as the law would let you. But Ryeowook gave you a look as he hopped back up on stage that told you to be patient, and you nodded in understanding, biting your lip at all the thoughts racing through your head. Your fingers itched to touch him again, even to just hold his hand as you proudly watched him continue his performance happily. He seemed so blissful as he sang, so much love and passion in his voice as he belted out notes that would seem impossible for most men. As soon as Ryeowook was finished, you walked to him swiftly, throwing your arms around his neck as you embraced him and congratulated his performance, "You did so well." "Thanks, sweetheart," he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face as other friends and colleagues came up to say the same. You waited as patiently as you could, fingers laced with his left hand as he saluted respectfully with his right when a superior officer approached. He lifted your joined hands and kissed the back of yours, winking sweetly to indicate that he was impatient as well. Thirty minutes of this passed and your grip on his hand became tighter and tighter from your need of him, his own hold matching yours as he squeezed back. It seemed like things were wrapping up and he could finally leave, your heart pounding as you met his discrete lusty gaze he shot you when no one else walked up to him. "Let's go," he urged, tugging you along at a pace that was fast but not too quick to alert anyone of your obvious intentions. Making it back to the car felt like hell in your heels and you could hardly keep up with Ryeowook's stride, "Wookie, wait!" You winced, and pulled your dress up, shocked to see angry red blisters on your feet. Ryeowook immediately took your hand and helped you step out of your shoes, "Come here." He swept you up easily into his arms with your shoes in hand as he continued to walk to the car. You could only stare at him in surprise with your arms wrapped around his neck, "When did you get so strong, Mr. Soldier?" He smirked at you, appearing to not struggle at all with your weight in his arms, "You can thank boot camp and training for that." You played with the hair at the back of his neck and buried your face into his shoulder to hide your pleased smile. Ryeowook was suddenly this incredibly manly man and it shocked you to think your soft and sweet boyfriend was now tough as nails and had the body to go along with it. You hadn't even seen him without his uniform off, but you could feel his lean muscles flex against your body and it made your mouth water as you tried to imagine what he would look like back at the hotel. Making it to the car, Ryeowook placed you gently into the passenger side, tucking your shoes neatly down beside you, before he shut the door and slid into the driver's seat. Without a word he turned on the ignition and sped off, his hand coming to rest comfortably on your thigh as he drove just a little above the speed limit. You placed your hand over his, stroking the back of his knuckles softly and feeling the car suddenly pick up speed just a little at your touch. You smiled discretely to yourself when you saw him shift in his seat, his thumb playing with the slit in your dress and teasing the skin of your thigh as the hotel came into view. Your heartbeat picked up as he parked and took your hand, grabbing your shoes as you carefully walked barefoot into the hotel. Of course people did double takes when they recognized Kim Ryeowook and his well known best friend, and rumored girlfriend, walking hand in hand into a hotel together. You bit your lip in disappointment as he led you into an unfortunately packed elevator, wanting nothing more than a little repeat of your earlier elevator kiss. But you saw the hard look in his eyes that Ryeowook got when he was thinking hard about something important. You couldn't help but wonder and maybe worry about what it could possibly be, resting your head on his shoulder to gain his attention again. Dragged out of his thoughts he smiled at you, brown eyes warm and welcoming as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and relaxed. You realized he was nervous and that made your heart leap for him as the elevator door opened to your floor. The two of you exited and took the short walk to your room in silence, the air holding something like anticipation, like there was something he wanted to say but just couldn't get it out. With fingers trembling from excitement, you fished out your keycard from your clutch, struggling a little as you swiped to unlock the door. You had left a lamp on in the room accidntially, the room being bathed in a soft ambient glow that made the mood more romantic. Ryeowook followed you inside and placed your heels he had been carrying beside your messy suitcase, smiling to himself at the untidyness. You turned to him expectantly as he looked around and took his beret off for the first time that night, "I picked a good room, right? The bed's nice and big." Your mouth dropped at his hair, the standard military crew cut but a little messy and grown out, giving him this rough and sexy look. You stepped close and tugged him toward you by his belt, reaching up and running a hand through his hair as you smiled, "You need a trim." "I was growing it out for you a little," he said sheepishly, touching it self consciously. "I didn't know if you liked the short hair or not." "What, did you think I wouldn't find you as hot with the buzz?," you grinned while lacing your fingers around his neck and backing toward the bed. "I think it looks sexy." He smirked and his hands found your waist, laying you down softly on the bed as he hovered over you, "Oh, do you?" You nodded, stroking his cheek tenderly as you hit your lip to hide your smile, "My handsome soldier, serenading me and buying me expensive hotel rooms. Now what do you think he wants?" He surprised you when he rocked his hips into yours, licking his lips as he regarded how you were laid down underneath him. He cocked his head to the side, a silent question as he eyed your soft lips that were suddenly a hair's breath away. You sucked in a breath as your slyness faded away, hands trembling slightly as you raked your nails through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. That kiss was the catalyst for Ryeowook, his body and hands suddenly active and alive as he pressed his hips down into yours. His lips moved passionately against yours, nibbling at your bottom lip as he begged you for entrance, hands sliding underneath your body to pull your closer. You gasped at his bite and allowed his tongue to slide inside your mouth, kissing you more intimately than he ever had before. Your eyes slid close at the strange new feeling, tasting him as he pulled your wet muscle from you and sucked on it, causing you to moan. You blushed when you peeked from under your eyelids for a second to see Ryeowook with his eyes closed, brows furrowed in pleasure as his jaw flexed beautifully. He released your mouth suddenly, sitting up on his knees but never taking his eyes off of you as he popped open the buttons of his uniform jacket and slid it off, revealing his muscular shoulders. He unlaced his combat boots rather quickly and slipped them off, pushing you farther up on the bed as he groaned, "God, you're so beautiful." You murmured his name softly in appreciation as he kissed your neck gently, "Ryeowook." He looked up at you with a confused look, which changed to greed as you gestured to the zipper of your dress, "Please." With slow teasing hands and a small smirk, he unzipped your dress and slid it off your body at a snail pace that frustrated you to no end. You realized quickly that this was the first time he had seen you completely naked and it felt surreal. This didn't feel like the first time by the way the two of you moved together so fluidly, like you knew each other's bodies better than anyone else's. He drank in your creamy skin and worshiped each curve as he fingers traced up your sides and around the swell of your breasts, "So beautiful." He leaned down and pressed wet kisses to every inch of your skin he could reach, licking up between the valley of your breasts to the base of your throat. You blushed but hid it by tugging at the hem of his shirt eagerly, "Your turn...right?" He smiled at you softly and pulled his standard white shirt over his head, revealing the good work that boot camp had done to his body. You groaned at the sight, fingers already traveling across the tan expanse of his chest as his abs flexed with every breath he took. It was practically pornographic the way he breathed, chest rising and falling as your hands danced down to his hips and touched his belt with a question. The way you looked up at him through your lashes made him groan as he nodded, "Please." You licked your lips and worked on his belt, sliding it out from each loop and tossing it somewhere across the room. Your hands eagerly found the fastening of his camouflage pants and popped open the button, his bulge already pressing out in need. He groaned and pressed his hips eagerly into your hand, wanting nothing more than your touch. You pressed your thighs together, rubbing them softly as you helped him shimmy out of his pants. The two of you were left in nothing but your underwear, completely vulnerable and open to each other as Ryeowook pushed you down into the mattress. You gasped when his fingers found your center, pressing against your panties as he rubbed you softly. Your back arched at the feeling, toes curling as Ryeowook inched your panties off, eager to taste you. You bit a knuckle when he dipped a finger into your soaked heat, swirling it around and collecting your essence into it. You nearly came just seeing the way he took his finger into his mouth, tongue swirling around as he groaned at your taste. He released his finger and pressed two to your clit, rubbing generously as he murmured, "You taste so good, kitten." You whimpered at the pet name, turning your head to the side as he bent down to kiss your hip, trailing down further and further until he hovered just above your core. Your eyes were squeezed shut, fingers knotting into the hotel bed sheets as you rocked your hips and felt his fingers enter you, a gasp stuck in your throat. Ryeowook thrust his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, bending down to lick a stripe up your clit before murmuring, "Look at me." You did as you were told and made eye contact with him, biting your lip at the predator look in his eyes as he sucked on your clit. You let out small noises of pleasure, fucking back against his fingers as he praised you, "So good, kitten." You felt like you could come, but you pushed him away, wanting to come around his dick for your first time together. He gave you a startled look as you whispered, "Not yet." You leaned in and sucked on his neck, fingers tugging at the waistband of his briefs as you mumbled against him, "I want to come around you." Ryeowook let out a raw moan, fingers already pushing yours aside as he pulled down his briefs and rocked you back into this mattress. He took a few moments to really treasure your body, pressing butterfly kisses to your skin as he whispered sweet nothings. You held him close, running your fingers over his back, feeling his muscles and pressing yourself fully against him, the heat from his skin burning you beautifully. Time stood still for a moment as he pulled away to look at you, his eyes so warm and soft they melted your soul. He whispered, oh so softly, like it was only for you, "I love you, _________." You froze and met his gaze, heart soaring far above the clouds as you remembered telling Ryeowook how he couldn't say he loved you until he saw you again. You felt happy tears spill down your cheeks as you smiled, "I love you too, Ryeowook." You pulled him close, kissing his neck tenderly as you affirmed, "So much." He pulled away and smiled teasingly at you, thumb brushing over your swollen bottom lip, "Tell me, what should I do with you?" You blushed at his question, not really knowing how to phrase what you wanted gracefully, stuttering, "I-I..." How was it that he could make you feel so tender at one moment and then so frustrated the next? "What was that, kitten?," he smirked, fingers trailing to your hips as he pushed your buttons once again. He was absolutely ruthless when he wanted to with that sharp tongue of his. "I-I want you," you started, calming yourself and taking a breath as you looked up at him. "I want you to make love to me, Ryeowook." His gaze softened at your words, his teasing suddenly gone as he bent down to kiss you chastely, "You don't know how long I've waited for you to say those words." Ryeowook positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you only for moment with the tip of his member before pushing completely in. He slid inside to the hilt without any hindrance, like he was made to fit you perfectly, a matching puzzle piece. You both let out sounds of satisfaction, Ryeowook unable to stop himself as his hips began to thrust inside of you. You could only cling to him as he set a breakneck pace, your body absorbing and feeling every sensation to the tenth degree. Every sound and feeling was amplified as he slid in and out of you smoothly, the wetness of your walls allowing him to do so easily. The bed shook from his thrusts, rocking against the wall rhythmically as he rutted against you, suddenly erratic. Ryeowook let out the most beautiful groans, urging the heat in your belly along as your release crept up, whimpering, "Ryeowook, I'm so close." "Wait for me," he commanded, hips working into overdrive as he buried his face into your neck, biting down on the flesh there. You cried out at his roughness, fingernails digging harshly into his back as you tried to stave off your release, unconsciously clenching hard around his member. Ryeowook panted into your ear, pulling back to look at you, "Look at me, __________. Look at me when you come." You couldn't hold back any longer, walls clenching tightly around his cock as you milked him for all he was worth, the knot in your stomach snapping. You came with his name on your lips, clinging desperately to his shoulders as he suddenly pushed himself as far inside of you as he could and stiffened against you. He called out your name loudly as he came, holding your gaze as his seed spilled deep inside of you, coating your walls. You felt him harden and twitch with each pump of his seed, releasing an alarmingly large amount that made you flush and moan. You didn't even mind, you wanted him to claim you like this. When he was finally soft, Ryeowook pulled out of you as gently as he could, biting his lip as he carefully did so. You couldn't help but smile with how tender he was handling you as he laid down beside you and pulled you into his arms. You smiled against the warm skin of chest as he kissed the top of your head, "I love you." "I love you too," you replied, looking up to press a few kisses to his lips and face. You turned in his embrace and wrapped arms around him, tangling your legs with his, "More than anything." "Enough to wait one more year?," he asked with a smile, but you saw the slight worry in his eyes. You silenced his worries with another kiss, putting all your love for him into that one gesture as you pressed your forehead to his, "Enough to wait a year. Enough to wait always." Maybe you only got this one day to be with Ryeowook, and maybe it would be a while until you had another. Maybe you would only have the phone calls and letters for a while, but at least you had him, even when he wasn't there, he was with you. If you were lonely, he was a letter away. If you missed the sound of his voice, you would slow dance with yourself late at night in your living room to his songs, imagining he was there. You would count down the days until you could see him again, waiting however long it would take, all for the love of him. And he would count too. Looking toward the day he would finally hold you in his arms again. One year was nothing compared to the eternity he would wait for you.

[twoteaspoonsofsuga]

On Love (Victuuri Fanfiction)

AN: Some basic first time smut. With a basic ass story line but hopeful well written so HEH :D

It didn’t happen as Yuuri imagined it. Victor wasn’t the sexual deviant he built in his mind. He didn’t sweep him off his feet in seconds and it wasn’t all giggles, passion and nail marks against pale skin. In fact…Victor was nervous. There was a tremble in  his finger tips as they splayed out toward him. He hesitated. And Yuuri bit his lip not knowing if he’d gone too far too quickly. But it had been on his mind for a year now and as with anything Yuuri did, it was all or nothing. He had stolen his nerves walked into Victor’s room and dropped his robe without a word. Because he was no good at words really. But the silence was suffocating them both and he killed it. “V-Victor?”

Victor said nothing, but he was broke from a long gaze. His eyes fluttered up toward Yuuri’s face. “I…I can put it back on if-” “I’d rather you not.” They had seen each other naked before. But this was entirely different. They were completely alone now, in a half lit room where the atmosphere seemed to crackle in shock waves through their bones. And Yuuri was naked for Victor and Victor only. Boldy, the younger stepped towards him, body sinking more into lamp light. Orange glow of the shade warming his skin tone, making it look like smooth caramel. It was more than tempting to Victor. Yet he hesitated again, on reaching for Yuuri as he  came into his breathing space, stood between Victor’s legs at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay…” Yuuri promised him softly. He took his hands and brought them up to his lips, much like Victor had done back in the airport in Russia. Then he took each hand and lay the palms flat over his chest. He closed his eyes and moved them down for Victor, allowing him to touch. Victor marvelled as he watched the ecstasy play among Yuuri’s features. Sometimes, like this, the boy could look so delicate. That soft blush that was almost always painting his cheeks, he looked so breakable, but he knew that wasn’t nearly the case. “Yuuri…” The movement stopped at the low gravel tone. “Look at me.” Those eyes opened for Victor. Moving, always moving. Always breathtakingly raw. But there was a darkness there now that spoke of lust. Before Yuuri knew it he was being lifted. Victor had stood, picked him up and lay him on the sheets carefully, like a precious, precious diamond he was afraid of losing among all the material. Then he stood back and started struggling with the knot in his robe. Frustrated, he let out a growl. His fingers had always been slightly clumsy, but added adrenaline was not helping. Yuuri laughed, breathless and pushed himself up and his elbows. “Let me help you.” “How can he be so calm?” was all Victor could think. But, he obeyed and crawled between Yuuri’s parted thighs. Yuuri’s fingers were more slender than Victor’s and he unpicked the knot carefully.  His hand were about to leave the garment when… “Take it off me…” Eyes met, hearts were thumping. “Please?” Victor added cocking his head to the side, hair falling into his face.  With the pink in his cheek sliding the scale to red, Yuuri complied. His fingers raked Victor’s hair back. Those fingers travelled down unsteadily over the back of his neck, under the collar of the silk and he nudged the robe down over his shoulders. With Victors help the robe was cast into the air and landed somewhere back in the shadows. And there it was, vulnerability, exposure. It left them both trembling. Victor had been naked infront of many women and men before. But he was never exposed like this. This wasn’t sexual, at least not in it’s purest form. No this was not an expression of sexuality. Victor knew sexuality. But love…real, true, honest love was new to him. And he honestly never felt so aware of his mind. If it weren’t for the wonder that had poured over Yuuri’s face. If it wasn’t for his soft even breathing and his fingers gliding curiously over his back, Victor, coward he was probably would have bolted for the nearest exit. Victor Nikiforov was not used to fear. Then his lips were being coaxed into a kiss and all of that fear dissipated. Because how could he ever leave the wonderland that was this kiss. Victor melted into it, he forgot himself and instead focused on Yuuri, whom, as the kiss went on was clinging to him and wrapping himself around his body. He was pressing them so close Victor felt a moan rip its ways from throat. Yuuri moan as if in answer. Victor trailed his lips away down his chin, over his neck, loving. There was absoloute reverence in the way he treated Yuuri. There was no rush. He was savouring him, every texture and taste. He was learning him, learning to play him like a violin. He learnt that Yuuri hand sensitive sides, he would shiver when your fingers brushed them. He learned there was a place in the V of his hips, that if he swiped with his tounge, he would whisper “Victor.” Like a prayer. And his inner thighs, any tiny touch would make his back bow and reduce his to a stuttering mess. In turn Yuuri learnt things about Victor. When his finger’s tightened in Victor’s hair. Victor would bite down as if stifling a groan. When Yuuri begged or swore, Victor would kiss him hard like he couldn’t help it. And another thing he was very glad of. Victor loved to use his tongue on Yuuri. Victor held Yuuri’s thighs as they almost crushed his temples again. “I’m sorry! I…” “Don’t apologize my love. Does it feel good when I do that?” With an arm flung over his forehead Yuuri nodded. He keened when the elder repeated the action swiping his tongue over the tight pucker. “Oh god…Victor…” His toes curled and he tried not to squirm. But Victor was moaning as he tugged and his silver locks and the vibrations were sending him wild. “Fuuuuck Victor… I need you to… Please be inside me and…” Victor’s nails dug into his thighs and he lifted his head. Eyes too blue to be real “You sound so sexy when you beg.” It was said matter-of-factly and Yuuri almost came when it left his lips. “Please…” After a moment Victor crawled up him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips as he reached in his bed side drawer for the previsions. Yuuri wondered briefly how often Victor pleasured himself in this bed. The thought was quickly replaced with a bout of anxiety. Victor clocked it. Very familiar by now with Yuuri’s temperament. “What is it?” he asked placing the lube next to his hip, his hand cupping his cheek as he kissed him again once. “I don’t know um…how do you… I mean I hear it hurts sometimes so um- so is there a way that would maybe make it not hurt?” His eyes were so wide and so damn pretty. He was so pretty. Victor steered his mind back to the question. “It can hurt, if you aren’t prepared properly. This is what this is for!” he picked up the lube and rolled it in his hand. “You’ll know when you’re ready my love. I know you will.” Yuuri nodded, but shifted a little uncomfortable. “And if you aren’t. We will stop. And this will still be the most perfect sexual encounter of my life thus far.” That seemed to clench it with Yuuri. His eyes met Victor’s and he pulled him down into another kiss, telling him: “Take me.” Victor’s lashes fluttered but he regained control. The click of the bottle lid was loud but not unwelcome and he warmed the lube between his fingers trying hard to ignore the facts Yuuri was touching his own dick and he watched. It was hard thing to ignore. Then fingers were pushing into warm tight heat and Victor swore Yuuri rose like an angel from the sheets, arching, lips falling open in a small O. Victor watched him carefully as he stretched him, watched him cringe and fall into pleasure. He fell in love with him even more. He adjusted quickly with each finger, strong as ever and was soon rocking down and begging for more. Victor was overwhelmed and he scrambled for lube and the condom again. He dropped both on Yuuri with a small ‘Oof.’ from the younger. After perfuse apologies Yuuri laughed Victor’s worry into submission and let him know how it was endearing to see him so flustered. “I love you.” Yuuri told him. Because wasn’t that the moment he should say it? “I love you.” Victor replied. Because he’d never meant it more. Then Victor was pushing in. And god…complete wasn’t the word. He felt like he’d just been received by heaven. Tears prickled at the corner of Yuuri’s eyes but Victor shushed his babbles, pressed their foreheads together and brushed them away with a thumb. There was no moment that matched it in history. They were both sure of it. And it seemed so silly to think. But honestly, if you’d have felt it, that sheer joy rise in your chest and barrel through you veins healing all that was withering inside you… I don’t think you’d deny that claim either. They started slow, unsure of a rhythm, unsure what they both needed, too dazed to think or speak coherently. So they just moved clumsily. Until they fell into line, slotted into place and the beat of hips against ass was steady. The soft groan of the mattress in that nameless hotel room would be a noise that rung in their ears for years after. Yuuri surrendered to Victor body and soul, his arms flung above his head. Pain was swallowed quickly by blinding pleasure. Then Victor’s hands pressed his wrists down, anchoring him in case he flew off too soon. It got quicker, everything blurred. Moans, whisper, harder…harder and then white light swallowed them both. It was embarrassingly quick for both of them. Except they could find it in themselves to be embarrassed. Not at the speed of their climax or the unabashed stream of obscenities that came from either of them. When it all settled they were sweaty and tangled in a pile of sheets. Victor had left him slightly sore and he was whispering his sorry into his lips. Yuuri told him no. “No apologies tonight.” They held each other tight. Both in silent streams of tears and neither pointing it out. They both knew why. It was happiness. Something they had both longed for all their lives and something they had found that day in Hasetsu. Tonight was merely the culmination of that first meeting. It was the end of a begging and the start of a long middle.

[borhapstyles]

Dance With Me

I’M ALIVE! I promise. But I know, I’ve been gone for aaages, and there’s no excuse for me other than the worst writer’s block. Again, I’m sorry. I can’t promise that I’ll post every week like I used to, but I can say that I’m still on here, even when I’m not writing :) Hope you enjoy! x

Word Count: 1,775 (A lot shorter than my usual, I’m sorry.)

This is Dunkirk!Harry and inspired by this imagine. (Yes I read Bucky stories, don’t judge me. Sebastian is beautiful.) Feedback is greatly appreciated.

—

“Dance with me.” You utter, fingertips lacing with his. A breath escapes his lips as you tug him into the empty space of your living room, running small circles into the back of his hand. 

The music plays further as your bodies connect like puzzle pieces. Your chest presses to his and you sigh, resting your head against his collarbones. You gently lay kisses onto the area as he squeezes your hands softly. Inhaling his scent, you lift your head and meet with his eyes. They pierce your own but remain sweet and full of admiration.

The record player is a few meters away from you, belting out the song though you can’t help but sing along.

“And with this feeling I’ll forget, I’m in love now.”

The words drip out with passion and Harry leans in to close the gap. 

Slow dancing together is something the two of you always do before the two of you must separate for a period of time. It is a way of embracing each other without it taking too much time or falling asleep, as cuddling may do. For him, it made him feel much safer, as if during the dance, a bubble of your love would encircle him whilst on the field. For you, dancing is one of the romantic gestures the two of you can engage in to stabilize yourselves as a couple.

Your lips break apart, in need of air. You take the moment to admire his attire. He stands with his uniform on, ready to be shipped off to France, hair tousled from the morning’s shower.  

Your lips curl into a smile, his own following suit. Though it soon fades as you rest your head back on his chest, knowing that it would be a while before you saw his smile in person. It would be a while before you heard his laugh, inhaled his personalized scent (which somehow always lingered on his pillow and old shirts, regardless of how many times you’ve used it yourself or washed it). It would be a while before you felt his touch, the supple scrape of his fingertips against your jaw or bare waist. 

You’d miss his wit. Even if it was the cheesiest line in the world, Harry always had a pun or punchline ready, to which most of the time you’d chortle and nudge his side. His sarcasm would often get the best of you and he would end up making another comment on how cute you are when you’re angry. 

You’d miss his warmth. Despite having a heater, mornings were always a bit colder without him. Soon you’d be going back to forcing yourself out of bed and into the day, which was at most times cool and with a bit, sans Harry. 

But most of all, you’d miss his kindness. The world can be cruel and uninviting, leaving you in the worst possible mood as soon as you got home. On some days, you just wished you could shut the world out and cradle yourself with a whimper. Other times, you wanted to explode without any regard. Those were the days that Harry would begin to whisper, sometimes drawing you a bath or standing in the living room, record player ready with your favourite song as the stand-cuddle would ease your pain. When the rest of the world was terrible, Harry was there to lighten your heart. When you felt as though you couldn’t do it anymore, Harry was there to assuage your restless mind and shoot down your fears. 

It had been rather difficult lately, it always was before his departure. Neither of you would mention it, but an air of heartache and desolation would always fill the house. Though this time was especially different and both of you knew it completely.

“I’ll be able to call and send letters once a week.” He mutters, noticing your tense stature. 

“Please write neatly.” You retort, laughter booming through both your chests. Harry had a tendency to write sloppily on certain occasions, causing you to buy cookies instead of sweet corn when not being able to read his handwriting on the shopping list.

“Your mum’s just bought me a new stationary set, so you can expect some from me as well.” You murmur knowing how often you both go through paper.

“That was nice of her.” He says and you nod, holding onto him just a bit tighter.

Tears begin to brim at the corners of your eyes as you think of the next several months without him. 

Harry doesn’t really want to leave either. Worried filled his heart as he thought of how long he’d have to be without you. Neither of you knew if you’d survive without each other.

You’re the love of his life, and when it felt as though everything was crumbling beside him, your smile would remind him of how wonderful life is. You’d kiss his cheeks and speak sweet nothings, caress his skin and tell him stories that he himself as a raconteur could not conjure up. He’d miss the glint of wonder in your eyes the most. You tend to look at him with pure adoration and it would always be just what he needed to bring him back down.

Harry rests his head atop yours and breathes out in attempt to calm his anxieties. Your last dance together before he goes off. 

“When you get back, H,” You whisper. “we should have dinner at the new restaurant down the road. It should be finished with construction by then.” He nods.

“And listen to that new record.” He adds, knowing full-well that by the time he returns, the record will have been months old and new ones will have already been produced.

“It’ll be nice.” 

Your grip does not waver around him despite the song drawing to a close.The two of you stand motionless, clutching each other as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever hold. Harry’s heartbeat picks up just a bit as he checks the time. He’d have to leave in a couple minutes.

You lift your head and stare into the green eyes you find solace in.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise.” Harry utters, though he himself is unsure.

He tugs himself back and reaches into his coat pocket, handing you a sealed envelope with your name on it. 

“I kept it from you because I knew you’d peek at it if I didn’t.” You chuckle, running a hand across the black ink. “Read it when I’ve gone.”

This time you start the kiss as your lips mold together. The kiss is full of love and affection, though it is also one of appreciation.

Harry pulls away with a throb in his heart, your last kiss with each other. Your eyes are glassy and he smiles, thumbs brushing underneath them to wipe the water away. Your fingertips run across the pins of his uniform, admiring his bravery and sacrifice.

“I have to go, Y/N.” He whispers. You flutter your eyelashes and press one more chaste kiss before adjusting his hat. You always loved him in his uniform and he always loved your butterfly kisses.

“Je t’aime.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

-

Harry had been gone for a few days now and you know he’s already made it to France. The thought of it made your lips twitch for a moment, he had always wanted to better his French.

His written letter sits across the room. You glance at it every now and then, having waited for the right moment to open it. The black tea beside you is now cold and you bask in the night silence.

On your feet, you make your way over to the area where the letter sits. The envelope is cool as it grazes your fingertips. You sit by the window to read.

“Dear Y/N,

I hope by the time you’ve read this, I’m already off. I didn’t want you reading this while I was there because I know how you’d react: You’d probably laugh and hit my chest, calling me a cheeky arse then we’d kiss.

I know it’s been a bit difficult lately and me having to leave did not help. But you’re so lovely and so incredibly strong. If anyone’s a real soldier, it’s you.

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known and I’d be lying to myself if I hadn’t said I was lucky to have you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Angel, please don’t forget it. 

We’ll get through this damn war, I promise you. I’ll be back there before you know it, love.

Now go check underneath the coat closet, behind my old boots. 

Tu me manques, H. x”

Your brows furrow at the letter, noting its length and it’s ending. Harry would not write less than a page or two on average, but this was only half of one. Nevertheless, you stride off to the mentioned closet, still holding the paper.

You had used the coat closet many times before but never really bothered with the bottom. The floors only hold Harry’s first pair of combat boots (which had literally gone through hell and back) and some of your worn out heels.

Though this time, there’s an object other than shoes at the bottom. It hides to the side of Harry’s shoes and is encased in a thin package.

You slide it out and gasp to find a record hidden inside its sleeve. Carefully slipping it into your fingers, you come across a note with Harry’s handwriting on it.

“Darling,

I don’t know if you remember Liam Payne, but he owns a recording studio on Abbey Road and invited me, so I went when you were out with Gem. He said I could become famous if I wanted to. Haha, imagine that. 

Anyways, this is a song I worked on with Louis from across the street. I thought of you when writing it, and imagined you when recording it. Listen to it when you miss me, please. It’ll make me feel better knowing that you’ve got a piece of me, and it’ll make you feel better knowing that I’m always there.

I love you more than you know, Y/N. Maybe we can dance to this when I get back. 

-H. x”

Popping the record on, you sit by the light and sniffle, clutching Harry’s notes closer to your chest.

A piano begins the song and you shut your eyes, imagining yourself in the center of the room with Harry, swaying along to the music. 

“If I could fly, I’d be coming right back home to you…”

— 

Tu me manques = I miss you (French) 

Je t’aime = I love you (French)

[anavoliselenu]

In flight chapter 6

I arched and muttered a protest then and I could hear his breathing, harsh and uneven, behind me. I rubbed my clamped n**ples against the soft material of the ramp, liking the harsh bite of sensation it caused.

Justin remained still behind me for long moments.

“I need to stop there. I don’t want you too sore to lie on your back when I take you. Fuck. I can see the liquid running down your legs.” I felt his fingers stroking my thighs, sliding through the moisture there.

“We need to do a few things before I f**k you. I have a health exam on the table over there. I’ve been tested. All the results are clean. Do you want to see it? It’s available for you. I want to bury my c*ck in you bare, if you’ll allow. You said you’re on the pill, right?”

I nodded. “I am. I’ll take your word for it. If I thought you would lie about something like that, I wouldn’t be letting you tie me up and pound the V-card out of me, now would I?”

He laughed, a happy sound, and I felt him kiss my cheek from behind in a surprisingly sweet gesture.

He slid the ramp from underneath me with no warning, knocking it right off the bed. I fell to the bed with a soft little whoosh.

He had my ankles free in the next instant, gripping them with his hands. He pushed me up higher on the bed, and in a shocking movement flipped me onto my back with just that contact. My arms twisted above my head, confining me even more. He had my legs spread wide when he tied them this time, and if I’d thought they were tight before, I’d been mistaken. I couldn’t move them at all now. No more wiggling for me.

He studied me in my new position, and I studied him. His gaze was so intense it was mesmerizing. His eyes drank in every inch of me, and then he bent to start on me with his mouth. He started with a soft chaste kiss on the mouth. And then he moved down and not an inch of the front of my body was left chaste. He kissed me from my jaw, down my neck, to my collar bone. Not a nerve in my body was safe. And all the while, I couldn’t move an inch.

He buried his face between my br**sts, and pulled up in a quick push-up motion, the chain between the clamps clenched in his teeth.

I cried out at the harsh sensation, but it was a cry of pleasure more than pain. He kept pushing up until my n**ples were pulled up, the chain taut. It was exquisitely agonizing. He finally released the chain, opening his mouth, and that was just as devastating, the end of the torture making me sob out a plea.

He suckled each breast then, soft and conciliatory noises coming from his throat as he tended to them.

He licked to the undersides of my heavy br**sts, down to my ribs, into my naval, nuzzling my hips, and stopping at my shaved sex. The tiniest patch of trimmed blond hair remained there. He fingered it, looking up at me.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmured, his face serious, and buried his face there to work it’s magic.

I was so wet and ready that he had me coming in seconds. Two fingers inside my cleft and his tongue on my clitoris, his knowledge of those two perfect buttons mind-boggling, and I was so gone, screaming without holding back. His head lifted briefly, and I looked down the length of my body at him. He was framed perfectly between my heaving br**sts. I felt absolutely drugged from his attentions.

His caramel-colored hair trailed into his eyes. “Again,” he told me, and did it again.

He straightened after that, slipping his shorts off to finally reveal his full nak*d self to me. I swallowed hard at the sight of him. That was when I started begging.

His rock hard length looked too big to fit inside of me, but I didn’t care. I wanted it inside of me. If he made me wait another second, I thought I would cry.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he told me in a rough voice. “This is going to hurt. From what I’ve heard, that’s unavoidable.”

I didn’t care. “Please, Justin. Please, please, please.”

He didn’t hesitate after that, lowering himself on top of me, and lining his c*ck up against my slick cleft. Sleek muscles sharply defined his broad shoulders as he held himself over me.

An exquisite work of art is about to f**k me, I thought, dazed and out of my mind turned on.

He thrust into me with one hard, brutal motion, piercing my hymen without further ado. I cried out at the shock. I felt so impossibly full. He didn’t stop, thrusting fast and hard, setting an inexhaustible pace that had his sweat dripping down onto me in delicious trails. That initial sharp, biting pain faded as he thrust, turning into the purest pleasure, and the empty space at my core was filled to bursting with a wash of sensations that I could never have imagined.

I couldn’t keep back the sobs that escaped my throat, the tears that trailed down the sides of my face at the exquisite feeling of being both dominated and filled by this man.

He watched me the entire time with those intensely vivid turquoise eyes. My eyes started to close with the pleasure once, and he barked out a harsh order for me to open my eyes and look at him.

I obeyed, though the intimacy of that extra contact was almost too much for me. It was hard to remember that we weren’t supposed to feel anything for each other when he looked at me like I was more important than his next breath.

He pulled out almost completely, had me pleading with him to stay, before he pounded back in with a growl. If I had thought he was letting go before, now he was pounding me into the mattress until I thought I might leave a permanent imprint.

He reached a hand down between us, rubbing circles around my cl*t without slowing his furious pace.

“Come, Selena, now,” he ordered, and his order worked as a trigger. I screamed as I came, and he shouted my name as he followed me, burying himself to the hilt as tremors wracked him, his neck arcing with his pleasure. As the waves started to subside a little, he gripped my chin, looking at me with an almost angry, and certainly possessive, gleam.

“You’re mine,” he told me. I had no idea what to say to that, but I didn’t need to respond. In the next instant, he was kissing me passionately, desperately.

He released my wrists and ankles and undid my nipple clamps more quickly than I would have thought possible. He pulled me against him, lining us up flesh to flesh, and started kissing my mouth again, as though he would never stop.

“Thank you,” he told me quietly, just once, when he came up for air, then began kissing me again.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mr. Sensitive

Eventually he stopped kissing me and pulled my cheek against his chest. I was reeling with the realization that casual sex could feel so intimate. I felt so cherished as he stroked my back reverently and whispered sweet words to me.

He left me. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to intrude on the moment with noise.

I heard him start the bath, and couldn’t think of anything that sounded more perfect than a hot bath at that moment.

I lay on my back, exactly as he had left me, feeling more relaxed in every part of my body than I could ever remember. I felt…peaceful. It was a revelation.

When he’d been gone for several minutes, I opened my eyes to look around.

He stood at the foot of the bed, watching me, his eyes ablaze. I glanced down my body and realized there was blood spread around on the sheets rather messily.

“I didn’t realize I would bleed so much,” I said, starting to sit up.

“Don’t,” he told me, and I lay back down. We watched each other. I saw that his erection was as hard as though he’d never come.

I pointed at it. “Can you go again? Is that possible?”

He smiled, and stroked his c*ck idly with one hand. “Oh, yes. But you’re too sore tonight. I was just enjoying the view. Embedding this image into my brain.”

He came to my side, lifting me until I was cradled against his chest. He rose from the bed with my weight in his arms. He showed no visible strain. I loved that, his strength, and all of the amazing things he could do with his body, seemingly effortlessly.

“Let’s take a bath and talk about what we’re gonna do about this,” he said, stroking my hair, as though the ‘this’ was me.

It made me smile for some odd reason, though the thought of talking about anything held no appeal for me at that moment.

He stepped into the biggest tub I’d ever seen, still holding me.

The bathroom was one giant slab of greenish-black granite, so far as I could see. The tub was square and he slid down against one side of it, holding me in front of him until we were sitting up together, him spooning me from behind.

He pumped some divine smelling soap out of a built-in granite dispenser and began to lather soap over my entire body leisurely. It smelled like him, and I breathed it in. I felt positively decadent, laying there bonelessly while he tended to my bath.

“I love that soap. It smells like you,” I told him, eyes closed in pleasure.

He brought his lips to my ear, biting the lobe teasingly. “Now you smell like me. I love that.”

He washed me in silence for a few minutes, stroking as much as cleaning. He kept coming back to my br**sts, stroking and kneading the pliable flesh thoroughly.

“We need to talk,” he told me.

I groaned, and not in pleasure this time. “I’d prefer that you spank me again. Can we do that instead?” I was only half-joking.

He made a delicious purring noise against my neck. “Not tonight. We need to set up the rules for this. If my self-control hadn’t deserted me tonight, we would have settled it before I ever touched you.”

I cringed at his terminology. The word ‘settled’ gave me a bad feeling. I didn’t think it boded well for the conversation to come.

“What is there to talk about?” I finally asked.

He sighed, the motion shifting me where I lay with my back on his chest.

“Well, I suppose I’d like to know what you would like out of our arrangement. What’s important to you?“ As he spoke, he turned me so that he could see my face more clearly, my head supported by the crook of his elbow.

I wrinkled my nose at him. The term ‘arrangement’ was even worse than ‘settled’.

“Really, the only thing I expect from you is an exclusive sexual relationship while we’re…hav**g s*x, even if we’re done with each other in a week. And by done, I mean some type of communication before you start seeing anybody else, sexually or otherwise. And if that’s a struggle for you, just let me know so I can bail out on the whole mess now.”

He blinked at me, looking stunned, and I thought for an awful moment that he considered that too much of a concession. I was about a second away from getting the hell out of there when he spoke. “Yes, of course.” His tone implied that he hadn’t even considered anything else.

“And you want to not date,” I prompted him. I was avidly curious to know what that meant for him.

He nodded, studying my face. “I want to see you, though, as often as possible. I would just prefer for our relationship to remain private. So most of our meetings will be at one of my homes or yours. I won’t be taking you out to a lot of public places, I regret.”

Sure he did, I thought cynically.

I made my face go blank, suddenly feeling a little delicate for reasons I wasn’t willing to examine at that moment.

“Sounds great. Isn’t that enough to settle things for the moment? If we’re done with each other in a week, this seems like an awful lot of unnecessary talk, doesn’t it? And if it lasts for two or three weeks, we’ll take that hurdle when we come to it.”

His face hardened as I spoke. His own questions seemed harsh. “Is that what you think? That we’ll be done with each other in a week? Or two or three?”

I shrugged, closing my eyes as though I might drift off at any moment.

“I don’t want to think about it. However long it lasts, if you’re just honest with me when you’re done, and don’t just start seeing other people without telling me, that’s enough for me.”

He went back to washing and stroking me, tenderly washing and conditioning my hair, silent for a time.

“I would give just about anything to know what’s behind that cool composure of yours. And I would kill to know what you’re thinking,” he whispered against my hair. “I’m so afraid I’ll offend you beyond all repair, and that you’ll never let me know how. You’ll just leave and never speak to me again. Would you do that?”

I never opened my eyes, just shrugging again. Though it was uncanny to me how he’d realized that about me with how little he knew me.

“It’s possible. It’s hard to say without specifics.”

He cursed softly. “I need to feel more secure about this. You terrify me.”

I smiled wryly, eyes still closed.

“Wrong word, Mr. Beautiful. The term you’re looking for is more in-control, not more secure. But I like my life. I’m not making a lot of concessions there, so don’t even try. I’m usually in New York one full day a week. You live there, right?”

“Primarily, yes.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let you know when I’m in New York, and maybe we can meet up somewhere private.”

His arms tightened around me. “This is what I’m talking about. Are you saying this because I’ve somehow offended you? Or are you really so indifferent?”

I suddenly wanted, badly, to leave. He wasn’t one to leave a subject alone until he was satisfied, and I was absolutely done talking about anything that involved my indifference or lack thereof. I felt an instant need to get away from him, away from this feeling of intimacy. It was suddenly unbearable to me.

“I need to get home. I work early.” I stood. I was relieved when he let me step out of the bath.

“Have you eaten dinner?” he asked me, his voice stiff and cool.

I thought about it, my mind going blank. When was the last time I’d eaten? I recalled scarfing down a protein bar as I painted, but that had been all since my yogurt on the plane.

“Um, I guess not,” I finally answered. “But I can grab something later.”

His nostrils flared, his eyes getting a little wild.

“Please, at least stay to eat with me. I’ll feel like a complete bastard if you come here, we do all of that,” he waved a hand at the bedroom, “and you leave as though you can’t even stand to share a meal with me. I have some salmon prepped that only needs fifteen minutes to bake.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed readily enough. I didn’t want to storm out like a drama queen. I would prefer to leave with some dignity after a civilized meal.

He wrapped a towel around me, drying himself quickly and wrapping a towel low around his h*ps in a mouth-watering display. I looked away. He took off for the kitchen like he was afraid I would leave if it took him too long to get the salmon ready. He was uncanny at reading my intentions…

I slipped my dress back on, having nothing else. The lack of a bra and panties made it into a somewhat obscene outfit, but I didn’t think it mattered. I would be going from Justin’s house directly to my garage. I could probably get away with being nak*d, in a pinch.

I towel dried my hair a bit, used the restroom, which I found in it’s own room within the bathroom, and padded barefoot from his room.

I searched for and found the kitchen, but I stopped in the daunting dining room and sat there.

The table was set in almost a romantic fashion, so I assumed this was where we were meant to eat. I’d rather wait in a room by myself than tempt Justin into trying to have another ‘talk’ with me.

He joined me just a moment later, carrying two delicious looking salads. He set them down on the settings, darting back into the kitchen. He came back with two glasses of water with lemon.

I thought he might have actually forgotten that he was wearing nothing but a damp towel. It was impossible for me to forget such a thing. Looking that incredible should be illegal. He really was tan everywhere. It was a heady sight.

I waited politely for him to sit to my left before eating. It was mixed greens with feta cheese and pecans. I couldn’t put my finger on what the lightly flavored dressing was, but it was quite good.

“It’s delicious,” I told him after a few bites.

He smiled at me. It was a careful smile. He was still in his ‘afraid to offend me’ mood.

“I actually cooked the whole meal tonight. I don’t get to do it often, but I wanted to for you. I can’t pretend, though, that this is a common occurrence. I have a great housekeeper here who usually does most of the cooking at this house.”

I nodded pleasantly, trying not to look uncomfortable with the casual reminder of his wealth.

“Do your parents live in Las Vegas, as well?” he asked me after he’d finished his salad.

I froze, but recovered quickly. “They’re dead,” I said, my face and voice blank.

He looked startled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. What happened?”

“Where do your parents live?” I asked him pointedly, rather than answering.

He looked uncomfortable. “They’re dead as well. They died when I was thirteen, in a car crash.”

I gave him an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I don’t like to talk about my parents, but I didn’t mean to be insensitive about yours.”

He reached across the table, putting his hand over mine. “Don’t be sorry. That wasn’t insensitive. You didn’t know, either.”

I gave him a wry smile. “I should have looked you up online. I could have saved us at least one awkward moment.”

He gave me a wry smile back. “That wouldn’t help me learn about you, though.”

We went back to eating for a minute, and the silence was awkward.

“When is your birthday?” he asked suddenly. I knew what he was doing. He was so afraid to offend me, to scare me off, that he was trying to find neutral things to talk about. He couldn’t have known that my birthday was another touchy subject.

“October.” I answered. “How about you?”

“June 5th. October what?”

I sighed. “24th.” I stifled the urge to say, Why do you care? You won’t even remember my name by then. That would be rude, I told myself. And he seemed to be oddly sensitive.

He nodded, as though making a note of it.

Yeah, right.

The oven timer went off, and he walked into the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the fact that that clingy towel looked in danger of falling off with every step.

I made myself look away.

He brought in two impressive dishes a moment later. He had already dished the food onto the plates, arranging the meal with a chef’s flourish.

It was an offering of asparagus, freshly baked salmon seasoned to perfection, and some type of grain I’d never seen before.

I tasted it, then pointed to it with my fork. “I don’t even know what that is, but it’s delicious. It’s all divine. Is there anything you’re bad at?”

He smiled, the first self-deprecating smile I’d seen on him. It was disarming and all too charming.

“Learning about you. Getting you to spend the night with me. And that grain is quinoa.”

I just continued to eat, ignoring the first things he mentioned. I still felt that itching under my skin, that strong need to withdraw from the intimacy we’d shared.

“Oh, I got you a present,” he told me, smiling at me as we were finishing our meal. “Do you want desert before or after the gift?”

I waved him off. “Oh, I couldn’t. I’m so stuffed already.”

He looked genuinely disappointed. “Just a bite? It’s just a light custard with some fresh fruit. We could share.”

I smiled, genuinely charmed by his boyish need to impress me with his cooking. “Okay, we can share.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mr. Insatiable

He was back quickly with the desert. It was served in a heavy glass goblet, and he held the spoon up to my mouth for a bite.

“Mmmm,” I said, smiling at him, my mouth still full.

Unexpectedly, he bent down and kissed me. It was so different from the tone of the meal we’d just shared that I almost pushed him away, startled. Instead, I made myself hold still, kissing him back tentatively.

This was the part that was easy between us, I thought. None of the rest of it made any sense to me, but this part felt damned near too perfect.

He was lifting me onto a clear spot on the massive black table before I could blink. His towel was gone, my dress pushed up in a flash.

“Are you too sore?” His voice was a rough murmur against my lips.

“I can’t imagine being too sore for this,” I told him, reaching down his body to grab his thick arousal. I stroked him with relish, and he thrust into my hand. I ran my hands up his torso, then along his muscular arms, then back up to his shoulders.

“You’re body is perfect. I can’t believe you really are tan everywhere.”

He smiled, enjoying my appreciation of his body. “My mother was half-Italian and half-Cherokee, though she had no family left to speak of by the time she was eighteen. It was quite the scandal, to my father’s purely English family, when they married. My extended family all have the pasty white English skin you’d expect.”

I laughed. “Pasty? What about me? Am I pasty?”

He bent down, nuzzling at my neck. “Your skin is creamy perfection.”

I finally got a chance to touch him, stroking his back, his stomach, studying his incredible body with awe while I ran my hands across it.

He snagged one of my busy hands, pulling it up to his lips to kiss my wrist. He studied it intently, and I saw the imprint of rope marks there. The threads were a distinctive pattern, as though he’d marked me, temporarily, with his own special brand.

“I love seeing this on you,” he murmured thickly against my skin.

He spread my legs wide, pushing me down flat against the table. He poised that overpowering erection at my entrance.

I shuddered as he paused, my eyes closed.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his dominant voice surfacing again. It had faded to something softer and more charming since immediately after the first time we’d had sex. I’d missed it. I obeyed him.

“Watch me. I’ll punish you every time you look away from me when I’m inside of you.”

I nodded.

“Ask me for it,” he ordered, his hand moving to stroke his impressive cock.

“Please, Mr. Cavendish, f**k me.” I loved saying his surname, sounding out the three syllables as though they were a prayer.

He groaned, and he did. The first heavy thrust had my sore insides quivering, but it wasn’t unpleasant. And as he pulled out, and plunged in again, a deep sound tore from his throat. I forgot about all soreness entirely, pleasure pulsing through my entire body and building at my core.

His gaze was ardent. “Does it hurt?” he asked without pausing in his punishing rhythm.

“It’s perfect,” I answered, my voice thick with passion.

He kissed me roughly. My eyes closed briefly, until he pulled back to watch me again. I didn’t think I’d get a punishment for it, since he’d closed his, but I didn’t really care at that moment.

“Come,” he ordered me, and just like that, that all-consuming passion swept over me, my core rippling with an intense orgasm, my inner muscles clenching him impossibly tight.

I made a conscious effort to keep my eyes on him the whole time, and the effort payed off. It was exquisitely gratifying to watch his face as the fervor swept him, his piercing stare intensifying on me. It gave me an extraordinary feeling, being on the receiving end of such a stare. It made me feel like I was more important than air to him for a brief, profound moment. I felt enthralled in that moment. It was intoxicating.

“Stay the night. I promise I won’t let you sleep in or be late to work,” he said, catching me in a weak moment. “Just tell me what time I need to set the alarm for.”

I closed my eyes, nodding slightly. “Okay.”

He kissed my cheek in the sweetest way. “Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t respond. He still hadn’t pulled out of my body, and he didn’t now, just wrapped me around him, and lifted me up. I gasped.

“You’re still so hard,” I murmured against his neck.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, shifting inside of me.

“You couldn’t…not again?” I questioned, surprised.

He answered by lifting me a few inches off of him, and thrusting fully into me again. I gasped, and he chuckled softly.

“I’ve never wanted anyone this much in my life, Selena. I could f**k you until I’m unconscious. I’d certainly be happy to try.”

I didn’t respond, couldn’t. I could do nothing but whimper while he bounced me on his length and carried me up the stairs and back toward his bedroom.

“Let me know if you reach your limit. You should be sore and tender after your first time. I should be considerate and let your body recover.” His voice was rough as he walked us down the hallway, the bounces becoming more pronounced thrusts the closer we got to his bedroom.

“Please, don’t,” I told him in a half-sob. He had me so close to the pinnacle again.

“You want me to finish you like this, standing up and impaled on my cock?” he asked. He stopped walking and began to thrust more intensely.

“Y-yes please. Oh, yes,” I said, clinging to his shoulders.

One of his arms was braced diagonally across my back, gripping the top of my shoulder securely, the other hand gripping my butt hard, the sting of the contact adding to the pleasure. His knees were bent slightly, his legs braced apart as he began to thrust more powerfully.

“Come, Selena,” he told me roughly as the fervor took me. His voice was the trigger, and my body obeyed him by exploding into orgasm. I held onto his shoulders like a lifeline while I rode out the exquisite waves of pleasure.

He seemed surprised by his own release, his eyes wide. He shouted a low, “Fuck”, as he emptied inside of me.

He lay me softly on the bed, pulling out of me this time. He moved about the room.

I closed my eyes. I knew that, despite my overlong nap, I was going to drift away any second.

I came to for a moment when he placed a warm, wet cloth between my legs, cleaning me gently.

“Thank you,” I murmured to him.

“Mmm. My pleasure,” he told me.

He left and came back again. He rubbed some type of salve into my wrists and ankles, turning me effortlessly onto my stomach to knead it into my butt and thighs. He stroked some between my thighs tenderly from behind.

“Any other sore spots?” he asked me.

“No,” I answered.

“What time do you need to wake up?” he asked.

I did some tired math. I didn’t even know what time it was, didn’t want to know. “4:30,” I answered. Sleep took me.

I awoke in a sensual haze, in the most enjoyable way I could have imagined.

I was on my back on the softest bed. I was gloriously nak*d, spreadeagled, and the most beautiful man I’d ever seen was lapping at my sex like it was a particularly delectable dessert. I gripped his silky golden hair.

“Oh Justin,” I moaned, and he looked up, smiling.

He rose, kneeling between my thighs. He brought one of my legs up to his shoulder, lining it up at his neck until it made a diagonal line across his torso. The other leg he straddled, lining his insatiable c*ck up at my readied entrance.

“Let me know if this is too much for you, k?” His voice was soft, and his words held a note of concern.

Was the dominant master present this morning? I wondered. It seemed like his other persona, the tender lover, was driving at that moment.

I nodded, and he pushed into me. The new position had him stroking new nerves that I hadn’t even known existed. Yes, I was sore and tender, but I wasn’t going to stop him. The soreness was a small deterrent to such pleasure.

He leaned his chest forward, pushing my legs farther apart and closer to my chest. Using a twisting motion inside of me, he thrust. He’s screwing me sideways, I thought in a daze.

One of his skillful fingers began to rub my swollen clitoris, and I was lost.

He carried me into the shower after that. He washed us both.

I felt limp and couldn’t imagine facing a fourteen hour work day after such an experience. I voiced the thought out loud.

He’d been spooning me from behind, washing the conditioner out of my hair. At my words, he froze.

“So don’t. Take a day off. I’ll reschedule my day, as well. We could spend the day in bed. I would make sure it was memorable for you.”

I sent him a baffled look, laughing. Rich people, I thought, a little resentfully.

“I’m off tomorrow,” I explained. “If I took today off, I wouldn’t get paid. And dropping a shift so last minute could get me in trouble.”

His arms tightened. He rubbed his chin on the top of my head affectionately.

“You could quit. Come work for me. I’d be a generous employer. You could be a flight attendant on my jet. We’d get all the time we wanted together, then. Or, if you want a change of careers, I could find you something else. If you don’t care for the hotel industry, I have other companies you could work for. Or hell, just take some time off. Relax. I’d be more than happy to support-”

“Don’t ever mention anything like to me again, please, or this is over, starting now,” I interrupted him, my tone icy, my face composed. I was shaking a little.

The nerve of him, I thought. I had worked like a fiend since I was a young teenager, and he had just belittled every minute of it. It was an effort not to storm out of the shower with half-rinsed hair, and just leave.

His hands began to stroke my arms in a soothing gesture. “I meant no offense. It’s just hard for me to see you struggle. Can you understand that?”

Struggle? I thought, a little wildly. Could he know the meaning of the word, if he thought that my life was a struggle? But then I remembered what he’d said about his parents, about how they’d both died when he was only thirteen. He hadn’t led the perfect life that I had pictured. It was a hardship and a struggle getting over the death of a parent. We had at least something in common. It warmed me towards him some, and helped me to give him another chance.

I shook my head slightly. “Well, don’t worry about me. And don’t mention anything like that to me again. I mean it. It’s a deal-breaker for me.”

His face was stiff but he nodded.

I took a few measured breaths to calm down, then moved away from him, rinsing off and stepping out of the shower.

“I need to go. I don’t even know what time it is, but I need to get ready for work.” I wrapped one of his big soft towels around me.

“It’s 4:40. I woke you up a little early. Sorry.”

He sure didn’t sound sorry, I thought, moving into his room to look for my dress. It was a crumpled heap on the floor. I picked it up tentatively, my nose wrinkling. I could see the stains on it from a foot away, and I wasn’t about to smell it.

I glanced back at the bathroom.

Justin lounged in the doorway, leaning against the open door frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed. His face was expressionless, his eyes indifferent. He looked suddenly as forbidding as his opulent home. Perhaps I’d overstayed my welcome.

“Do you have a T-shirt or something I could borrow? It doesn’t matter what. I just need to drive straight from your driveway to my garage. And I’m not wearing this.” I dropped the offending dress back on the floor.

He nodded, moving to his closet. He came out with a folded T-shirt and a pair of black boxer briefs.

“Will these work?” he asked, his voice toneless.

I nodded, grabbing them and heading into the bathroom. I changed and used the bathroom in less than a minute, coming back out.

“Do you know where I left my purse?” I asked him.

“In the entryway. By the stairs. You left your sandals there, as well,” he told me without hesitation. I didn’t even remember leaving them there.

I nodded thanks, striding out of his bedroom in a hurry. I had my shoes on and purse in hand before I turned back to him. I’d felt him following my every step.

“Um, bye,” I told him, feeling very awkward and out of my depth. I had certainly never had one of these goodbye scenes before. I was sure he couldn’t say the same. At least it wouldn’t be much of a walk of shame, since I was going straight from his front door to my garage.

He stepped closer to me, but without touching. He still wore just his towel. I kept my eyes firmly on his face. He handed me something, and I looked down at a small silver box. I blinked. He wrapped my hands around it.

“It’s a gift. It was just something that I hoped you would like. You can open it later.”

He grabbed my hair suddenly, giving me a hard kiss on the mouth. He pulled back almost immediately.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

I just nodded and hurried to my car. I didn’t have time to open his gift, or to worry about it. As it was, I’d have to rush to make it to work on time.

As I steered out of his drive, I wondered where he and I stood. Everything had moved so fast, with so many ups and downs, both of us moody with each other. He had said he would call me, but I knew from a lot of my girlfriends that men said that most of the time, whether they meant it or not. The thought that I would never hear from him again was a knot of sick tension in my stomach.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mr. Incredible

I rushed home, getting dressed in a hurry. My hair was still damp, my face bare of makeup, when Stephan walked in my front door.