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ginnsbaker · 1 day

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (9/?)

Part Summary: You get more than you bargained for on Halloween

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader, temporary Leigh x Danny | Word count for this part: 7.300+ | Warnings: Light angst, R and Leigh being obtuse | Author's Note: Longest chapter so far (and about 90% of it is just Leigh and R)! I have officially written another novel length fic with this update. From a two-shot to this? Wouldn't be possible without everyone's support. Thank you, everyone. I have a little treat for you at the end.

Despite Leigh's promise to bring Logan in for his vaccinations, she missed the appointment again for the second time. Understanding that life gets hectic, you decide that rather than seeing Logan miss another round of critical vaccinations, you'll take matters into your own hands and arrange a home visit at the Shaw’s.

On the day of the visit, you discover that Logan has gained 2.5 pounds in just two weeks. The drastic weight gain might indicate that he’s not a purebred Shih Tzu as you originally thought when you got him, or Leigh has been feeding him more than the recommended serving size. You can feel Logan’s solid back as you hold him in place while you administer the vaccine on his scruff. Leigh appears nervous, and if you weren’t determined to scold her after completing Logan’s immunizations, you might have found it adorable.

“Just a quick pinch, buddy,” you murmur soothingly to the anxious pup. Logan yelps as the needle pierces his skin, but within two seconds, it’s over. You rub his neck to distract him from the sting of the medicine, then return to your insulated bag to dispose of the syringe. Leigh watches closely as you finish with Logan, a slight frown creasing her forehead. You notice she's dressed in what you figure is her nightwear—a thin olive camisole and matching capri pants. It seems too dressed down for receiving a guest.

“Why are these vaccines so important, anyway?” she asks lightly, but you don’t miss her apprehension behind it. “I mean, he'll mostly be indoors…”

The frustration from her missing two appointments sneaks into your voice as you say, “Vaccines can mean the difference between life and death for puppies. Take the parvovirus—it's lethal and spreads quickly.”

Leigh nods, taking in the weight of your words. You notice her swallow, perhaps realizing the graveness of her oversight. “I didn't realize it was that serious,” she murmurs.

You catch yourself, realizing you might be coming across as harsher than necessary. “It's alright, Leigh. That's exactly why I came here,” you say mildly. You've dealt with many uneducated dog owners before, and Leigh is no different. You know you need to be patient with her, just as you have been with others, and you remind yourself not to let your personal feelings interfere with your professional opinions.

Logan wiggles happily at your feet, seemingly forgiving you for the shot already. “And another thing,” you add, glancing down at Logan’s round belly, “he’s put on quite a bit of weight. We need to watch his diet. Too much food isn’t good for him either.”

Leigh looks slightly embarrassed. “I guess I've been spoiling him with extra treats,” she admits. “I'll be more careful with that.”

“It’s okay. I know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to that face,” you say, smiling at Logan while you rub his chin. “Just keep to the recommended portions, and he’ll be in good shape.”

As you gather your things to leave, you remember Logan's vaccine card. After filling out the final details, you head towards the kitchen where Leigh has silently drifted off. She's busying herself with breakfast on the stove when you approach.

“Here's Logan's vaccine card,” you say, handing it to her. “He needs another dose in two weeks, so don't forget to schedule that in.”

“Thank you,” Leigh says, accepting the card with a nod. “I won't forget this time.”

The aroma of coffee wafts through the room, tickling your nose.

“I've just made some coffee. Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Leigh asks.

You hesitate, considering the offer, but you’re inclined to refuse, still irked by her missing the previous appointments. “I’m good, thanks,” you say, a bit too briskly. Leigh's face falls slightly, a look of disappointment flashing across her eyes before she gives you a small, resigned smile and turns back to the stove.

You start to leave but something stops you—the frustration from Leigh’s no-shows running over.

“Leigh, can I ask why you didn’t make it to the clinic? And not even a text,” you find yourself saying as you spin on your heels to face her. “It’s not just unprofessional—it hurts more coming from a friend.”

“If you have a problem with me, it’s perfectly okay to transfer Logan to another clinic as long as you’ll follow through with his appointments,” you suggest, noting her standing there, mouth agape, her vivid green eyes sharply focused. Getting that off your chest didn't bring the relief you expected. Instead, you're left with a sinking feeling of regret. Looking back on your words, you realize how petty they must have sounded.

Leigh on the other hand, is momentarily stunned by your outburst, her eyes wide as she absorbs your words. Then, something shifts in her expression, a flicker of intrigue crossing her features before she clears her throat and apologizes.

“I'm really sorry,” she says sincerely, turning off the stove and setting down her spatula. “I didn't handle things well, and you were right to call me out on it.” Leigh takes a careful step closer, causing you to instinctively step back until your lower back meets the edge of the dining table. You weren't expecting Leigh to be so understanding, leaving you unsure of how to react. Should you apologize for getting upset?

Fortunately, Leigh doesn't leave you to dwell on your thoughts for long. She continues, “Why don't you stay for breakfast? I can whip up something nice, and we can catch up like we used to. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Feeling like an absolute fool and still grappling with the aftertaste of your flare-up, you find yourself in a quandary. Rejecting her offer would just drag out this uncomfortable moment even longer, which is the last thing you want. Besides, your stomach is growling—you haven’t eaten anything since you got here, and the smell of brewing coffee is too good to ignore.

“Alright,” you relent, glancing down at your feet. “That sounds good.”

Leigh looks relieved. “Perfect, just give me a minute,” she says, clapping her hands together as she turns back to her cooking.

You linger awkwardly, still standing. “Need a hand with anything?” you ask.

“Just sit there, be all pretty, and relax.”

That little compliment makes your cheeks burn even hotter. If you weren’t so distracted by your hunger and embarrassment, you'd swear it’s almost as if she’s flirting with you.

Wait.

Is she?

Then, as if the universe can hear you thinking, Leigh’s phone buzzes loudly on the kitchen counter. She snatches it up, and even though you can’t see her face, you can tell she’s happy he called as she chirps, “Hey, Danny.”

Right. Danny Greer. That name shatters your brief daydream. Suzie was right—you're too close, and it's clouding your judgment. Leigh laughs into the phone, and you look away just in time for her to turn slightly and steal a glance at you.

Alright, you think, that's it. After this breakfast, it's time to really put some space between you and Leigh. You need to clear your head and let her have her space too. It's the best move, for the sake of your friendship and your sanity.

As Leigh busies herself in the kitchen, you find yourself aimlessly scrolling through your phone, not really focusing on anything. The sound of her laughter while she talks to Danny floats over to you, making you regret agreeing to stay for breakfast and blame your inability to say no to her.

She ends the call with a lingering smile and soon approaches with two plates in hand. Each has a stack of pancakes and two sunny-side-up eggs with the edges just crisped up how you like them. The fact that Leigh remembered leaves you speechless. It’s a small detail, but it makes you guilty for brooding and feeling all jealous.

“I hope you still like your eggs this way,” Leigh says as she sets the table.

“Thank you,” you say warmly as Leigh pours coffee for both of you. Recalling her preference, you offer to add two sugars to her cup, and she rewards you with a small, appreciative smile. She then grabs the syrup from the fridge, along with two sets of utensils, and places them on the table.

You take a bite of the fluffy pancakes, perfectly cooked and deliciously light. “These are amazing, Leigh,” you say enthusiastically.

Leigh beams, standing a bit taller with pride instead of dismissing the praise. “I'm glad you think so! I've been working on perfecting the recipe.”

“Seriously, Leigh, you could sell these.”

She laughs. “Keep the compliments coming and I might just make you breakfast more often.”

You almost choke at her words. You really should take a little break from Leigh until you can get this crush under control. Even simple remarks are starting to feel like a tightrope walk.

Leigh tilts her head slightly, a coy look crossing her face. “So…” she drawls, leaving the word hanging as she waits for you to look up from your plate.

You stop chewing once you sense her heavy gaze on you. “Hmm?”

Leaning in slightly, she lowers her voice as though about to share a secret. “This Sara... is she a friend of yours? Someone new around here?”

The piece of pancake suddenly feels like a mouthful of sawdust as you process her question. You grab your coffee and take a quick gulp to help wash it down. “I, uh, met her on a dating app, actually,” you say.

Leigh's eyebrow arches. “Oh?”

There’s a short, tense period where you repeatedly stab your pancake and tap your foot rapidly against the leg of the stool you’re sitting on, while Leigh twirls her hair around her finger, lost in thought.

“She’s gorgeous,” Leigh finally says. “I didn’t know you were into women.” That is, unless you and the person from her advice column are one and the same. She's chosen to approach what she's dubbed the “EspressoEyes conundrum” as a Schrödinger’s cat scenario, where you simultaneously do and do not have feelings for Leigh.

You fiddle with your coffee mug. “Yeah, I think I've mentioned that before,” you say, though your memory suddenly feels unreliable.

Leigh shakes her head, certain. “No, you definitely haven't told me that.”

“Well, yes, I'm into women, but obviously I like men too,” you say, deciding it's perhaps better to just be clear.

“We're the same then,” she says casually, as if discussing something as mundane as their taste in movies.

“Really?” You’re hoping Leigh is buying the faux surprise on your face, even though Jules had let slip about Leigh's college days.

“Yeah,” Leigh nods. “I had a serious relationship with a woman back in college. It's not something I talk about much, but it's part of who I am.”

“I see.”

Leigh takes a slow sip of her coffee, eyeing you over the rim of her mug with a slight tilt of her head.

“So, do you like her? Sara, I mean,” she asks.

“Yeah, she’s great. We get along really well.”

Leigh sets her coffee cup down with a small clink, not missing a beat. “Have you guys...you know, slept together?” she asks, more bluntly than before.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling a bit like you’re under interrogation. “Um…no, we haven’t.”

A quick glint flashes in her eyes before it vanishes. Her shoulders relax as she leans back in her chair. “Sorry, that was out of line,” she mumbles with a curt, dismissive laugh. “I guess I'm just being nosy.”

The way she said it doesn't truly suggest she's sorry for crossing some lines, but you’re not focusing on that. Rather, you feel like you’ve earned the right to ask Leigh some questions about her own personal affairs.

“And you?” you start, trying to sound flippant. “How are things with you and Danny?”

Leigh matches your nonchalance as she stands up to gather the empty plates from the table. There's a smooth, practiced ease in the way she begins cleaning up, letting you know she's not about to let your questions corner her.

“Things are... going,” she replies, keeping it vague. “Danny's great. We're figuring things out as we go.”

“Where'd you meet him?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“He's Matt's brother,” Leigh says flatly, without flinching. You have to give it to her for being so straightforward about it. Not that you’re judging Leigh or anything—it’s just that moving from in-laws to lovers is quite an unconventional transition.

It’s also possible that you’re just bitter.

“Did you always find him attractive?” you ask, almost spitefully, curiosity getting the better of you. Leigh freezes, her back going rigid at your callous words. There's a moment of visible tension, but then she lets out a slow breath and lets it slide. She had been quite direct in probing about your dating life, so perhaps this levels the playing field.

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Leigh says slowly. “I—”

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!”

Neither of you heard the front door open. Jules bursts in, holding Logan who's wagging his tail wildly at the sight of familiar faces, both oblivious to the cutting atmosphere they've just entered.

“Oh hey, Y/N, it's been a while!” Jules exclaims. She looks between you and Leigh. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks, noticing the residual stiffness in the air.

“Y/N was just leaving,” Leigh says.

You don’t need to be told twice. “Hey, Jules,” you say with a short wave. “I just came to give Logan his shots.”

Jules frowns slightly as you start to leave so soon after her arrival. You reach over to give Logan a quick pat on the head. Turning to Leigh, you manage a tight smile and say, “Thanks for the breakfast.”

As soon as you're out the door, Jules turns to Leigh with a worried look. “What was all that about?” she asks softly.

Leigh shrugs, her expression inscrutable. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies evenly, turning away to busy herself with the dishes.

You get into your car but instead of starting it, you just sit there motionless. Your hands rest aimlessly on the wheel as you lose yourself in thought.

Here’s the truth about Sara:

She's exactly your type on paper—blonde, blue-eyed, stunning. But despite all that, she hadn't managed to hold your attention. Her beauty just couldn't pull your mind away from Leigh, from her vivid green eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

The silence in the car allows you to realize what an odd question you had thrown at Leigh about Danny. You realize just how inappropriate it might have seemed, how it must have sounded coming from a place of jealousy rather than concern.

Why did you even ask that? The answer is uncomfortably clear: you can't be just friends with Leigh. Not anymore. You’ve been lying to yourself, hoping things would just sort themselves out. But they won’t. Not like this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself—or to her.

Because right now, this friendship, if you can even call it that, is doing more harm than good.

“It’s not working.”

Suzie looks up from her clipboard, startled. Her red locks tumble across her face as she tilts her head, brushing them back with a quick flick of her hand.

“Seeing other people, you mean?” she asks, already guessing the root of your distress.

You run a hand through your hair, messing up your low ponytail. Frustrated, you decide to let your hair loose from the tie altogether.

“I thought if I met someone like Sara—someone who’s practically a checklist of everything I find attractive—it would make things easier. But it’s just... not.” You massage your temples, as if trying to rub away the spell Leigh seems to have cast on you. “She's perfect, but she's not Leigh. And no matter how hard I try, I can't stop thinking about Leigh.”

“You're right about one thing though,” Suzie says, getting back to her task.

“Which is…?”

“That Sara’s perfect,” she chuckles, and you can't help but roll your eyes. “Look, you can’t force these feelings. If your heart’s not in it, it’s not in it.”

“So…Should I keep seeing her? Maybe she’ll grow on me or something.”

Suzie stops and gives you a serious look. “Maybe. But love shouldn't feel like an obligation, you know? It’s not fair to either of you if you’re just waiting to see if you’ll catch feelings.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you acknowledge with a sigh. “She’s everything I thought I wanted. And I think she likes me.”

“Sometimes what we think we want isn’t what we really need,” Suzie answers. “Why not take a break? Give yourself some space to think. It might help you figure out what really works—whether it’s Sara, someone else, or just time to yourself.”

“You think so?”

Suzie gives a small shrug. “Look, I don’t have all the answers.”

Hearing that makes you feel a tad embarrassed. You’ve been leaning on her for advice a lot lately, and it’s probably awkward for her, especially since you're her boss. Maybe she’s just being nice because she has to be.

“Thanks, Sue,” you say, standing up from your chair to head back to your office. “I appreciate you listening to all this.”

She smiles back, and you can tell she’s relieved to move on from the subject. Suzie might not have all the answers, but maybe there’s another place you can find them.

That night, in your bedroom, you settle in front of your laptop, the cursor blinking expectantly on the blank submission form of the advice column. You type in your handle—EspressoEyes—a moniker you’d used before, thinking it would increase your chances of being noticed again. Quickly, you type out your query and hit send, watching as it disappears into the digital ether. No sooner have you shut your laptop than your phone rings. It’s your mom.

“Hey, Mom,” you answer, shifting to sit against your headboard.

“Hi, sweetheart! Are you coming home for Thanksgiving? We’re starting to plan the menu and would love to have you,” she says. Your chest tightens. Just hearing her voice makes you feel like you’re already home. You pretend to think for a second, considering your rather empty social calendar.

“Yeah, I’ll come home,” you decide, realizing it might be nice to get away for a bit.

“Oh good! It’s been too long. We’ll make sure to have all your favorites,” she chatters on, already listing the dishes that would normally make you salivate. But these days, you just don’t have the appetite for food.

“Sounds great, Mom. Really looking forward to it.”

You hang up with a promise to send your flight details soon. Setting your phone down, you feel a slight relief at the thought of escaping to a place where no one knows about the mess you’re in.

Leigh can’t sleep. She lies wide awake, staring at the ceiling while Danny's snores fill the room. The weight of his arm draped over her stomach feels stifling, trapping her in place. She can’t breathe. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slips out from under his arm and tiptoes out of the bedroom. In the hallway, she grabs one of his shirts hanging over a chair and slips it on. It smells like sandalwood and something uniquely him—comforting yet somehow off-putting at the same time.

She pads into the kitchen to boil some water, the soft click of the stove burner igniting a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. With the kettle on, she wanders into the living room, pulling Danny's shirt closer around her. Even with the windows closed, the crisp chill of autumn seeps in.

Sitting on the couch, Leigh pulls her knees to her chest. The post-sex cocktail of oxytocin and vasopressin usually knocks her out, but tonight they fail her. Instead, her mind is filled with doubts and the urge to flee from any kind of closeness.

She remembers the last conversation with you, the disapproval on your face when you finally mentioned her relationship with Danny. It troubles her more than she expected. Were you right? Is she just scrambling to fit someone, anyone, into her life, even if it means ignoring the screams inside her head telling her to run?

The kettle whistles, snapping her out of her thoughts. She makes her tea and settles back into the couch, stirring slowly as she thinks about what it might mean to step back from everything—Danny, you, all of it.

With nothing but time until sleep takes her or the sun rises—whichever comes first—Leigh picks up her phone to distract herself. She scrolls through social media, news articles, anything to keep her mind off the spinning thoughts. Eventually, she wanders to the advice column inbox to check on the latest submissions.

Her breath catches in her throat when she sees another entry from EspressoEyes, a handle she recognizes—possibly yours. It reads:

“Is it wise to pursue other relationships if you have strong feelings for someone else? That someone is a friend, and staying just friends is becoming increasingly difficult. My feelings seem to be putting a strain on our relationship. Should I give myself some space?”

Leigh reads the message two more times. She sets her phone down, her thumb instinctively finding its way to her mouth where she nibbles at the nail, a nervous habit when she’s thinking long and hard. And the more she thinks about it, the more obvious it becomes. Of course, she's the friend you're talking about. This is you, openly struggling with your feelings for her. She had hoped things might change, might become less complicated when Sara came into the picture, but she was mistaken.

When she asked about Sara, Leigh was trying to gauge your feelings for her, wondering if Sara's presence meant she didn't need to worry about whether you were EspressoEyes or not. In her mind, if you were involved with Sara, it would imply you weren't interested in Leigh. But she surprised even herself by asking if you had slept with Sara, unsure why she needed to know that detail. Deep down, she couldn’t openly admit just how relieved she felt when you told her you hadn’t.

Leigh picks up her phone again and starts typing out a reply to the submission. When she’s done she tosses her phone somewhere on the couch and goes back to her tea. Sitting there, she watches as the sky outside shifts from dark to a wash of pastels.

A week later, Leigh’s phone vibrates incessantly on the table, the screen lighting up with Danny's name again. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, she turns it off and sets it aside. They've been cycling through breakups and makeups so often it's exhausting—a twisted routine, one that's leaving her more drained each time.

It's Halloween, and since she and Danny are off again, Leigh decides to take the night for herself. She picks Matt's favorite restaurant, which is fully decked out for the holiday, with jack-o'-lanterns lining the walls and eerie candles flickering on each table. She orders a pumpkin-spiced latte and a small plate of appetizers, settling in to enjoy her evening solo. Later, she’ll have that tiramisu that her late husband so adored.

Matt always loved this holiday because it was the one time of year Leigh would indulge him by dressing up as whatever comic book character he was into at the moment. They'd start the evening here for pre-dinner celebrations before meeting up with friends and family later on. But tonight, there are no costumes for Leigh; she's dressed simply in jeans and a cardigan, her face free of makeup, her hair tucked behind her ears to keep it out of the way while she eats.

As she waits, she watches families and couples in costumes come and go, a bittersweet creeping up at her.

Then, you walk in. You’re dressed sharply, scanning the room like you're meeting someone—on a date. Leigh catches her breath. Were you aware that this was Matt’s favorite restaurant? Moreover, it’s been almost two weeks since that awkward morning when you left in a haste. You haven’t noticed her yet. Leigh watches you for a moment, debating what to do. She’s torn between going over or staying put. The last she contributed to the advice column, she’d left a message she hoped you'd find useful if you were indeed the person she’s been advising to. From the look of things, maybe you were taking that advice after all.

Taking a deep breath, Leigh stands and walks over. As you turn and notice her, a small, tentative smile appears on her lips when your eyes meet.

“Hey.”

You return the smile, though it's imbued with a bit of wariness. She appreciates it nonetheless.

“Hey,” you say.

Leigh doesn't beat around the bush; she gets straight to the point of why she came over. “Look, I'm sorry,” she says, the words coming out almost demandingly. “About last time. I crossed a line asking about Sara.”

There's an unmistakable assertiveness to her apology, carrying the same confidence and directness with which she usually addresses any issue. She doesn’t bow her head or wring her hands; instead, she holds your gaze steadily, expecting her apology to be taken as seriously as she means it.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t exactly in line myself when I brought up Danny,” you say, looking up at her. Then, searching for something else to say, you ask, “So, are you here to meet Danny?”

Leigh seems unfazed by the mention of Danny, yet again. You feel a bit silly soon after, realizing that after just acknowledging the awkwardness of digging into each other’s romantic lives, here you are, doing it again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

“No. I’m on my own tonight,” she replies. Then she mirrors your earlier question, a slight tilt to her head. “And you? Here with Sara?”

“No, things didn’t push through with Sara. I’m meeting someone new,” you say, the words feeling strange as they come out. It was a simple yes or no question, and you're not quite sure what compelled you to open up about the specifics of your dating life.

Leigh just nods, her face neutral, not giving away anything in reaction to your news. “I should let you get back to your, uh, date,” she says, then quietly returns to her seat.

Having a date with a stranger just a few feet away from the woman you truly care about is about as ironic as the universe can be.

You’re on your second americano, the bitter taste barely registering as you glance at your watch for the umpteenth time. It's been thirty minutes past the time your date was supposed to arrive, and there's still no sign of him.

The restaurant has filled up around you. Families are tucked into booths, laughing and sharing plates piled high with food. Groups of friends clink glasses in cheerful toasts, and couples lean close, whispering and smiling over candlelit tables. Sitting alone at a table set for two, you start to feel conspicuously isolated.

The last two texts you sent within the hour remain unanswered, their blue bubbles on the screen marking the time you spent waiting. Determined to find some explanation, you open the dating app where you met him, your fingers tapping nervously. There, his profile pops up, showing that he is currently online. Relief washes over you for a moment—maybe there's a reasonable explanation. He might still show up. But as you tap the message icon to send him a query about his whereabouts, a sudden notification stops you: you can no longer message this user.

Feeling disheartened and embarrassed, you can’t help but feel all kinds of ugly for being stood up by someone who doesn’t even mean anything to you. Did he see you waiting and decide not to meet? What about you turned him off? You find yourself scrutinizing everything about your appearance. Was it what you were wearing—perhaps not feminine enough for his taste? Your hair was pulled back, exposing your forehead; maybe he didn't like that look. Or was it your posture—too slouched or too stiff? You even wonder if he might have passed someone else on his way here, someone he found more attractive. It's unsettling to realize how quickly the self-confidence you've spent years building can be shaken in just one evening.

You signal the waiter for the check. Although your stomach is growling, the thought of eating anything seems impossible right now. You're just focused on getting out of there as quickly as you can. Just as you finish paying, Leigh appears at your table. Without a word, she slides into the seat across from you. You're surprised to see her, and although you're not really in the mood for company or conversation, her presence is somehow less intrusive than you would expect.

“I couldn't help but notice your date never arrived,” Leigh comments with an amused smile, inadvertently adding salt to the wound. You think to yourself, Way to rub it in, Leigh, but you're too drained to actually say anything confrontational, so you just mumble a small, “Yeah.”

Leigh leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if she's about to let you in on a secret.

“Want to get out of here?”

It’s definitely not a date. Far from it.

It’s just two friends winding up spending Halloween together by chance.

It’s what Leigh keeps telling herself.

Leigh didn’t know what came over her when she went back to your table. She hadn't thought she'd be asking you to ditch the restaurant and wander the city for the rest of the night—together. What she did know was that she had been eating unusually slowly, glancing over at you occasionally to see how your evening was unfolding. But as it became painfully obvious that your date was a no-show, she couldn’t take it; seeing you left to handle the disappointment alone was more than she could bear.

Turning to Leigh in your car, you ask, “Do you mind if we stop first at the 7-Eleven on Main? I haven't had dinner yet.”

“What kind of dinner can you get from a 7-Eleven?” she asks.

You shrug and say, “Donuts.”

At the 7-Eleven, you grab a box of assorted donuts, and on a whim, you also pick up a few cans of beer to go along with them. With snacks in hand, you drive to a spot that overlooks the city—the same one where Leigh took you after getting takeouts the first time around. It’s not secluded—there’s a small crowd, with several cars parked and groups of people lounging on their car hoods.

“I wasn’t always attracted to him,” Leigh murmurs, after finishing her first beer. You both sit side-by-side with the trunk of your car open, swinging your legs while Leigh’s are crossed over the edge of the trunk.

You glance over at her, a curious ‘Hm?’ escaping your lips, though they're still full of donuts.

Leigh chuckles at your reaction, finding the sight of your cheeks stuffed with food more endearing than she probably should.

“Danny,” she clarifies with a sigh. “I actually used to hate him. He was always such a burden on Matt. Always dragging him into trouble.”

You think about what she's said, then offer a perspective, “You know, they say hate isn't the opposite of love, it's indifference. So maybe there’s always been something there, something more than just annoyance.”

Leigh leans back, stretching her arms out behind her for support as she considers your point. You find yourself wondering what's going through her mind. Is your honesty drawing her even closer to Danny? You could have exploited her past feelings, suggesting that maybe she's always disliked Danny and is confusing her loneliness for love. But you choose not to manipulate her emotions, even if it might be easy to sway her. You won't take advantage of her vulnerability just to get what you want.

Though you can’t deny that the temptation is there.

“Leigh, can I ask you a question?” you say, watching her closely.

She nods, her face open and expectant as she pops open another can of beer.

“How did you find out about me and Matt?”

Leigh takes a sip before answering. “Didn’t I mention it before?”

You purse your lips and shake your head, maintaining a neutral expression as you encourage her to elaborate.

“Danny told me,” Leigh reveals after a brief pause.

“What exactly did he tell you?”

Leigh hesitates, her eyes flickering to the side before meeting yours again. She sets the can down, her fingers drumming against the aluminum in a slow, rhythmic pattern.

“He just flat-out told me one night. I didn't believe him at first, so he mentioned your name to prove it, and I pieced together the rest. I tried to learn everything I could about you, where you lived... and that’s how I discovered your clinic in the city. And I... well, you know the rest,” she says. From what Leigh said, you easily conclude that Danny hadn't come clean to her about his role in facilitating your relationship with Matt. He had conveniently removed himself from the narrative, leaving out his involvement entirely. Lost in thought, you don't realize you've grown quiet until Leigh's voice pulls you back.

“Why do you ask?”

If you answer that question, you don’t believe you can continue hiding the truth about Danny any longer. As you watch Leigh, relaxed in the back of your car, her hair tousled by the gentle evening breeze, you're torn. You're afraid of disrupting her peace. The truth, as it often has, seems only to bring her pain. So, you buy yourself some time to think.

“Do you ever wish he had just kept it to himself? That you never knew any of this?”

Leigh appears briefly disconcerted by the question. She takes some time to think about how to respond, and you give her the time she needs, reaching for another piece of donut from the box. At this rate, you're on track to polish off half a dozen all by yourself.

“Knowing the truth hurt—a lot. It felt like I was suddenly a stranger to my own life,” Leigh says, looking somewhere distant before her eyes return to you. “But then again, knowing has changed how I see things, how I see him—and even how I see you. It’s given me a chance to see things as they really are, not just how I want them to be.”

“You never would’ve met me,” you say with a light-hearted grin, almost suggesting that maybe it was better she hadn’t. But Leigh gives you a look, a gentle sadness in her eyes that makes it clear she doesn’t entertain the thought of not having met you.

“What about you? Do you wish things had stayed hidden?” she asks, turning the question back on you.

A part of you—a very significant part—trembles on the edge of laying bare your feelings for her.

Fiddling with the edge of the donut box, you let a small smile flicker across your lips, but it doesn't reach your eyes. “There's something to be said for not knowing everything. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss,” you say softly. “I mean, not knowing can save you from a lot of unnecessary heartache.”

As you speak, you’re still weighing whether knowing Leigh is turning into an unnecessary heartbreak.

Leigh nods slowly, the corners of her mouth lifting in a bittersweet smile. “Well, when you put it that way, maybe not knowing some things is for the best.”

It feels like a silent agreement on that fine line between knowing everything and being happier not knowing. Perhaps what you can do for now is spare Leigh from her own unnecessary heartbreak. If what she has with Danny is working, why ruin it?

“You know what's missing here? Music,” Leigh muses, reaching for her third beer. “Oh, and you better keep up,” she adds, glancing at the single beer you’ve had.

“Or how about you pace yourself? I'd hate for the party to end too soon for you,” you quip slyly.

Leigh grins, unfazed by your warning. She leans closer, and her breath, warmed by the beers, brushes against your cheek. “Speaking of parties, I actually got invited to this Halloween bash tonight. Everyone's supposed to be in costume, and there will definitely be music. We should go. What do you say?”

You pretend to think about it, but you’re already clearing out your trunk and hopping off it as you reply, “Well, you did say you needed music.”

A party isn’t really your scene.

Leigh is already tipsy by the time you both arrive at it. People are either clad in bulky costumes or barely dressed at all. Halloween decorations dangle from the ceiling, a foot or two above the faces of the revelers as strobe lights flash in erratic bursts. You weave through a crowd of zombies and sexy nurses, the bass from the DJ's speakers vibrating under your feet.

As you're both making your way toward the bar, a co-worker spots Leigh and pulls her aside excitedly. “Leigh, over here!” they shout over the noise, grabbing her arm. She turns back to you with a slightly apologetic grin. “Just a sec, I'll catch up!” she promises, before being swallowed by the crowd, her hand slipping from your arm.

But that was half an hour ago.

Now, you're feeling dizzy from the alcohol that's been keeping you company in Leigh's absence, and the sea of masked and painted faces around you is starting to merge into a blur. You round a corridor that brings you back to the main room and finally, you spot her. Leigh is near the dance floor, laughing with a group dressed in characters you don’t recognize. She sees you and waves excitedly, her movements a bit too exaggerated. You make your way over, dodging a particularly enthusiastic witch.

“Found you,” you say, as you reach her side.

Leigh grins, her eyes bright. “Dance with me!” she yells over the music, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the throng of sweaty bodies. Too exhausted to argue, you let her lead you into the chaos. As the music takes over and you both start to dance, the rest of the party fades into the background. Leigh's hand is warm in yours, her other hand reaching up to loop around your neck. The music swells, and the crowd presses in, pushing you closer together. Her breath is sweet with the tang of alcohol, and her cheeks are flushed.

Leigh’s movements become less and less coordinated as she leans into you, her body heavenly against yours. Her lips come dangerously close to yours, barely brushing against them, and for a moment—surrounded by her warmth and scent—you're tempted. You want her, deeply, irrevocably—

But not like this.

You firm your hands on her hips, pushing her slightly away. “Hey, let's get some air, yeah?” you suggest calmly despite your heart going crazy in your chest.

She looks up at you, a bit confused but nods, her smile unfaltering. You take her hand again and guide her off the dance floor. Moving through the crowd proves to be a challenge with Leigh's unsteady steps. She stumbles, laughing as she clings to your arm for support.

“I almost ate it back there!” she exclaims, still giggling.

“Yeah, you did,” you mutter distractedly. As the festive sounds of the party fade behind the closed door, reality slaps you both with a sobering chill. Leigh is simply too drunk, and you’re almost a fool for nearly taking advantage of that. You can't concentrate on anything but what nearly happened back there.

You feel Leigh’s hand slip back into yours, slotting in place like magnets that just fit together. Her laughter has quieted, and she leans into you slightly, resting her head on your shoulder. It's then you realize that a drunken Leigh is more affectionate and less aware of physical boundaries—dangerous.

“You know, maybe we should call it a night? I can take you home,” you suggest, making an effort not to lean into her, even though the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and the faint scent of sweat beckons you closer.

Her reaction is immediate and surprisingly lucid. “I can’t go home like this,” Leigh protests, straightening up. “Jules has her own Halloween thing tonight, and I can't show up drunk and be seen like this by her. She’s been sober for a year now; I can’t just...” Her voice trails off, filled with worry.

You glance at your wrist and see it's already 2 AM. A sigh escapes you as the reality of your early morning responsibilities begins to weigh in. You have to be up in four hours to open the clinic at 8 AM, and staying out to make sure Leigh fully sobers up is far from feasible. Leigh appears exhausted, her eyes heavy, even as she tries to muster a smile.

“Listen, Leigh,” you say, eyeing a practical solution. “I have an early start tomorrow, and you look like you need some rest. How about you crash at my place tonight? You can sleep it off and head home in the morning when you’re feeling better.”

Leigh seems to consider this for a moment, her gaze drifting towards the street where groups of men glance their way as they pass by. Finally, she nods meekly, looking relieved.

“That sounds really good right now. My head feels heavy, and I just want to go to sleep,” she mumbles, letting out a weary sigh and rubbing her eyes. You help her to her feet and steady her as you both walk back to your car, which is fortunately parked nearby. Leigh curls up in the passenger seat, and you crack the windows to let in some fresh air.

Once home, you give Leigh some clothes to change into and then start setting up the couch for yourself, grabbing an extra pillow and blanket from the cupboard. As you turn back a while later, you see Leigh, in her slightly tipsy state, misinterpreting your preparations. She gives a small, tired smile and plops down onto the couch. Reacting quickly, you catch her just before she falls completely into it.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers, surprised as she finds herself practically in your arms, half-carried in a bridal style.

You feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your chest, aware of how close she is. “This is for me,” you say, nodding towards the couch, “you’re taking the bed.”

To avoid any further confusion, you slowly lift her up, wrapping an arm securely around her waist as you guide her to your bedroom. Leigh’s head remains tucked in your neck, her body relaxed and yielding as you move.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she mumbles against your skin, though her tone suggests she’s grateful for your care. You don’t see the blush that has crept to her own cheeks, your eyes fixed straight ahead.

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assure her as you gently set her down on your bed. “Make yourself comfortable. The mattress’ much better for a good night's sleep.”

Leigh nods, pulling the covers around her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and more sober now.

“Anytime,” you respond with a reassuring smile. “Good night, Leigh.” You close the bedroom door softly behind you and retreat to the couch.

“Good night, Y/N…” Leigh whispers to herself, a faint smile touching her lips as she nestles deeper into the bed.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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drjholtzmann · 1 day

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this is dreamling more than dead boy detectives but it's been in my head since reading issue #25 after s1 of sandman. so, now feels like a good time to release it into the world. i just want them all to get in each others way

(season of mists spoilers)

------------

It’s not often that Hob smokes. It’s an expensive habit, and secondhand smoke and all that. But it’s hardly going to kill him, so he’s usually got an ancient pack on hand somewhere. Handy, especially in situations like this. Not that there’s ever been a situation like this before but, well. You live long enough.

He slips out into the beer garden of the pub, lighting up almost absent mindedly, the action still muscle memory.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip, “what the fuck. Dream, if you have bloody anything to do with this, I swear to god, Morpheus. What the fucking fuck.” He closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the brickwork. Despite it all he huffs an exhausted laugh. Because sure. Of course. Yeah, why not. Of course this would happen. “Jesus Christ, Morpheus. Even if this isn’t you, bloody… fucking wish I could just ask.” It’s all said barely above a whisper. Just in case. Always just in case. He blindly ashes his cigarette and heaves out a heavy breath, “Lord above,” he scoffs, raising the cigarette to his lips again.

“Hob?”

Hob startles, eyes snapping open, head knocking back sharply against the brick. “Fuck – ow – Dream?” He raises his free hand to rub the back of his head, wincing slightly. “That, uh… that worked better than expected.”

“You were calling for me?”

“Yeah… sorta. I didn’t… think it worked like that. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You did not. I had thought briefly of you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hob grins. “How come? You miss me already?”

Morpheus sends him a withering look.

“I, um… dreamt of you. While ago. Was that – real?”

“It was.”

He nods, thumb nervously tapping the filter of his cigarette. “Uh huh. Figured. With the wine, and…” he trails off. The hollow feeling of that dream, or rather, of that waking coming back to him in full force. “You said some ominous shit. Then I said some ominous shit. Was that real, too?”

Morpheus nods solemnly.

“Right. Don’t suppose you’ll explain that?” Morpheus remains silent. “Right. Course not. Things okay, though? Now? I mean,” he gestures to his friend, “you’re here. That must be good, yeah?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Great. Fab.”

“What I thought I was facing has… changed.”

“...’kay. Well, can I ask you a question?”

Morpheus pauses but, after a moment, nods.

“S’it got anything to do with the dead kids hanging out in my pub?”

“What?”

“Yeah, couple of boys who look like they should definitely be in school – about, oh, fifty years ago. At least.”

Morpheus’ eyes don’t actually widen in alarm, but there is something to that effect happening… not quite in his expression, but in his aura, perhaps. Hob gets the feeling that if he were a cat the fur along his spine would be standing on end.

“So… it is related?”

“Perhaps.”

“Definitely, then.” Hob takes a short puff of his cigarette.

“Show me?”

“Uh… I don’t know if they know that people can see them. I don’t know if people who aren’t me can see them, actually. So just, um…” the caution dies in his throat as he realises who it is he’s talking to. Morpheus will do what he will, Hob’s advice be damned.

Dream draws close, peering in through the windowpane of the door back into the pub. “How do you know?”

“You get pretty good at feeling when things are off once you’ve been around the block six hundred years or so. Also, they walked in through the closed front door. As in, passed right through the solid wood and glass.”

“I see.”

“Why are they here?”

“To sample your fine selection of craft beer, perhaps?”

“Oh, he’s joking,” Hob has joined his side in peering not-so-surreptitiously through the door. “‘Mortal plane’ here, not here-here.”

“Death must have been busy… It is not like her to leave a job unfinished without good reason.”

“Must’ve…? What the fuck could be so horrific that Death is being kept busy?”

Morpheus, beside him, is silent. Deadly still. And it tells Hob all he needs to know.

“Dream,” he hisses, “what the fuck is this? What’s going on?”

There is a long pause. “I ought not to tell you.” Dream murmurs, still facing the glass panel of the door.

“And I ought not have two dead teenagers in my pub. All things relative.”

“They are causing no harm.”

“I don’t doubt that. It’s you I’m worried about now.”

“Your concern is of no use. What I mean is that they are no poltergeists, not aggressive, there seems to be nothing demonic about them.”

“Which means… there are poltergeists and demons running about at the mo?”

“I told you, I ought not say. There are diplomatic proceedings to take place.”

“You get that that makes even less sense, yeah?”

Dream seems to, at last, with an almighty eye roll, give in. “Hell is closed,” he hisses, turning to face Hob directly.

“Hell is closed.” Hob repeats back, dumbfounded. “And that means… The devils are all here?”

“Precisely.”

“But the boys… aren’t devils?”

“They are not.”

“Okay. That’s good news. And the devils?”

Dream shrugs, sharp and languid. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Great. Okay. Less good. Very much less good. So, uh. What… do I do? Am I supposed to exorcise them? Because, I have to be honest – would really rather not do that.”

“You are under no obligations.”

“Oh.”

“They could not be here without Death’s knowledge or her say-so. She will come for them in time.”

“Oh.” Inexplicably, Hob’s heart sinks a little.

“They are not alive, Hob.” Dream says, looking him in the eye. “They cannot live forever as the dead.”

“Hm. Yeah. S’pose.” He looks through the windowpane at the two boys, chatting animatedly at a corner table out of the way. “They’re just kids, though. Barely got a normal life.”

“You cannot save them, Hob.”

“Why not?”

“You cannot. They may not be destined for Hell, but that doesn’t mean they can stay amongst the living.”

“Says who?”

“The universe. Death, herself.”

Hob smirks, tilting his head down a fraction to look up at Dream from under a quirked brow. “You know what I think of Death.”

And Hob catches the tension at the corner of Dream’s mouth that he knows, whatever he might say to the contrary, is a suppressed smile.

“C’mon, what if I just help ‘em live a little? While they’re here?”

“Hob.”

“What?! Can’t a guy be nice?”

“I have meetings to attend to.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I think it a poor choice to flaunt immortality in front of two who have died so young. I would caution against it.”

“Okay. Fuck, fair point. But they don’t have to know about me. They wouldn’t somehow know, right?”

“I would caution against it, Hob Gadling.”

#sandman #dreamling #dead boy detectives #sandman fanfic #my fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #charles and edwin get a cameo lets say #im so excited for the show yall have no idea

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rainbow-nerdss · 2 days

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday

This is a new WIP, where Tommy doesn't get transferred before Buck arrives at the 118!

Honestly, I love this idea in theory, but I'm not really sure how to write it. I know what i want it to be, but Tommy's POV is fighting me tbh

oh well:

It was tough, losing out on the spot at the 217. Getting back out there, back in the air, it’s been Tommy’s goal for years now. But the competition was fierce, and he’d just missed out—Captain Nash’s surprisingly glowing recommendation and his experience in the army apparently not enough to give him the advantage he needed over people who’d been waiting longer. It was a setback, but Tommy wasn’t going to give up. Sure, the 118 has gotten nicer over the past few years, and he’s starting to genuinely enjoy it there—Hen and Chimney both accepting his apologies, becoming something like friends, and Captain Nash’s family dinners actually becoming something he looks forward to every shift. Still, every time he jokes about loving the single life, and every time Hen talks about her wife, it makes his stomach churn, and it gets harder and harder every day to keep it going. He has to, though. At least until there’s another opening in harbor. And then there’s the fact that Captain Nash already agreed to take on a new probie, fully expecting Tommy to get snapped up by the 217, and the imminent arrival of the new kid is a constant reminder that he failed. He wasn’t good enough, he hadn’t made it. The kid arrives, interrupting dinner with a nervous twitch in his hands and an awkward laugh when Captain Nash teases him about being in the wrong place. Evan Buckley. He tells everyone to call him Buck, but Tommy ignores it. He can tell already—the kid looks like he’s about to bolt any second. No point in giving the new puppy a nickname, not if he’s not going to last the full probie year. Tommy wonders if he’ll get to see him wash out before he manages to snag a transfer. It would be a silver lining, he’s sure. Evan’s enthusiastic, to say the least. Nash says he’s got top marks in the academy, he’s good at the job, but Tommy can see the lack of discipline, lack of control that’s going to get him into some serious trouble someday. And Tommy can't do this. He can't let this kid get under his skin.

Tagged by: @theotherbuckley @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela

Tagging:

@diazsdimples @bidisasterevankinard @wildlife4life @aspecbuddie @thewolvesof1998

@daffi-990 @neverevan @loserdiaz @jeeyuns @kwills91

@trenchcoatsandtimetravel @spotsandsocks @devirnis @steadfastsaturnsrings @sunflowerdiaiz

@lover-of-mine @liabegins @lovelettertothewise @slowlyfoggydestiny @buddieboos

@shitouttabuck @pirrusstuff @jesuisici33 @nmcggg @elvensorceress

@eddiebabygirldiaz @your-catfish-friend @eightpackdiaz @gigi-gigi @bisexualbuckleys

@loveyouanyway @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @arachanae @dangerpronebuddie

If anyone would rather not be tagged in Bucktommy stuff, let me know! I'm happy to keep separate tag lists for bucktommy and buddie 💙💙

#my fic #wip #fic tag game #bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard

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welcomingdisaster · 1 day

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Fingon does not play often anymore. Rarely does the mood strike him, and mostly when he is alone, his heart is sorrowful. But at the Mereth Aderthad some merriness of the crowd strikes him, some warmth of the liquor, and he picks up the harp and plays, unthinking, a drinking-song from bygone days. Around him elves laugh and dance, an ocean of swirling silk, and he hears little his own music.

“You have lost the touch,” Maglor says, “you were better.”

Fingon looks down at the joints of his fingers, where feeling has not returned since the ice, and says naught.

#my fic #drabble #fingon

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thiswaytwoinfinity · 1 day

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it’s a bad idea, right? - part 1: can’t two people reconnect

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader • inspired by sleeping with other people

Warnings: no use of y/n or physical description of reader except they have hair that can be tucked behind their ears, implied smut, this chapter is fine but future installments will be 18+

It’s finally here! Thank you to everyone for being so supportive and patient about this fic; I was dealing with some rough personal stuff and lost all my inspiration but it’s back now and I’m happy to be writing about everyone’s favorite cocky flyboy.

There’s something about a sticky summer night when you’re 22 that makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been.

It’s the third bar that your new roommates have dragged you to tonight, there’s a cocktail sweating in your hand and the bass from the stereo thudding through your head. You’re not sure if the grin on your face is from the watching all of the wannabe cowboys go flying off the mechanical bull in mere milliseconds or from the possibilities of newfound adulthood laid out in front of you. In this moment, it’s hard to imagine that you were ever scared about moving halfway across the country — away from your family, your hometown and your high school sweetheart who always thought you’d move home after college — to Austin.

In this moment, you feel free. You feel invincible. You feel like this is a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“Okay, the bar is a madhouse but I managed to get another round!” Anna shouts as she makes her way back to the table, tossing her long dark hair behind her before plopping the tray of shots down in front of you and your new friends. “And there’s a new rule!”

Everyone groans in unison; Anna loves to make up drinking games, handing out shots and beers with a new rule or bet that is guaranteed to leave someone embarrassed before the night’s over.

“Oh, stop. Shit like this is how we become lifelong best friends, trust me, I read about it online,” she fires back, rolling her eyes and handing shots to you and the three other girls at the table before taking one in hand. “It’s simple. Last one to finish their shot has to ride the mechanical bull.”

“Bitch, are you trying to kill us?” Erin asks, shooting a sideways glance at Katie, who’s eyeing up her shot glass like she’s trying to strategize the best way to drink it. The two of them are sisters — “Irish twins, it’s a whole thing,” Erin explained when you first moved in — are hyper-competitive and curse like sailors. You loved them instantly.

Your tiny hope of not being the one to end up on the bull dies when you look over at Taylor, who managed to throw back her tequila when nobody was watching. “What?!” she asks, curls bobbing in the bun on top of her head as she takes in everyone’s looks of confusion and frustration. “Anna never said we had to start at the same time.”

It’s like a starting pistol went off at the end of her sentence because before you know it, Erin and Katie are both biting into limes while Anna is swallowing down the liquor with a grimace. Shit.

You do your best to catch up but it’s too late. You, the girl who grew up nowhere near Texas and have never actually seen a bull in real life, are going to have to ride one in front of this entire bar.

Years later you won’t remember the details of the bet, how your friends whooped and hollered as you made your way over to the bull with shaky knees or how the operator took pity on you when you immediately slid off and offered you a second try. The song that was playing is lost to time, as is the actual feeling of riding the bull for a whole half second.

What you will remember, though, is sliding across the tarp to rest right by a group of athletic looking guys and the strong, tan hand that reached down to help you stand up.

You’ll remember the backwards Longhorns cap on his head, the way his green eyes flashed with amusement and the blinding white of his smile as he helped you to your feet, hand lingering just a moment too long in yours. You’ll remember the way it felt like someone had set off fireworks inside of you, fingers tingling where they touched his skin and your stomach swooping like you were on a roller coaster.

You’ll remember exactly what he said to you: “Well, that was definitely the most entertaining attempt of the night.”

You giggled, a little dazed by his chiseled features, by the way he seemed to only see you in that moment, by the force of his charisma.

“I’m Jake. What’s your name, beautiful?”

For a Thursday night, the Hard Deck was surprisingly packed.

The Daggers had managed to claim their usual spot by the pool table, but despite their cramped quarters they practically had to shout over the sounds of drunken sailors and the oldies blasting out of the jukebox to be heard. The table next to Bob was crowded with beer bottles, the bespectacled WSO having waved off Penny when she stopped by to clear them, promising the group would clean up after themselves. Natasha and Bradley were in the middle of some kind of dumb darts competition, being heckled by Bob and a tipsy Rueben, who had his arm slung around the former’s shoulders for balance.

Jake took in the scenery, smug grin on his face, before sinking his final pool ball with a flourish.

“And that’s game, gentlemen,” he said, turning to Javy and Mickey, who were shaking their heads with frustration.

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into betting against him,” Mickey sighed, shuffling through his wallet for a $20 bill. Javy just shrugged and threw a playful punch against his friend’s shoulder, before asking for a rematch.

“Let that be a lesson, Fanboy,” Jake chuckled, making a big show of examining the bill before pocketing it. “Never bet against Jake Seresin. They call me a golden boy for a reason.”

“Who’s ‘they?’ Everyone we know just calls you a dick,” Nat called out, making her way back to the table for her drink. Taking a look at the chaos on the table, she rolled her eyes before starting to gather up a handful of empty bottles. “C’mon, Fanboy. Help me clear some of these and I’ll buy you a beer to drown your sorrows in.”

He ran over to help, allowing Javy to slide over to Jake and elbow his buddy in the side.

“10 o’clock, there’s a whole table of pretty ladies. The blonde’s had her eye on you all night and her friend with the locs is crazy hot,” he murmured, as Jake took a subtle look over at the table in question. 5 or 6 women were crammed into a booth, and judging by the tiara on one of their heads, they were out celebrating a birthday. “Wingman?” the younger aviator asked, holding out his fist for Jake to bump it.

For a half second, he contemplated turning his best friend down.

It wasn’t like Jake wasn’t attracted to the blonde, who was, indeed making eyes at him from across the room. She was exactly his type, all bright smiles and smokey bedroom eyes, her curves and long legs poured into tight jeans. She had an air of confidence that made it clear she knew just how hot she was.

He knew that if he strolled over and gave her his best All-American smile and some of that Southern charm, he could probably win her over. They’d flirt and dance a bit and then he’d drive them back to one of their places, have some decent-to-excellent sex and he’d be asleep shortly after midnight.

It seemed fun. It seemed obvious. It seemed, quite honestly, a little boring to him.

Maybe it was because he turned 35 a few months ago and the idea of going home to his own bed after a night out was starting to seem more and more appealing to him. Maybe it was because he spent so much time trying to convince his fellow Daggers that he wasn’t a complete asshole that he didn’t want to risk them changing their minds again.

Or maybe he was just a little jealous.

Jake would see the way Rueben’s face lit up when he talked about his wife, how he would brag about every milestone his 3-year-old daughter was reaching. He felt awkward about his lack of wedding knowledge when a pink-eared Bob would ask the squad for their opinion on something for his upcoming nuptials. He’d try to ignore the weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d overhead Nat and Mickey picking out a restaurant for their weekly brunch double date with their respective girlfriends.

And despite the fact that he had spent most of his adult life doing whatever he could to avoid those kinds of situations, now he was starting to wonder if maybe … maybe he’d be a little happier if he had been able to settle down with someone of his own.

Oof. That thought made Jake’s chest tighten uncomfortably. So he pushed it down, smiled as wide as he could and first bumped Javy. “Wingmen for life, Coyote. Lead the way.”

If you had to spend one more minute squeezed up against this bar, wedged between a couple aggressively making out and a trio of rowdy Navy men who were trying to sing along to Queen, you were going to scream.

“Just come for a drink or two. This place is super chill for a Navy bar, I promise,” you muttered darkly under your breath, repeating the words your friend and new coworker had used to convince you to come out tonight.

Between a frantic weekend spent unpacking all of your belongings into your new studio apartment and a very long first week at your new job, all you had wanted to do was bury yourself under a blanket and watch Real Housewives until your brain melted out of your ears.

But you were trying to be more social. You wanted to focus more on your friendships. Do things that were good for you. That was the whole point of this move.

So instead, you were leaning so far over the bar top that you could feel the edge digging into your ribs, shouting a drink order at the (admittedly, very sweet and slightly overwhelmed) bartender. She had just placed the two beers and margarita you had asked for down in front of you when another hand appeared and tried to snatch them up.

“Hey!” you yelled, tossing the bills in your hand onto the bar as you reached up to catch the offender by the wrist before they made off with your hard-won drinks. “Asshole! Drop them, those are my beers! What the fuck?”

You swiped up the cocktail with your free hand, lest it meet the same fate and turned around to see what kind of absolute monster thought they had the right to steal drinks.

Annoyingly, he was beautiful.

Tall and broad, with sun-kissed skin and a blindingly-white smile, which held a hint of sheepishness as he realized that he had been caught red handed. There was something familiar about the way he ducked his head a little, before peering at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …”

Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after —

“Jake? Jake Seresin!?”

It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on. He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be.

He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well. He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket.

“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look amazing, darling. Beautiful as ever.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out. “You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you concede, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped.

You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix.

“I am good,” Jake promises, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.”

His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago. You can practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar. Your lips part — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before —

The woman behind the bar calls out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumps forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her. Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turns back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.)

“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake says, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waits for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin.

You’re not sure if the goosebumps on your arms are from the chill of the California evening or the way that Jake hasn’t stopped staring at you since he joined you outside on the deck. You shift slightly against the wooden bench of the picnic table, overwhelmed by the intensity of having all of the blonde’s attention on you again for the first time in a decade.

“So …” you begin, and your voice seems to startle Jake out of his thoughts slightly. “You’re a California boy now? I never thought you’d ever leave Texas.”

He grins and shakes his head slightly. “Well, when Top Gun calls and offers you a permanent station, you’d be a fool not to accept. And not to brag, but they do only offer that to the best of the best.”

“Please, Seresin. You love to brag,” you fire back, watching those green eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Well, it’s not bragging if it’s the truth. And the truth is, darling, that I am one hell of a pilot.” Jake takes a swig from his beer, before leaning a bit closer into you, like he wants to study your reactions. “What about you? What brings you out to sunny San Diego?”

“New job,” you say shortly, shrugging your shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “Moved from the ICU to the ED, so I figured a change of location would go well with a change of pace.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and you hope he can’t tell. There’s no reason to tell your ex — boyfriend? Fling? — whatever that you followed a guy out here, especially since that whole — relationship? Affair? Complete and utter heartbreaking disaster? — situation crashed and burned almost immediately.

“Mmhmm,” Jake says, as if he can tell that’s not the whole story, and he takes another sip before seemingly deciding to let you off the hook. “And what did you boyfriend have to say about moving halfway across the country? Or did someone manage to finally lock you down after all these years?”

There’s a small, sinking feeling in your stomach as you think about the real reason you moved here for a brief, heartbreaking second.

“No boyfriend. No husband, either,” you say, wiggling your left hand at him in order to illustrate your point, and clock the way his eyes almost look relieved by the sight of your empty finger. “What about you, Seresin? Where’s your sweet, Southern wife?”

He laughs, a little cocky but a little hollow at the same time. “You know I don’t really do commitment, darlin’,” he jokes and, boy, do you, nights of watching him flirt with other girls while you pouted in the corner of the bar flashing in your brain. You take a long swallow of your beer — just like you used to swallow down your pride back then — and roll your eyes at him.

“I swear, you look exactly the same when you roll your eyes like that,” Jake says, his smile softening around the edges. “Nobody ever managed to make it quite as cutting as you.”

“Nobody’s ever been quite as annoying as you,” you fire back, but there’s no real heat behind it. Jake’s eye light up like you just gave him a compliment rather than pointing out that he knew exactly how to press your buttons when you were younger.

“I seem to remember you used to like it when I was able to make your eyes roll. Or, at least, when I could make them roll back into your head …”

You sigh, doing your best not to let on how much that comment made your face heat with decade-old memories of you two tangled up in your sheets. “There it is …” you begin, but he just leans into you a little more, those green eyes traveling all over your face as he speaks.

“I’m just reminiscing, that’s all. Can ya blame me? You’re still so beautiful …” Jake responds, one hand reaching out to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek as he pulls away and you hope you can explain away the goosebumps that erupt on your skin as a product of the ocean breeze. “And I spent a lot of time trying to get you all worked up back then. Force of habit.”

You could give into it.

Allow the sheer force of Jake’s charisma and good looks to carry you away on a wave of old memories. The chemistry that always fizzled between you is clearly still there, the butterflies that have laid dormant in your stomach all this time just waiting for an excuse to be let free once again. It would be easy.

And it would be good — you two had always been good at the physical stuff. He was so gorgeous in so many ways and surprisingly generous when you were in bed. (Jake always took pride in being the best of the best, after all).

But once you woke up tomorrow morning, after all of the awkward goodbyes and the promises to call, then what? Jake Seresin doesn’t commit; he made that clear.

And you were still bruised from your last mess of a relationship, your heart feeling tender and aching in your chest most days. There’s no way that this doesn’t end the same way it did a decade ago, with you sobbing uncontrollably and Jake moving on to the next beautiful girl who manages to hold his attention.

So, with a self-control you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull yourself out of Jake’s undertow.

“Seresin, I … that’s probably a bad idea,” you say softly, eyes dropping down to the tabletop in between you. “I just got out of a relationship and I’m not in a place —”

He cuts you off by tilting your chin up to look at him and then making a point to pull his hands back and keep them to himself.

“Hey, hey, I get it. No worries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, darlin’” Jake explains in a rush. “I’m sorry about that. Like I said, force of habit.”

You huff out a laugh and another eye roll and you can see him fight a grin at your reaction. “Only you would describe flirting with someone as a habit, Jake.”

“Well, I’m one of a kind.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you giggle, glad to be back on solid, friendly ground with him.

Two hours later, Jake sent you off with a hug and his phone number as you and your friend climbed into an Uber and set off for home. She had a few questions about the “dreamboat” of a Naval aviator that you had apparently dated back in school, but was a little too excited about recounting her own evening to push you for details. It wasn’t until you arrived back at your apartment and collapsed on your couch that you realized Jake had been texting you the whole time you were in the car.

Unknown: It’s Jake 🫡😜🤠⭐️🍻🏈😉

Unknown: Hope you get home safe, beautiful. It was great to catch up with you.

Unknown: And I would be an embarrassment to the U.S. Navy if I didn’t at least offer to be your tour guide around San Diego

Unknown: I know all the best spots after all

Unknown: So text me if you want to grab lunch or something

Unknown: Or if you finally want to learn how to surf

Unknown: But give me fair warning beforehand, I remember how bad your balance is lol

You: lol I forgot you text every single thought in your brain

You: but having a tour guide sounds nice

You: we could get brunch this weekend and you can give me the highlights?

You had only just begun to take your shoes off, resigned to finally get off the couch, when your phone pinged.

Jake 🤠 🧡: I know just the place

You gave his text a quick thumbs up and got ready for bed smiling the whole time.

-—-—-—-—-—

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I don’t know if I’m going to have a regular schedule with this or anything, but I will do my best! Thank you for reading about the absolute menace that is Jake Seresin

Tagging some people who asked:

@tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner @dizzybee03 @olliepig @lynnevanss @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem @mamaskillerqueen @kmc1989 @hookslove1592

#top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman x reader #my fic #jake hangman x you

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onward--upward · 2 days

Text

ain't ever been skin on skin with a man like this

Buck/Tommy, 3k, rated E || ao3

Here’s the thing about discovering your attraction to men in your 30s: it’s a little bit like Buck has slingshot himself back to high school, giggling at a pretty person making eye contact with him from afar. He’s… giddy whenever he’s around Tommy, and it feels ridiculous, but also weirdly… normal? Because you’re supposed to feel excited about the person you’re dating – he hadn’t realized that excitement had been missing lately, but now that it’s back, it seems obvious. Looking back, he hasn’t been genuinely, uncomplicatedly excited about any of his relationships for a long time – not since Ali, maybe, or even Abby. Years. But this – Tommy. Dating him feels a little bit like being a teenager again. So many things are new to him – the scrape of stubble against his skin when Tommy kisses him, the sensation of tilting his chin slightly up when they’re close, and most of all, the soft gentleness with which Tommy treats him. “It’s like –” Buck is more than a little wine drunk, head tilted back against the back of the couch at Maddie and Chimney’s. At this point, he’s not actually sure whether it had been Maddie who brought it up, or if he was simply drunk enough to be babbling of his own accord. “It’s like – everything is new.”

read on ao3

#my bi buck manifesto haha #911 fic #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #bucktommy #bi buck #my fic #mine #sorry for posting fic at midnight <3

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 days

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You're the Kind of Reckless that Should Send Me Running

A/N: you know, sometimes, self-care is... (checks notes) making a sex bargain with a fae to get out of a marriage contract. It just be like that! But happy Day Three of @nestaarcheronweek lovelies! Hope everyone enjoys some smutty Nessian. As a warning, this is toe-ing the line with dubious consent since it is a fae bargain, so please read with care!

Read on AO3

A bottle of your finest alcohol and your most prized possession.

That's what the woman in the market had told Nesta to bring in offering. Whispered words shared between the brick building of the butcher and the wooden stalls bedecked in green leaves and pastel colored petals, the first sign of spring. The woman's own stall had been tucked closer to the alleyway between buildings, half cast in shadow. What little light did break through bounced off the gemstones of amulets, carved into the grooves of runes in animal bone.

Only desperate people spoke with the woman who always kept the hood of her cloak up to shroud her face.

And desperate Nesta was.

She listened to everything the woman said, carefully tucked away the instructions, the tips the woman offered for the best results. And when the woman had finished speaking, Nesta placed a single silver piece into her palm and slipped back into the crowds of the bustling market without looking back. She kept her head down, tried her best to look inconspicuous lest word get back where she didn’t want it to.

But Nesta caught Clare’s eye across the market square, her friend offering the barest hint of a nod. It was Clare that told Nesta about this woman, about the information she offered, about the outcomes that information promised. According to Clare, it was how Morrigan had done it just last week.

So, that day in the market, Nesta seeked out the woman, and now, here she walks.

She steps over roots and brambles, her soft steps doing nothing to quiet the crunch beneath her feet. With each step, she winces at the way the sound echoes in the wood around her. She glances around, between the barks of the trees that stretch out and above her, but there’s no sign of anyone else but her. It doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on edge.

A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and Nesta freezes, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s reserves. She clutches it a little tighter to her chest, afraid to even breathe while she waits for another sound, waits for someone to appear. But the only sound that answers Nesta is the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves, the distant sound of an owl hooting.

Breathing out slowly, Nesta continues trekking forward. She dares to look back over her shoulder, but there’s nothing but more trees and the streaks of silver from the moon breaking through the canopy above. She shakes her head, reminding herself of exactly why she’s here, why she’s doing this.

She just has to find the clearing. That’s what the woman in the market said, that deep into the woods to the north of the village, the trees would part into a clearing. A ring where the trees dare not grow, where the roots stretch to form an altar. Where a fae waits for humans brave enough to make a bargain.

If only she could find it.

Nesta doesn’t know how far she’s walked, but she feels as though she’s been walking half the night. She can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, a trick. If there is no clearing and no fae who can help her. It would be just her luck.

With a huff, she decides to call it, decides she’ll make the painstaking trek back to her family’s manor house. She spins on her heel only to find herself standing in the center of a clearing that wasn’t there previously.

Fae magic.

“And what do we have here?”

The voice is deep, rough, practically a low rumble where it skates across Nesta’s skin. She swallows hard, raising her chin, before she turns to face that voice. The man is leaning casually against the trunk of one of the trees lining the clearing, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted as he watches her.

A male, really. A fae male unmistakably from his appearance.

He’s large, bigger than even the butcher back in the village, standing a header taller than Nesta with wide shoulders and a wide chest. Wings stretch behind his back and loom over his shoulders like haunting shadows. Dark curls tumble down to his shoulders, framing a pair of eyes that look almost cat-like, that seem to glint green and gold even beneath the silver of the moonlight. The sleeves of his tunic are pushed up to his elbows, showing off swirls of ink along his skin that Nesta swears shift as though a mimic of the magic she’s sure runs through the fae’s veins.

There’s a rough sort of beauty to his face, to the cut of his cheeks and his jaw. As though they’re carved by the very wind she’s sure he must ride with those large wings of his. His nose doesn’t sit quite straight, a slash slicing through his right eyebrow, but it only seems to add to his features. He’s handsome in a way that Nesta knows she’ll never find in her village, in a way that can only be fae. In a way that Nesta has to swallow hard before finding her voice again.

“Are you the fae that helps women escape their marriage contracts?” Nesta asks, refusing to allow her voice to waver, for her nerves to show.

The fae pushes off the tree, stalking closer to her. “So what if I am?”

Nesta thrusts her arms forward before the fae can get too close. “I brought these in offering.”

The fae tilts his head again, his gaze raking over Nesta from head to toe. Those cat-like eyes rover over her frame slowly, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as if it’s fingers trailing a blazing path. When his attention returns to her face, there’s something different in his expression. A fire burning amongst the greens and golds of his hazel eyes, the left side of his lips tilting up in a smirk. He reaches forward, the large span of his hands on full display as his fingers curl around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

“You have good taste,” the fae comments, examining the whiskey.

“I stole it from my father.”

“And the dress? Did you steal that from him too?”

Nesta snorts at the implication. “No. It was a gift from my mother, right before she passed.”

The fae hums, but he doesn’t say anything more. He begins to circle her, like a predator sizing up its prey, but Nesta refuses to be cowed. She stands perfectly still, straightening her spine against his scrutiny, raising her chin that little bit higher in defiance.

“Is it sufficient? To your liking?”

“Why the dress? Why not your hair?” the fae asks, twirling a strand of Nesta’s hair around his finger. He tugs it toward his face, inhaling deeply. “It’s oh so beautiful. Like burnished gold. Even beneath the moonlight.”

“If that is what it will take, then you can have it.”

The fae chuckles, the sound low and seeming to resonate from deep within his chest. “You must really dislike your betrothed.”

“You would too if you met him,” Nesta grumbles, not even bothering to swallow down her eye roll.

Tomas Mandray.

That was who her father saw fit to marry her off to. Nesta’s hated her father ever since he selfishly sat idly by when her mother fell ill, deciding that the life saving medicine she would need was not worth the steep cost. His recklessness since her death has only gotten worse, shady business deals and gambling habits digging the Archerons into a deeper hole.

Despite the confidence her father exudes around the other high society members of their village, Nesta knows it’s nothing more than a facade. She knows their family is one wrong deal away from losing everything. Knows there’s a desperation thrumming just beneath her father’s skin. It’s what led to him agreeing to the first man who came forward for her hand, without a thought for the type of man he is.

“Is that so?” the fae asks, finishing his circle and stopping in front of her again.

“It’s the worst kept secret in the village,” Nesta explains, unsure what compels her to tell this fae the truth. Perhaps there’s something in his face, in his presence, that has her wanting to trust him. “Everyone knows that Lord Mandray raises his hand to his wife, that his sons just stand by while it happens.”

“You think he’d lay a hand on you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Real anger flashes across the fae’s face, hazel eyes practically blazing and his lips curling back in a snarl. His fists clench at his sides, muscles in his arms flexing with the motion. The rage isn’t directed at her, but that doesn’t stop Nesta’s heart from thundering between her ribs. She knows the stories of the fae, knows of their strength. This male could tear her apart with ease if he wanted to.

It’s a ferity and display of power that should terrify her, that should have her spinning on her heel and running straight back to the village, but instead she continues to meet this fae’s gaze.

The fae’s expression softens, almost curious, as his gaze sweeps over her anew. It’s unnerving, as though he can see beneath her skin and down to her very bone. As though she’s splayed open for his examination all the way to her soul. Whatever he sees, whatever he finds, it has him stepping closer still. Close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to hold eye contact. Close enough she can feel the heat that seems to radiate off him. Close enough that every inhale has her chest a hair's breadth away from his.

“You never told me your name,” the fae says, warm breath skating across Nesta’s cheeks.

“I don’t know yours,” Nesta fires back, raising her chin even higher in challenge.

That cocksure smirk tugs its way across the fae’s face again. “It’s Cassian.”

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron.”

“Nesta,” Cassian repeats, as though tasting her name, testing the weight of it on his tongue. A shiver threatens to skitter up Nesta’s spine, but she’s quick to swallow it down. “Should we make a bargain, Nesta?”

“You’ll do it, then? You’ll end my marriage contract?”

“Happily.”

“For my hair?”

“I’ll accept the dress, but that’s just an offering, sweetheart,” Cassian explains, holding up the dress and whiskey bottle in emphasis before tossing both away. “We still need to make a proper bargain.”

“Alright…” Nesta begins slowly, wading through her memory, through the lessons from her mother. She knows wording is important, knows that she needs to be careful about the phrasing of this bargain. “You ensure that my marriage contract to Tomas Mandray is void, that I’ll never marry Tomas Mandray, that I’ll never marry anyone in the Mandray household nor anyone that I do not choose for myself. And in exchange…”

“And in exchange, you’ll become my wife.”

“What.”

Cassian grins fully down at her, one of his hands reaching up between them to curl that strand of her hair around his fingers again. “You can’t marry anyone else if you’re already married to me.”

Nesta blinks a few times, trying to wrap her mind around it all, but Cassian's hand shifts, the backs of his fingers dragging down her temple, her cheek. The touch is distracting. She supposes it makes sense. How can she marry someone else if she is already wed. Clare never specified exactly what Morrigan had to do to break her own marriage contract to the eldest Vanserra. Perhaps, this is how it works.

But alarm bells still ring in the back of Nesta’s mind, whispering of caution. It’s too vague, gray area so expansive that it feels too risky to simply agree.

“And what does that entail? Being your wife?”

Cassian chuckles again, Nesta practically able to feel it where their chests are nearly pressed together. “You were about to be wed, and you don’t know about wifely duties?”

Nesta’s temper flares red hot, and she glares up at him. “I know what’s expected of a wife.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“What does being a wife mean for a fae? What does a fae expect of me?”

“You can do whatever you want as my wife, Nes,” Cassian offers, palm fully cradling her jaw.

“Don’t call me that. And stop that,” Nesta snaps, knocking his hand away. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Trick you? I’m hurt, sweetheart. I thought you wanted this bargain?”

“I do.”

Panic swells in Nesta’s chest, churning her stomach. What if he changes his mind? Goes back on the bargain? Anything she wants as his wife. It’s not specific, definitely not even close to what Nesta was taught when it comes to fae bargains, but it only hurts him really. Anything she wants. And what she wants is to live the rest of her life far away from the Mandrays and any of the other aggravating villagers who either look down their noses or leer at her.

“Alright,” Nesta finally breathes, sending a silent prayer to the Mother that she doesn’t live to regret this.

“Alright?” Cassian repeats back, bringing both his hands to Nesta’s jaw this time, tilting her head up. “So it’s a bargain then?”

Nesta swallows hard, her heart skipping a beat when Cassian’s thumb drags across her bottom lip. “It’s a bargain.”

Cassian’s mouth crashes against hers at the same moment a burning sensation cascades along her spine and between her shoulder blades. It has Nesta gasping against Cassian’s lips, but he merely uses the reaction to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue into her mouth. His arm drops to curl around her waist, hauling her closer still until she’s pressed flush against his body. She can feel every line of hard muscle beneath his shirt, feel the strength in his grip around her.

He tears his mouth away, but he doesn’t go far, latching his lips against her neck. His mouth is hot against her skin, her entire body roaring to life and reacting to his touch. She tilts her head, a quiet groan tumbling past her lips, when Cassian’s teeth find her pulse point, tongue soothing over the brief sting.

When Cassian pulls away, Nesta’s whole body sways forward, practically chasing his mouth and his kiss. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, finding Cassian’s own gaze already firmly on her face. There’s a fire in his hazel eyes, lips kiss bitten and pink. His grip on her hip holds her steady, fingers of his other hand burying themselves in the strands of her hair.

“What do you say, wife?” Cassian asks, voice low and deep. He drags his nose along her jaw until he can press his lips to her ear. “Should we consummate our bargain?”

Just his voice has heat pooling low in Nesta’s gut. Has her thighs clenching and her toes beginning to curl in her shoes. And when he presses a kiss to that spot behind her ear, a shudder ricochets down her spine. She clutches at Cassian’s shirt to hold herself steady, daring to arc against him.

“Yes.”

Nesta’s world tilts, and then her back is cushioned by grass and moss. She barely has time to register the change before Cassian’s lips are back on hers. He settles atop her, hips cradled within the bracket of her thighs. Nesta finally buries her fingers in the dark curls of his hair, threading the strands between her fingers and tugging hard until Cassian is groaning into her mouth, his hips pressing down against her. She can feel exactly what she’s doing to him, the hardline of his arousal digging into her hip.

She slides one of her hands down his chest, feeling the heat of him even through the fabric between them, feeling his heartbeat just beneath the surface. She traces down and down, but before her fingertips can even brush the waistband of Cassian’s pants, her hand is yanked away. Cassian’s fae instincts are too quick, grip curling around Nesta’s wrists and pinning her hand above her head and into the dirt.

“Don’t you know, sweetheart, that a good husband always ensures his wife is taken care of first?”

Cassian pulls back enough that he’s able to settle comfortably on his haunches. Nesta feels overly exposed, splayed out in the grass beneath him. His gaze roves over her form with a hunger that has her heart rate spiking, has heat flooding through her veins until it settles in her core. Her chest heaves with each deep inhale as painstakingly slow, Cassian unties the laces down the front of her dress.

Her nerve endings are already on high alert, and the slow drag of fabric over her breasts as her dress is pulled open has a moan bubbling up and out of her throat. Her nipples are already pebbled when the cool air hits them, and the heat of Cassian’s hand as he palms them is a welcome reprieve.

Cassian leans back down, his mouth closing over one of her breasts. His tongue laves over her nipple, teeth nipping and tugging at the bud. He pulls back with a quiet pop, switching to her other breath, and Nesta bucks up against him, desperate for friction. Desperate for more.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta begs quietly, moaning when he drags the flat of his tongue over her breast again.

Nesta doesn’t even hear Cassian’s laugh this time, merely feels the vibrations against her skin, but he gets the message. He kisses a blazing path down her sternum, down her stomach. His hands find the hem of her skirts, pushing them up her thighs and her hips until her whole dress is nothing more than a bunch of fabric around her waist.

He keeps sliding down until he’s settled on his stomach in the grass, wings spread wide and tall above them both. For a moment, Nesta is transfixed on the way the moonlight ripples through the membrane, the patterns of the veins and scars, but her focus is brought solely back to the fae between her legs when Cassian’s fingers hook in the waistband of her undergarments, sliding them slowly down her legs.

Her breath hitches in her throat as he settles her thighs over his shoulders, at the feral look on his face. Those cat-like eyes of his are almost completely swallowed by his blown out pupils, and his grin shows off the sharp tips of his canines. With his dark hair falling along his temples and cheeks, he truly looks like a wild man, like a beast ready to pounce and feast on its prey. Nesta tosses her head back with a whimper as he lowers his face down, already anticipating his warm breath across her cunt, his tongue, but it never comes. Instead, Cassian’s lips find home along her inner thigh, a teasing display of what’s to come.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Cassian’s low voice rasps, lips never straying from her skin. “I want to see the look on your face when you fall apart on my tongue.”

Nesta tips her chin back down, meeting Cassian’s gaze fully again. His teeth sink into her inner thigh, sucking a bruise onto the skin. Whether it’s a reward or a punishment for her behavior, Nesta isn’t sure. A glint sparks through his hazel eyes, and it’s Nesta’s only warning before he buries himself completely between her thighs.

The first slide of his tongue over her cunt has Nesta’s thighs squeezing out of instinct, but Cassian’s fingers curl against the flesh, holding her open and exactly how he wants her. The flat of his tongue drags over her until he reaches her clit, tracing tantalizing circles over the bud that have Nesta bucking against his hold. It’s clearly the reaction he was hoping for, and the vibrations of his answering groan only add to the sensations threatening to send Nesta spiraling, send her unraveling, almost embarrassingly quickly.

And all the while, Cassian keeps his eyes on her face, pinning her in place, while he works his magic. Whether it’s his fae magic or just the magic of this male, Nesta doesn’t know. Nor does she particularly care as long as he doesnt stop. Her hands scrabble desperately for something to grasp onto, dirt digging under her nails and moans tumbling past her lips unbidden as Cassian presses his tongue into her. It curls and flicks at her walls like he’s determined to collect every last drop of her arousal, like a male parched and starved.

When Cassian finally pulls back, the sight is obscene. His hair is disheveled, lips and chin glistening beneath the light of the moon. He doesn’t even bother wiping his mouth, merely licking his lips with another low groan.

“I knew you’d make the prettiest sounds,” Cassian tells her, suddenly sinking two fingers into her cunt. “Now, come on, wife. Scream my name for the whole wood to hear.”

The pace Cassian sets is punishing, his fingers fucking into her hard and deep, thick in a way her own fingers have never been. Nesta feels like she’s on fire, her entire focus pinpointed on the fingers driving into her, the stretch of them, the way they drag along the walls of her cunt. She rocks her hips up against his hand, chasing the flames, the friction, the familiar feeling coiling tighter and tighter.

“Gods, look at you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Flushed such a pretty pink and taking my fingers so well.”

Nesta keens at the words, her hand snapping down to curl around Cassian’s wrist. Not to stop him, but to keep him there. He squeezes in a third finger beside the first two, curling them until Nesta is practically arching up off the ground. Her throat already feels hoarse from her moans, from the shouts of Cassian’s name.

“That’s my good girl. I can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Cass. Cassian. Please. Gods, please.”

Cassian groans, dropping his face to her neck, teeth dragging along the skin, across her collarbones, his fingers never stopping. “Fuck. You beg so pretty too.”

Cassian’s thumb finds her clit, working it in tandem with the three fingers still thrusting into her. Nesta’s toes curl, her thighs practically shaking. She can feel herself standing on that edge, on that precipice. Cassian shifts his face down, lips closing around her breast again, and Nesta goes tumbling head first. She clenches down hard around Cassian’s fingers, half aware of the shout torn from her throat as her release barrels through her.

Cassian continues to move his fingers, dragging out her orgasm. But soon, the aftershocks subside, the stimulation teetering toward painful. Her whole body shudders with a whimper, but Cassian slips his fingers free. He makes a big show of pushing them between his lips, groaning around the taste of her. It has Nesta reaching for his wrist again, this time, bringing his hand to her own mouth. She sucks on his fingers, curling her tongue between the digits.

“Mother, save me,” Cassian mutters, watching her with hooded eyes.

He pulls his fingers free, but he’s quick to replace them with his own mouth, kissing Nesta deeply. Nesta moans into the kiss, burying her hands back in Cassian’s hair and tugging hard. His tongue curls around her own, his hips aligning and rocking down against hers. It’s a reminder of what’s still hers for the taking, the brush of fabric against her sending sparks ricocheting anew.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt, pushing the fabric up and up, determined to take it off. But his wings. Her fingers falter as she realizes she’s not sure how to get it off around the wings. She pulls back from the kiss to try and get a better look, but Cassian is having none of that, drawing her right back in. She huffs against his lips, tugging at his shirt in emphasis, and when Cassian is the one to finally pull back again, his hazel eyes are alight with amusement.

He reaches behind his back, the snap of buttons almost as loud as their heaving breaths in the quiet wood. Fisting the fabric, Cassian tugs the shirt away with ease, leaving Nesta with the perfect view of the wide expanse of golden skin, of the muscles carved into it, of the dark hair dusted across his chest and down his stomach like an alluring path leading down and down.

Nesta traces the lines of tattoos painted across his skin with the tip of her fingers, traces them all the way down his chest and further still, daring to dig her nails in against his stomach. Cassian hisses at the sting, but the look in his eyes tells her that he really likes it. It makes her feel bolder, braver. She dares to reach down, palming the hard line still trapped in his pants.

With a groan, Cassian drops his head against her collarbones. She continues her ministrations, curling her fingers as best she can and moving her hand up and down. Even through the fabric of his pants, Nesta can feel the way he twitches, can feel the weight of him. The size. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised, what with Cassian being fae and not an ordinary man, but it still has heat sparking along her spine, has her mouth running dry just as surely as her thighs clench together.

She pushes at the waistband of his pants until they slide off his hips, down his thighs. Cassian finishes the job, kicking off the fabric. His cock bobs free between his strong thighs, the head already glistening with his own arousal. Nesta goes to wrap her hand around it, but her fingertips barely graze before Cassian is pinning her wrists again. He’s able to hold both her wrists in the grip of just one of his hands, using his free hand to find home beneath her chin and raise her face to his.

For a moment, Cassian merely stares at her, eyes roving over her face as though he’s trying to memorize it. Warmth flares through his hazel eyes, and Nesta swears she can feel an answering spark between her ribs, can feel it grow and tether like a golden thread there. He leans down and connects their lips, the kiss surprisingly soft. Nesta tries to deepen it, tries to free her hands so she can pull him close again, but Cassian keeps the kiss a gentle slide of lips.

“Cassian,” Nesta huffs frustratedly, hooking her legs around his waist and digging her heels into the small of his back, trying to encourage him where she wants.

“So needy, my wife,” Cassian teases, gripping his cock and dragging the head along her cunt, through the wetness that’s pooled there. “Do you want my cock, Nes? Want me to fill you up and fuck you good?”

“Isn’t that what a good husband does?”

Cassian’s whole body shudders with a groan, his wings flaring wide. “Perhaps a good wife should beg for it.”

“Please,” Nesta whispers, capturing Cassian’s bottom lip between her teeth and bucking her hips up against him. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Cassian grasps at her hips, tugging her close and tilting them up. He presses his own hips forward until the tip slides inside her, thrusting shallowly. Just the first few inches stretches Nesta in a way she’s never felt before, in a way she fears she could become addicted to. He pulls his hips back just to sink back in further, the drag along Nesta’s walls leaving her moaning.

When their hips are finally pressed flushed together, Cassian still, nosing along her neck and her jaw. Nesta feels so incredibly full, her every nerve ending on fire in the most delicious way. She clenches down around him, her cunt seeming to draw him that much deeper, and Cassian’s groan echoes her own.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Cassian murmurs into her neck, lips dragging against her skin. “But you take me so well.”

“Cassian, please,” Nesta begs again, trying to shift her hips against his hold.

Whether the begging does the trick or Cassian merely takes pity on her, Nesta doesn’t care. All she can focus on is the way Cassian pulls his hips back only to snap them back forward. Again and again he drives his hips forward, each hard thrust sending lightning licking through Nesta’s veins. With her hands now free, she curls them around Cassian’s back, practically clawing at his skin as she rocks her hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, as she chases the unparalleled feeling of him filling her over and over.

She dares to trace her fingers toward his shoulder blades. Dares to trace the spindly bone of a wing. Cassian lets out a near animalistic growl, hips digging against her own as his movements stutter.

“If you keep that up, this will be over much too soon,” Cassian warns through clenched teeth. He sits back on his haunches, splaying Nesta’s legs across his thighs.

“Sensitive?” Nesta asks. “What does it feel like?”

Cassian’s thumb presses down on Nesta’s clit, Nesta keening at the sensation and pressure. “Like that.”

Cassian works his hips back up to a brutal pace, moving his thumb in tandem with every hard thrust. It doesn’t take long before Nesta finds herself on the edge of that precipice again, before she goes tumbling over with little to no warning. Her back arches up off the ground, cunt clenching hard around Cassian’s cock. Cassian continues to snap his hips, working her through her orgasm, until he shudders and stills above her, warmth flooding Nesta’s core as surely as the fire blazing through her veins.

Cassian shifts back, pulling his softening cock free and drawing a quiet whimper from Nesta’s lips. She still feels like she’s burning, still feels desperate to dive back into the flames and the feeling sparked by this fae male. And though there’s still the lingering fullness from Cassian’s own release, her cunt still spasms with the aftershocks of her orgasm, still clenches around nothing.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, moving before Cassian can get too far. She all but clambers into his lap, steadying herself on his shoulders until she can settle comfortably. Cassian’s hands find her waist, an almost awestruck expression on his face as he peers up at her. But there’s embers in that hazel gaze too, still flickering as one of those hands glides up her spine, as his fingers curl into the long strands of Nesta’s hair that have fallen free from her updo.

“You know,” Nesta begins, reaching down until she can fist his cock, stroking it teasingly. “There’s this rumor. That fae males can recover more quickly than a man.”

“Is that so?” Cassian teases, but Nesta can already feel the way he’s started to harden again from her ministrations.

Nesta tightens her grip, quickens her pace, until Cassian is groaning and bucking his hips up against her, until his cock is standing at full attention again. She shifts forward on her knees, lining Cassian’s cock up with her cunt and sinking down on it. She moans at the fullness taking over her again, the rightness of being pressed together like this. She feels key-up, the overstimulation too much and yet everything that she needs.

She starts to rock her hips, gasping at the drag and friction, chasing the heat already climbing dangerously high. With one hand still buried in her hair, Cassian draws her mouth back to his, groaning against her lips as he kisses her. He plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up to meet hers.

“Gods, you’re fucking gorgeous,” Cassian murmurs against her, hands sliding down to palm at her ass and guide her movements. “Riding my cock like a good fucking girl.”

Nesta shudders at his words, clenching down hard. She picks up the pace of her hips, chasing another release. She starts to feel the burn in her thighs, can feel the stickiness of their own arousal, of both their releases dripping and smeared across the skin there. She’s half aware of her hoarse moans ringing in her ears, of the wet sounds of sex and slapping skin echoing in the woods around them. But all that matters is the slide of Cassian’s cock, the pressure building between her thighs.

She reaches a hand down, fingers slipping through the wetness there and against her clit, but Cassian is too quick. His own fingers curl around her wrist and pull her hand away. Nesta whines high in the back of her throat, tugging against his grip, but it’s no use.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine,” Cassian warns, squeezing her wrist that little bit tighter.

“And am I yours?” Nesta asks, sinking down fully and swiveling her hips to get the friction she was looking for.

“Always. And I’m yours.”

“Good.”

With her free hand not captured in Cassian’s hold, Nesta reaches over his shoulder. She slides her fingertips across his leathery wings, trying to mimic the way her hips move with the shapes she traces. She dares to scrape her nails against his wings, remembering how he’d responded before. With a roar, Cassian all but crushes her to him, his cock twitching deep within her. It’s enough to send Nesta crashing through an orgasm right there with him, spots dancing in her vision as she shakes with the force of it.

Nesta’s entire body feels wrung out and sated, embers banked but still keeping her deliciously warm. It takes her a moment too long to realize she’s slumped forward against Cassian, their chests pressed together and her head dropped to his shoulder. She knows that she needs to move. She knows that, now that their bargain is complete, she needs to return to the village. But trying to will her muscles to work feels like an impossible feat.

She decides to give it under her still heaving breaths even out, until her still thundering heart quiets to a soft beat. Cassian’s touch is surprisingly gentle where his fingertips trace shapes and lines up and down her spine, but soon his hands are gripping her properly. He shifts until they’re both sprawled across the soft, mossy floor of the wood, wings curling almost protectively around her. Warmth seeps into Nesta’s skin every place they’re pressed together, relaxing her all the way down to the bone.

There’s a safety wrapped up in his embrace, and Nesta allows her eyes to flutter shut, allows it to lull her under. She thinks back to Cassian’s words, his declaration that she’s his and he’s hers. And for a moment, just this moment longer, she almost allows herself to believe it.

~ * * * ~

Nesta quietly thanks the seller, carefully placing the folded fabric in the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. She slides her fingers against the pretty pink of it, the color reminding her of Elain. She’s sure that her younger sister will create something beautiful with it.

As she steps out of the small shop in the village square, Nesta can already feel eyes on her. They’re practically scorching holes through her shoulder blades, but she refuses to turn and look. The staring has been the trend the past two days, ever since that night, especially with the men in the village. Perhaps she should have found a way to work keeping the village’s disdain at bay into her bargain.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta keeps her head held high, her shoulders back, as she follows the winding road back toward her family’s home. She keeps her grip on her basket tight, wills her breathing to come steady and slow, even as her every nerve ending feels on high alert, her heart beginning to skip between her ribs.

A hand grips hard around Nesta’s bicep, yanking her into the gap between two buildings. She barely has time to let out a shout of surprise before another hand is closing over her mouth. Her back slams against wood, nails biting into the skin of her arm, her cheek. The basket slips from her fingers, items skittering across the ground, as she comes face to face with a pair of brown eyes, ruddy cheeks, and lips pulled back in a sneer.

“Did you think you could get away with embarrassing me?” Tomas spits, leaning in until he’s right in Nesta’s face.

Nesta uses her free hand to pry Tomas’s fingers off her face. “Leave me alone. There’s no longer a contract between us or our families.”

“You think I don’t know how you did that? That the whole village doesn’t know? A lowly whore just like Morrigan.”

“Fuck you.”

“It seems you’ve dirtied your mouth as much as your body. Don’t worry. I’m more than happy to use both to remind you of your place.”

Panic flares through Nesta’s chest as Tomas uses his body weight to pin her in place, his hand reaching for her skirts. A low growl echoes in the space around them, Tomas’s entire body going rigid at the sound. They both look toward the other end of the alleyway, a large figure looming there. Even with the shadows, the silhouette of wings is unmistakable.

“A fae?” Tomas whispers, true fear leaving his voice trembling. “In the village? During the day?”

“Get your hands off her,” Cassian warns, voice low and threatening.

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas calls out, all fake bravado Nesta is sure.

Cassian prowls forward, each step slow but measured. “I won’t ask again.”

Tomas’s eyes dart between Cassian and Nesta, and Nesta watches the way his throat bobs with a hard swallow. Of all the things Tomas may be, one of them is clearly not stupid. He releases his hold on Nesta, stumbling back a few steps. His eyes never leave Cassian, a true prey caught in a predator’s trap, as he backs away.

Cassian’s smile is all ferity and teeth. In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance, hand snapping out and curling around Tomas’s throat, holding him in place. “Did you think I was just going to let you go?”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Tomas repeats, but even he sounds unsure at his own words.

“I don’t appreciate anyone touching what’s mine.”

Cassian doesn’t give Tomas the time to say anything else. His hand tightens around Tomas’s throat, lifting him up off his feet and slamming him against the wall opposite of Nesta. Tomas sputters and chokes around Cassian’s hold, his feet kicking out helplessly as he claws at Cassian’s forearm.

“What do you say, Nes? Should we break his fingers for committing such an offense?”

Nesta swallows to find her voice again. “Why stop at his fingers?”

Nesta can’t see Cassian’s face with the way he’s holding Tomas, but she can imagine the gleam in his hazel eyes. It’s clear from the way Tomas’s face completely blanches. Cassian’s wings flare out wide behind his back, keeping him balanced as he strikes. The crunch of breaking bone is drowned out by Tomas’s blood curdling scream. Cassian works with an almost terrifying ease and efficiency, as though he’s tearing mere parchment and not body parts.

Tomas crumbles to the ground with a soft groan when Cassian finally steps back. The fae crouches down, but Nesta can’t hear what he whispers to Tomas. He reaches his hands out and wipes them against Tomas’s shirt, cleaning the man’s blood off using the fabric. When he’s finished, Cassian straightens and turns back to Nesta, carefully retrieving her dropped basket and items and holding it out toward her. Slowly, she takes it from him, stepping over Tomas’s body and back into the village market and sun.

“You’re a hard woman to find, Nesta,” Cassian starts, stepping out of the alleyway behind her.

“I didn’t realize you were searching,” Nesta comments idly.

She pauses, hesitates, in the now empty town square before squaring her shoulders and continuing the trek back to her family home. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when Cassian falls into step beside her, unbothered about the villagers who clearly scattered due to his presence.

“What did you expect? Most wives don’t sneak away from their husbands in the middle of the night.”

“I thought that was how it was done.”

Cassian’s chuckle is just as warm in the light of day. “You humans have very odd traditions then.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at his teasing words. “Not that, you big bat. I meant your bargains. Do you track down every woman you make your wife to end their marriage contract?”

Cassian’s fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tugs her to a stop. With a quiet huff, Nesta turns to face him properly. It seems almost strange to see him under the bright light of the sun, without the rays of the moon casting silver shadows across his face, his wings.

He’s still as ruggedly beautiful as Nesta remembers him.

With the curls of his hair scraped away from his face and secured in a bun, the hard line of his jaw is on full display. His hazel eyes seem to burn as golden as the high noon sun, and with the light stretching through them, Nesta realizes there’s a reddish hue to those powerful wings stretched behind his back.

“I only have one wife, sweetheart.”

Nesta blinks a few times, sure that she misheard, trying to wrap her mind around his words. “What do you mean?”

“What other meaning is there?” Cassian drawls, reaching for a stray strand of her hair and twirling it around his finger, a gesture reminiscent of their night together. “The only wife I have is you.”

“So you tricked me with your bargain.”

“Tricked you? I distinctly remember you agreeing. Remember the way you begged for–”

“Stop.”

Nesta takes a firm step back, Cassian’s hand dropping away from between them and back to his side. He tilts his head as he watches her, but Nesta squeezes her eyes shut. He’s too distracting. His presence, the warmth that radiates off his frame, his eyes and the kaleidoscope of emotions swimming amongst the golds and greens. She needs to think.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins, his voice soft and low.

“I said stop.”

Even his voice is distracting, the timbre and drawl of it skating across Nesta skin, wrapping around her limbs like a warm embrace. It seems to rumble from deep within his chest, and Nesta knows exactly what that chest feels like pressed against her own. She knows exactly how his lips feel dragging across her skin, against her lips, against–

“Why?” Nesta asks, her eyes flashing open again. “Why would you make that your end of the bargain then?”

“Because from the moment I saw you in that wood, I knew there would never be another for me.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“I was ready to drop to my knees before you bargain or not,” Cassian continues, stepping back into her space. This time, he wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her flush to him until Nesta has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact. “Now, I know I said you could do whatever you wished as my wife, and that is still true, but you can’t tell me you wish to stay in this sorry village. Come home, wife.”

Warmth pools through Nesta’s chest, tugging just below her ribs, at her heart, but that voice in the back of her mind still scrambles and screams. “And how do I know I’m not escaping one cruel man just to run into the arms of another?”

The question pulls a growl from Cassian’s throat. “I would never dare to lay a hand on you unless you asked. And anyone who does dare will have my wrath to answer to, just like that sorry excuse of a man in the village square.”

Before she can think twice about it, before that voice can talk her out of it, Nesta presses up onto her toes, crashing her mouth against Cassian’s. He responds instantly, his lips dragging and sliding with her own, his arms and wings wrapping around her. There’s a comfort, a safety, a contentment here in his embrace, and that warmth in Nesta’s chest puts down roots, unfurls and blooms. It settles all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, to her soul.

When she finally pulls back from the kiss, she steps back from Cassian completely before he can drag her back under. She clears her throat and resettles the basket on her arm, turning on her heel and continuing toward her destination. Only when the familiar worn wood of the door comes into view does she finally stop again, turning over her shoulder.

“Stay out here.”

She doesn’t wait for Cassian’s response before she steps inside her family’s home, the scent of fresh bread greeting her. She spies her father asleep in the rickety chair he favors in front of the fire. Typical. With an annoyed huff, Nesta sets down her basket, heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Nesta? Is that you? You were in the market longer than I thought. I was starting to get worried.”

Nesta ignores her sister, continuing down the hall and through the bedroom door. She digs a bag out from beneath the bed, laying it open and turning toward the wardrobe. She makes quick work pulling out all her favorite dresses and folding them into some semblance of order.

“Nesta? Is everything–what are you doing?”

Nesta only glances toward Elain now standing in the doorway, Feyre standing just behind her and peering over the middle Archeron’s shoulder. Instead, Nesta returns to the task at hand, grabbing her most beloved books and adding them to the bag as well. Her attention dances briefly toward the old desk in the corner, but she presumes even a fae would have parchment and pen for her to write.

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta finally says, closing the bag. “But I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Feyre echoes, stepping back enough that Nesta can walk back out of the bedroom.

“Yes. Now that there is no longer a marriage contract with the Mandrays, there’s no…” Nesta sighs, pausing in front of their home's front door and turning back toward her sisters, but there’s nothing but understanding on Elain and Feyre’s faces. “I’ll write once I’m settled. I swear it.”

With a final nod, Nesta pulls open the door, stepping back into the sun. As if she already inherently knows where to look, her eyes find Cassian where he’s leaning casually against the trunk of a tree. It’s reminiscent of the first time she saw the fae, only this time, his expression seems to soften as he takes her in. Nesta refuses to admit to the way her heart stutters at the smile on his face.

“Is that–”

“Don’t ask questions,” Nesta cuts Elain off. “Just know that this is what I want, that I’ll be happy. Don’t let father ever try to convince either of you that you don’t deserve that too.” She starts down the path away from their house before another thought occurs to her. “And perhaps stay out of the woods. Especially at night.”

Nesta continues down the path and across the grass until she reaches Cassian, wordlessly holding out her bag. She swears it’s purposeful, the way his fingers skate across her skin as he takes it, and yet goosebumps erupt up her arm either way. She waits for Cassian to begin leading the way back between the trees and deeper into the woods, but instead the fae takes the time to secure her bag over his shoulder until it rests between his wings.

“Oh, we’ll be flying,” Cassian explains, answering her unasked question.

“Flying?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”

Before Nesta can say anything else, Cassian scoops her up and into his arms, holding her close to his chest. Nesta is quick to wrap her own arms tightly around his neck, squeezing her eyes shut in anticipation of the rush, of the wind, but it never comes. When she opens her eyes again, she finds Cassian watching her. Waiting for her permission.

“Well? Take me home, husband.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#NestaWeek2024 #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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lost-decade · 2 days

Note

Brocedes and birthday fic + bathtub fic for the prompt meme!

This is light on the birthday side of it, sorry! And more fluffy than I usually write. But hope you like it :)

“I mean, it looks cool.” Lewis steps back, slipping his iPhone out of the pocket of his cargo pants, snapping a photo and then walking around to take another, as if the angle is going to prompt a revelation about practicality vs design. Lewis likes pretty things, always has; clothes, jewellery, Nico. “But don’t you think it would be awkward to…well, I mean.”

“To what?” Nico’s voice has adopted that tone, light amusement that flirts with innuendo. The sales guy looks at Nico, then focuses his hungry gaze on Lewis, scenting out a challenge. Nico is enjoying this immensely, Lewis can tell.

“We have sold seventy of this particular model already this year,” the sales guy, Charles, informs them. He’s pretty, too. Aesthetically in place in the bathroom showroom among all the gleaming carrara marble vanity units and Japanese style heated toilets. He probably lives in a shoebox high rise like half of Monaco does though. Lewis bets that Sharl, as he had pronounced it, doesn’t have a wall-mounted carbon fibre hammock bath in his flat. He looks at the bath again; for one person it’s fine, he guesses, but the sides are low. Impractical for two. No proper edges, nothing to hold onto if you were to find yourself on your knees, bent forward.

Lewis pictures the water sloshing out all over the wetroom floor. “Do you have anything bigger?” He asks.

Nico snorts into the brochure, yelping exaggeratedly when Lewis sidles up next to him and jabs him in the ribs. So far, the house furnishing decisions have gone as badly as anticipated. Lewis hasn’t done this before. In the past, a designer had sent him a few links and he’d browsed them in about ten minutes and confirmed which choices he liked the look of. It hadn’t occurred to him when they decided to move in together that Nico would want to actually go to places and pick things and get into bathtubs with his shoes on.

“What he means,” Nico says, “is do you have anything big enough for two people to fit?”

“Fucking hell, man.” Lewis drops his head into his hands, but really, he’s used to it. God help him when they get to the bedroom showroom.

To his credit, Charles maintains his composure remarkably quickly despite the endearing flush of pink that deepens his complexion.

“Actually this design studio does take commissions if you were looking for a larger model.”

“See, it’s nice isn’t it. I knew you’d come around.”

Lewis rolls his eyes, lifting his foot to press his toes into Nico’s armpit. It is nice. Somewhat uncomfortable, but nice. “I only agreed to it because it’s your birthday present and I know how much you liked it,” Lewis protests. “I preferred the one with the jacuzzi.”

“No taste,” Nico tsks, earning himself a splash of water in the face.

“Yeah, must be why I ended up with you.”

“You love me really,” Nico protests, leaning over the curve of the sleek black carbon fibre panel to place his champagne flute on the polished concrete floor. No glass in the wetroom ― that was another of Lewis’ firm rules that he’s somehow allowed Nico to bypass. Water cascades onto the floor, warm and soapy as Nico shifts and rearranges himself, hair wet and head resting on Lewis’ chest, their legs tangled together. Lewis’ back hurts but he doesn’t mind, not really. “Of course I do,” he says.

#as schmoopy as i get haha #brocedes #my fic #fun fact i saw this bath on an old episode of grand designs recently

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mingsolo · 2 days

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take me home

For Seonghwa, another night, another opportunity to take off some of the stress of being famous— for you, a chance to turn a horrible night around.

seonghwa x reader (f) / angst, smut, idol au / warnings: one night stand, cursing, depictions of toxic friendships, alcohol mentions, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving) / wc: 8k — r: 21+

A/N: this is a work of fiction and do not depicts the real seonghwa or any public person mentioned on it. If it is familiar, it´s because this is a repost from my now deleted blog, with some small changes, enjoy!

Seonghwa lets out a loud and prolonged sigh. He ran his slender fingers softly through his perfectly styled hair and leaned his head against the backrest of the wide leather couch he’s sitting in. His eyes fluttered around the place, neon lights being the only source of light against the dim atmosphere. He bit his cheek, knowing it was a pity that he had to be in his private booth, this far from everybody.

He is bored, anxious.. “You are getting too picky” he muttered to himself, annoyed, because he knew that was bad for one of his biggest issues: timing.

His escapades to these lowkey night clubs were Seonghwa’s biggest source of freedom these days. He had it clear that if he got caught by some fan or reporter, his manager would take this from him, and the sole thought of being completely deprived of his freedom was depressing enough for him to give up entirely. A thing that he didn’t want to give in either. The comfort and status he had in the entire country and even in most parts of the world was a luxury he wasn’t ready to give up anytime soon.

Seonghwa knew he stopped being just a singer long ago — he was now marketable, a product. And as such, it was incredibly stressful having no time for himself, slave of the schedule imposed by the people who fill their pockets at the expense of his image, propense to be scolded like a child if he got caught having fun with someone else, probably his career ending in the process. These nights were the only thing that eased the weight around his shoulders.

So he tried to make them special every time, he wasn’t getting picky, he always was.

He crossed his legs, adjusting on his seat again, right hand holding his drink, the sounds of the ice cubes softly tapping against the glass relaxing him a little. From the level on the second floor, he watched the various silhouettes of people dancing, most of them intertwining bodies against each other, cheering and chanting loudly to the music. Taking another sip of his drink, he drifts his eyes to a group of people in the middle of the main dance floor. They were being loud, even surpassing the sounds over the music. Seonghwa scanned them quickly, sucking his teeth with impatience. He turned to the other side for a moment, when the sound of bottles crashing against the floor made him look back to the same group from before, clearly the signs of a fight about to happen. Seonghwa chuckled, at least someone was having some action tonight.

He kept looking at the scene amused for a few moments, watching how a man pushed another with such force, making him fly over a table to the right side of the bunch of people now onlooking the show. The guy knocked the table, spilling whatever drink was on top of it all over the person occupying the seat. The person jumped, a girl, bringing her hands to her mouth, scolding a scream.

You.

Seonghwa watched you attentively. The corners of his mouth slowly formed into a smile, eyes sparkling at the sight of you trying to push the man who was trying to hold onto you to get up. Like a lost lamb in the middle of the mountains, Seonghwa thought, your head looking in all directions looking for someone. You were obviously new to the place, and whoever you were so anxiously looking for nowhere to be seen. He watched you hurriedly and clumsily walk away, probably trying to find the way to the restroom. Quickly he finished what was left of his glass, but before he could stand up, the shadow of a person getting closer made him stop.

“Hey,” A guy approached him, inviting himself to sit on his side, hovering over him. His breath was so strong that Seonghwa could feel himself getting dizzy just by having the guy breathing beside him. He politely offered him a nod, moving slightly to the opposite side. “Are you alone?” the guy said, brushing his sticky fingers over the collar of his jacket, brushing his skin.

Seonghwa groaned softly, irritated and uncomfortable at the intrusion. The man was obviously stupid drunk, smirking and looking at him with sleepish eyes. He noticed a group of people eavesdropping a couple of booths away from him, and he got even more tense and irritated.

“I’m not interested.” He said calmly but firmly. The thought of someone noticing him and somehow making a rumor out of it always in the back of his mind. The man leaned closer, the stains of spilled drink on his half unbuttoned shirt invading his personal space.

“Come on, I don't bite,” he murmured. Seonghwa’s handsome features grin in disgust. With the corner of his eyes he looked down where the commotion was a few moments ago, hoping you had returned to your spot after cleaning yourself up. “I’m right here, pretty one” the man touched his jaw, making him look back at him.

“Fuck off,” Seonghwa groaned sitting straight, practically shoving the man off his face. The man scoffed, finishing his drink and leaving his empty glass on the table before standing up.

“Think you’re hot shit.” He cursed at him before leaving.

Seonghwa breathed out, rolling his eyes and standing up, walking far from the group of people the guy was returning to.

Quickly, his eyes were back at the area where he saw you before. A restrained smile drew on his lips, seeing you were back at your seat. Your hands playing with the strands of your purse, feet trampled over your heels. He could tell you were anxious and uncomfortable. No signs of the guys that knocked the table and made a mess out of your dress just you sitting there looking awkwardly over your shoulder to the people grinding against each other. You looked so out of place. To Seonghwa that was perfect, almost endearing.

On your seat, you start to feel dizzy. The first two tequila shots your friend Chae practically poured on you as soon as you got here were feeling heavy on your stomach. The scent of alcohol, sweat and who knows what else around you made you feel nauseous. You needed to go outside soon or you would end up making even more of a mess of yourself right there in front of everyone.

With impatient eyes you tried to find Chae over the crowd around you. Sadly, she had come to the club with intention, and that was to get back with her ex. Even when she found out he had come with another girl, still spent most of the night around him, completely forgetting about you. To your bad luck, you couldn’t leave on your own, since you had just moved to the city and had nowhere to go besides her apartment, bound to wait until she had finished her business.

Anxiety mixed with the acids on your stomach and the heat of the bodies and energy of the people around you were becoming too much, so you decided to go outside on your own for a moment. Completely lost looking for the main entrance, you found Chae, grinding against her ex boyfriend’s pelvis. You tried to call for her but your voice was muffled by the loud chatting and music, and she seemed to pay no attention to anything else but letting her ex touch her everywhere.

You felt hurt and disappointed. Still, you tried to get her attention, mostly wanting to prevent her from making the mistake of hooking up with him, knowing how badly he had treated her. As you tried to push people away and get closer, you suddenly lost sight of them, now trapped in the middle of a bunch of guys chanting and trying to get you to dance with them. Freaking out, you sprint in the opposite direction, barely getting away from the men now whistling and yelling obscenities.

Resigned to look for Chae after you had taken some fresh air, you continued looking for the main entrance. Soon you found a way down the stairs on the second floor. Walking down the steps you got to a metal door, a red exit sign above it. But as soon as you pushed it open you instantly knew it wasn’t a good idea.

Outside this side of the club was a dangerously looking alley, pitch dark, with a few cars around that looked almost abandoned. The only source of light was the neon sign of the club, Fireworks, just a few letters still working, too dim to light anything properly. You close the door, walking back upstairs. You didn’t know the area, so it was better not to venture alone, even to get a minute of fresh air.

The air on the stairs was cool enough, the ventilation coming from the ceiling and the absence of people helped to ease the insufferable heat from inside, so you decided to rest a little there, before heading back.

You sat on one of the steps almost at the top of the stairs, and stood still for a few minutes, fingers playing with the hem of your dress. It was still wet, the smell of vodka strong enough to make you feel nauseous again. Blowing the strands of hair from your forehead you looked up at the ceiling, almost blinding yourself because of the intense light of the led lamp that flickered above you.

Your first night out since coming to the city, and it couldn't be worse. You regret coming along with Chae, now confused as to why she even invited you if she pretended to spend the whole night embarrassing herself trying to get her ex back. What if she ended up forgetting about you and going home with him alone?. Your chest tightened. You shook your head, unable to let that thought go any further.

Swallowing a lump you hugged yourself trying to find some comfort in your own warmth, gathering strength to get back inside and look for Chae and beg her to take you back, or miraculously convince her to give you her exact address and keys for you to call a taxi. You called, texted but the messages were not read. Defeated you finally you stood up and decided to go back inside before she decided to leave you there for real.

Without lifting your eyes from your phone waiting for Chae’s response you walked back from where you came from, when you bumped into someone walking in front of you.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you apologized, looking up, finding a young man in front of you. To say he was handsome was an understatement. His features were soft yet manly, plump lips with a soft smile on them as he bowed slightly accepting your apology. His hair was slicked to the back, showing a stylish undercut.

“It’s fine, I was distracted and didn’t notice you either.” He smiled again. With a little nod from his head you noticed a dangling earring strung from his left ear, the cross shape wagging softly.

He moved slightly aside to let you pass but you didn’t move. As if you were suddenly starstruck, you couldn’t move and your heart started thumping against your chest so loud you swear he could hear it. When you didn’t speak or move, he continued.

“I’m looking for the exit, is this the right way?” He asked, pointing out the way down the stairs from where you came from. The tone of his voice was low, but also calm and soft, you could swear you have heard it somewhere.

“Uh… yes. I mean no! it leads to the backstreet alleys I think.”

You felt embarrassed finding yourself stuttering in front of him. Still, there was some familiarity on his voice and face but you just couldn’t make it up where from. He nodded and with his hand motioned to let you go first.

As you walk past him, your hands squeeze your bag to ease the nerves, the shadow of his silhouette ghosting behind you. After a few steps you realized you were not going anywhere really, so you stopped, smiling nervously. “Uhm, actually I was also looking for the exit, so…”

“Oh, perhaps we could look for it together?, If you are okay with that of course.” His honey-like voice is soft but clear, even slightly muffled by the boisterous music. You could see his feline eyes glowing under the dim lights. A sparkle on them even.

“Yeah! It's fine.” You tried to sound relaxed, like it was no big deal, but you were sure your tone came up excited, jolted. Get off your cloud, he’s just being polite, you thought trying not to think he was somehow trying to initiate conversation with you.

Just like that he started walking comfortably beside you, his eyes looking up front. He was dressed casually in black pants and a light dark jacket half way opened, giving a good view of his chest. As casual as the outfit was you could tell the clothing was pricey. A couple of necklaces hung from his neck matching the expensive looking watch on his wrist. He was surely wealthy, it was obvious not only on his clothing but in the way he carried himself and the aura around him.

“I’m Seonghwa by the way,” he said suddenly as you went down to the first floor. Seonghwa, you definitely have heard that name before. “Can I know yours?.” He asked, brushing off your thoughts.

“Huh, Y/n.” your response came out so quick that made your voice sound wavered, and you could feel the blood rush running to your head. You told yourself to calm down.

“Cute name.” He smiled again and you swore you were staring too much.

Just before you were about to make an embarrassing comment in response, you heard a familiar voice coming from one booth right at the foot of the stairs, where you and Seonghwa were heading. Squinting you could distinguish Chae, mouth shoved against his ex's. Both entangled in a heated, and sloppy make out session.

“Oh no!,” you ran towards her, trying to get her attention. “Chae!, Chae please…” you called, still trying to keep your cool in front of Seonghwa, who looked at the scene with a calm expression.

“What, Y/n?” Chae whined, leaving his ex’s lips for a moment, while his hands went under the hem of her dress shamelessly. “Thought you had gone already.”

“Chae, don’t do that here!” your voice supplicant and ashamed at the same time. You felt guilty for worrying about what Seonghwa would think of you almost as much as trying to stop Chae from messing up with her ex, but to be fair, it was already too late to prevent the latter.

“I told you I was going to be busy,” Chae pushed his ex off, taking his hand instead and leading him upstairs. “Just leave already k’? Oh, and book a hotel room or something, I won’t be coming home tonight!” She said giggling, as the man pecking on her neck began kissing and touching her everywhere again as they went up.

You sighed out loud, watching your friend disappear on the second level. Ashamed, you offered Seonghwa a weak smile, as he approached you slowly.

“Are you okay?”. Your eyes met him again. Your silence answering his question. “That kind of night, huh?” He smiled at you sweetly.

“Well, yeah.” you accepted, depleting yourself on the nearest seat. “That was my poor attempt to prevent my friend from screwing up with her ex, but alas.”

“Hmm, yeah I would say there’s no stopping that,” Seonghwa sat down beside you, his thigh nearly brushing yours. You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to stay calm. “But hey it isn’t your fault

“So, that was your friend?.”

You blink at him, nodding your head in reply. Having him so close after being embarrassed like that was limiting your way with words. You clenched your fist and forced your eyes close trying to suppress a tear fighting to come out. You weren't sure if it was because of Chae’s attitude, or you wanted to appear vulnerable to the stranger beside you, probably both.

Seonghwa smiled again, innocent and sweet, and he looked so beautiful. He had to be aware of how attractive he was, and that he was making you nervous, there was no way he shouldn’t. And you wondered, after the shameful scene from moments ago, you were sure anyone else would have just left without even saying goodbye. But now he smiled at you, sitting beside you.

“Don’t be sad about that, drunk people say dumb shit.” He comforted you. His eyes were locked on yours as you lifted your eyes to meet his, and you saw that sparkle shining even more than before. “You’re too pretty, I would hate to see you crying.”

You let out a nervous giggle. “I’m sorry, but me?”

“Of course you, I don’t see why you would think otherwise.”

You wouldn’t consider yourself unattractive, but unable to fully believe him, you shook your head assuming he was just being sweet to make you feel better, but he looked at you with a serious expression, eyes not moving from your face. “Sorry, I’m not used to people saying that about me.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Seonghwa arched his eyebrows, lips slightly pouting.

“Seriously, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?” you tried to ease your nerves joking about how stupidly gorgeous he was, but he seemed to pay no mind. “How pretty can I be compared to you?”

“A thousand times more.” He answered simply.

An unusual warmth rolled down your chest, your jaw tightened and you could feel the heat of the place and your own body temperature going up. You looked down, focusing your eyes on the floor trying to avoid eye contact with him. The words he just said spinning around your head.

“Thanks, you are really sweet, though I really need to get out to get some fresh air,” the temperature seems to go up with each second.

“We still haven’t found the exit,” he replied with a playful smirk. “Want to join me still?.”

You nodded, and Seonghwa helped you stand up, taking your hand guiding you through the back of the club, avoiding all the people. You were still flustered about his words, but noticed he knew exactly how to get to the exit, and not even the main door, but one hidden from everyone’s reach, between the VIP lounges.

He’s familiar with this place, you thought, of course he were.

A few moments later you were outside, the cool breeze night crushed against your bare arms and legs, making its way under the skirt of your dress, and you inhaled deeply, filling your lungs until you were satisfied.

Seonghwa repressed a smile behind you, watching you close your eyes and extend your arms in the breeze against your skin.

So innocent, so untainted.

Seonghwa could tell this night would be so much fun. If you allowed him, and of course you would, he would treat you so well. Make you forget about the bad taste you just had, remember anything but his name. As you turned to face him after having cooled yourself off, he imagined how you would look under him, crying out his name, begging him for more.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes! Very much.” you smiled at him, and immediately looked away. “Huh, well, you surely have somewhere to go, and I need to look for a place to st-…”

“You could stay with me a little longer,” He suggested. “If you’d like, of course.”

You smiled nervously. You weren’t actually that naive, if he was asking you to spend more time with him, at this time of the night, you being alone and not knowing you didn’t have a place to spend the night, you knew what he meant.

So you looked at your options: on one hand you had nowhere to go, and didn’t want to wander around at this hour alone. On the other— even if he was unbelievably attractive, you just had met him.

“Let’s do this. I’ll give you a ride around until we find a place you choose to stay. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let you walk alone this late, please?.” Seonghwa pouted so sweetly, and you felt that familiarity about him again, but couldn’t quite know why.

After a moment you gave in, following him to the club’s parking lot to his car. Truth was you were drawn to him, no other guy you’ve met before looked remotely like him, and honestly you didn’t hate the idea of spending more time with him. Now in the passenger seat of a ridiculously expensive car, the situation is even more unbelievable to you. Handsome, sweet, considerate and rich? It was too good to be true.

Along the way he suggested a couple of places, but they looked too expensive and you refused his offer of paying for your night, not having enough money to pay for them yourself. Some time into the ride, you could see the sky getting cloudy, the air getting colder. Little drops of rain started to crash against the car’s front window, and soon rain was loudly pouring over.

Just like that, with the excuse of the rain, Seonghwa and you drove aimlessly for about an hour, he listened attentively to your tragic story since you came to live in the city alongside your not so good friend Chaehyeon, and he was joking trying to make you feel better. His charm was so natural and he seemed to be enjoying his time with you as much as you did. Even his small talk made you feel comfortable, soon easing your anxious mood, making you feel relieved to have accepted his company.

Being inside his car so close to him, you could smell his scent, and you had never taken in something more delicious. It was quick that you felt unable to resist getting closer. Maybe it was the aroma of his perfume, the atmosphere thanks to the rain falling down, tapping the top of the car, making the night feel even more surreal, but you started to wish for him to ask you to really spend the night over.

Was this moment real? The night had been the worst so far until Seonghwa showed up, making you feel relaxed, beautiful, and wanted. Him, being as attractive, charismatic, decided to stay by your side. It wasn’t that you were dumb enough you will be seeing him again after this night, but the feeling in your gut was stronger than your sense of realism. You wished for one time in your life, to do what you wanted to do without expecting some sort of consequence after. It was about time for you to have an exciting experience.

“Y/n?,” His voice broke again your train of thoughts. He had just leaned to the side of the street. “Tell me what you are thinking about?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, mustering all the confidence you could gather up. What came from your lips next was surprisingly clear, even to you. So much that you didn’t even recognize your own voice. “Can you take me to your place tonight?.”

Seonghwa’s face focused on you, eyes hovering over your lips. The sparkle from back at the club back into his eyes, like in slow motion, you could notice his chest heaved rapidly with heavy panting.

He was looking at you with an enamored expression, and even if you knew it was just the rush of knowing he would be taking you home tonight, it felt lovingly, everlasting. Hearing you say those words just like that was music to his ears. Your chest feels smaller all of the sudden. You were about to apologize to him, as he didn’t say anything. Then the world stopped, as he leaned closer to you, brushing his lips over yours.

“Yes, thought you’d never ask.”

The red light turned green, brushing his lips on you a little longer before turning the engine back on. The expensive car was running smoothly as if it was floating, so fast that the city lights around you became blurry, seemingly following behind you.

The ride to Seonghwa’s place was not long, he was driving fast, not too fast to make you worried about your safety, but fast enough to get there as soon as possible. He didn’t say another word, his eyes locked on the road, grip firmly holding the seething wheel.

Soon he was entering the valet area of a huge department complex. The building was so tall that it rose higher than your eyes could see more so thanks to the cloudy sky. Seonghwa took a u-turn as if to leave the place, but instead entered a basement parking area you didn’t see when you arrived.

Seonghwa twisted the car keys, turning it off when he had found the parking spot of his choice. You noticed this area was almost empty with just a couple of fancy looking cars a few spots to your right. You were looking at them when you could feel Seonghwa’s hand brushing your knee, making its way up, softly playing with the hem of your dress. The sudden touch makes you shiver.

“You know what happens, right? The moment you enter with me?,” His tone was barely a whisper, but deep enough to make you listen clearly. “You know what I will do to you?.”

For a couple of seconds you froze in place, looking at him straight in the eyes, watching them shine bright as the silver hanging from his neck. “I know.” you smiled softly.

Once outside the car, as he led you to the elevator, his fingers intertwined with yours, your heart was beating so fast that you swore it would come out of your chest at any moment. He let you enter the elevator first, walking behind you, same as when he opened his apartment door, closing it behind him the moment both were inside.

Just a couple of steps into the room and you were unexpectedly grabbed by the waist, Seonghwa’s hands roaming over the fabric of your dress, feeling the shape of your hips, he brushed his fingertips softly, then he grabbed your ass, squeezing it tightly in contrast. He buried his face on your neck, pecking over it softly. You could feel every inhale of his breath, hot and steady.

He kept walking without letting go of you, throwing his keys and doing the same with your purse as he pushed you with his hips into the room. With a quick movement he turned you to face him pushing you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your neck with both his hands holding it as he leaned down to kiss you. The soft brush from before was just a taste, now he was kissing you intensely, hungrily. Slowly lurching and sucking, one long kiss after another, only breaking apart to get some air.

You could feel your lips burning, the same sensation slowly gathering between your legs, making you feel a warmth that seemed so unfamiliar to you. He was only kissing you and you could feel your walls clenching, your underwear already wet. You tried to contain yourself but when he took your bottom lip between his teeth, biting it playfully, you could feel your legs giving up, making you stumble on your feet.

Seonghwa grabs you by the waist, trying not to make you fall. Your little display of weakness makes him smile brightly over your lips. He then leans, trying to take your lips in again but you stop him. With a palm over his chest, you take in a clear view of his features, feline eyes fixated on you, his pupils dilating, waiting.

Time seemed to be running slowly as you two stood up watching each other attentively. You closed your eyes, one hand taking the back of Seonghwa’s neck, slightly pushing him to kiss you again, he watched you as you did, until his lips touched yours again and he closed his eyes with you. Your hand seamlessly travels down from his neck to his back and then up front to his chest, feeling his firm form over the soft fabric of his vest.

You could feel your lips swollen already, his kisses feeling so deep and last longing. When he breaks the kiss to take some breath again, you take the chance to see his plump lips also puffy and slick, coated with your lipstick.

Seonghwa admits you awoke something in him. He sensed the awareness yet innocence, knowing he would fuck you tonight and probably be gone by the morning, yet you wanted that, you needed that. And that was exactly what he had in mind.

In fact, he craved that innocence and he wanted to indulge in you. He rarely felt anything but lust about the people he usually brought to this place. Most of them were incredibly boring, never shutting up about how they loved him , how they could make him feel so good , only managing to annoy him by how hard they tried. They were people he often used for release, to make himself feel greater about what he meant to them, and not otherwise.

You, on the contrary, seemed to not know who he was, and unbeknownst to himself, made the challenge of making you fall for him special.

Seonghwa took your hand and guided you to a room to the left, once inside he grabbed you by the waist, kissing you sloppily and hurriedly, before pushing you over the bed. He flashed a smirk reacting to you gasping for the sudden push and watched you grip the bed sheets, trying to get something to hold onto.

He started by unbuttoning his jacket quickly, confirming your suspicions that he wasn’t wearing a shirt under it at all. After that he crept forward to you, taking your shoes off and doing the same with his. When that was out the way he wasted no time, pushing your legs apart with his knee, now his full body on top of yours. Your lips pressed together, eyes shut tight. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes to see him hovering over you, his fingers caressing the skin between your neck and chest. With his fingers he pushed your dress down, exposing more of your cleavage and he brushed the soft skin of what was out of your breast, your bra pushing them up was extremely sensual to him.

“I want you to see what I do to you, don’t hide away from me,” Seonghwa huffed, leaving a soft peck on the exposed skin of your chest. “You can touch me as well, don’t hold on, it’s okay.” The thin straps of your dress fell down over your shoulders, and Seonghwa cursed under his breath. He needed to rip that off you soon, but he decided to wait.

Lying there, watching his naked torso glow against the faint lights provided only by the lamps hidden on the ceiling, you placed both your hands over his chest, tracing delicate touches all over. You wanted to feel each of his muscles, the pads of your fingers taking in the warmth of his slim but toned body. You could feel Seonghwa’s breath pulsing every time you stopped on his abs or chest, like studying his form meticulously. You were clueless to the effect this had on him, not knowing how much he enjoyed being worshiped, desired.

As you touched him, now kissing every part you found especially beautiful, you could feel your skin burning where Seonghwa was squeezing you over, your thighs were sure to be left all bruised. Unable to hold on more, his hands went back to your chest, now pulling down the straps of your dress, all the way down until it was out on the floor.

He moved from over you slightly to take a good look of your form, how your push up bra concealed your breasts, looking like that was painful to you, but he loved the view. You went to put a hand over them, the usual insecurity hitting in by being suddenly so exposed to someone, but he stopped your hand by taking your wrist gently. “No hiding. You are beautiful.”

He sounded so sincere and loving, that you decided to believe him. You knew you weren’t the first person he said those words to, you knew you wouldn’t be the last. Even so, in this moment they were meant for you and you only, and that was enough to believe him.

Next, his lips went over to your neck, his tongue pressed against your throat sending shivers to your whole body. He smoothly slipped his hands behind your back, masterfully unclipping your bra and tossing it to the side without looking. Now with your chest completely exposed, he massaged your breasts first with his thumbs, then his tongue. He took sweet time kissing them until they were fully coated with his saliva, seemingly unable to stop savoring them, and it was driving you crazy. You didn’t want to think what was going to be of you when this was over.

After he was done with your breast his mouth continued his way below your waistline, surely leaving bruises every time he bit your skin where his lips landed. You couldn’t keep quiet, moaning at every single one of his licks and kisses, making him smile as he pressed his lips onto your sensible spots. Seonghwa softly chuckled hearing your cries of pleasure and God it was driving you insane.

You couldn’t hold on anymore and one of your hands was to look for the waistband of his pants, trying to push them down. “Please…” you whined.

“Please what?,”

“I want you.” your voice sounded desperate, needy.

He ignored you and pressed his lips now on your thighs, kissing them both over and over, trading you with soft brushes of his fingers over your clothed clit, soaking wet already. He wanted to fuck you already but he needed to hear more begging first.

You couldn’t bear the burning sensation between your legs any longer, trying to rub them together desperate for some friction. Seonghwa forcefully spread them apart, and continued to suck on each side of them, your cunt tightening with each passing second.

“Seonghwa, please …”

The sound of your lips moaning his name makes him jolt with excitement. He went up and leaned over you to watch you once more. Your breast and lips swollen, flushed skin and drowsy eyes looking at him, pleading him to be inside you. You looked so intoxicating.

Seonghwa couldn’t help but groan. A few minutes of kisses and some touches and you were already so needy for him. He could feel yourself trembling underneath him, making him proud of his decision of choosing you for this night. Now he needed to make sure that you would never forget the things he’ll do to you.

“So pretty.” He purred into your ear, brushing his nose over your cheek. His tongue then licked your lips softly, making his way into your mouth again. Your eyes instinctively close, letting yourself be devoured. You felt his hand travel down, brushing against your stomach as he started to remove his belt, the sound of the metal teasingly making you more desperate. “Close your eyes.” He ordered.

You whined at the feeling of him getting off of you, but it was instantly rewarded by the burning of his bare skin touching yours as he leaned over you again, now evidently completely naked. He warned you about opening your eyes until he said so, so you shut them down, your other senses widening.

You could feel hot breath over your knees and you knew he was about to make his way between your thighs again. It was still shocking when he spread your legs open, and you felt his breath against your cunt, so close you could feel the warmth of his mouth on you. You knew that after tonight it will be hard not to compare him to anyone else and that made you feel uneasy. The thought of never having anyone who could make you forget about what he was doing to you. His scent, his voice, everything about him was unbelievable and even right now, with him practically ripping your underwear apart, you still thought you were dreaming.

Once he got rid of the lacy cloth between his tongue and your core, he coaxed your entrance with soft pecks and you mumbled out his name again, breathing heavily each time you did so. “Open your eyes.” his deep tone resonated over your whimpers, and you did as told. You watched him just stare down, sharp eyes admiring your most intimate spot. You didn’t want to hide anymore, instead becoming proud of the lust that shone on his eyes.

“You’re soaked.” he said calmly, and a second after he made you yelp by the sudden touch of his tongue running along the surface of your clit. While he flicked his tongue inside you, he mumbled some words you couldn’t make up, the vibrations feeling heavenly over your drenched cunt.

Your legs were shaking from the pleasure. His large hands gripped your ass as he ate you out with urgency, making unholy sounds that you were sure would pop into your brain at the most unexpected moments. If he continued like this you could come at any moment, only holding back by the desire of having him inside you.

“Please… I want you,”

Seonghwa looked up at the sound of your crying. He was also ready, but he needed to taste you a little more before giving you what you wanted. He slowly rose on top of you again, giving you an open mouth kiss letting you know how you tasted. Your whining and pleading was music to his ears and the way you said his name fueled him with power. He was so hard you could feel his length pressing against your stomach, hot and thick, waiting for you to touch it.

Without thinking about it your hand moved down and your fingers wrapped around him. Seonghwa clenched his teeth, trying to repress a moan but he just barely managed to contain it. He kissed you again as you pumped his length steadily. Now it was his turn to be surprised, as you adjusted your position so his cock could greet your entrance, brushing his tip over your silky clit and pushing it inside firmly.

“Fuck….” He cursed, letting himself enter your walls in a single motion, covering his cock in your wetness. You bite your lip so hard that you feel a soft burn over them, probably hurting yourself, but that just added to the sensation of intense pleasure that you were experiencing. “So fucking tight,” He moaned, licking his bottom lip and locking his eyes on yours.

The bed rocked loudly with each time he pushed inside you. You tried to adjust yourself to the position, but a loud cry came out when Seonghwa gripped your thighs, spreading them even more and burying himself deeper.

“So perfect,” He mumbled to himself, head spinning at the intensity of what he was feeling. “Is as if you were made for me to be inside you.” He dragged his words, eyes dropping as he fucked you hard and fast. He never stopped looking at you, how you were unable to keep your eyes open, how you gripped the pillows around you looking for some kind of support.

Laying underneath him, feeling his skin crash against yours, his previously styled hair now falling over his forehead, sweat beads rolling down his neck, it was all too surreal. And the fact that he looked at you like he adored you. That made your blood rush violently to your head, making you dizzy.

Seonghwa admired his shadow casting over your body, making the rest of your skin glow. It looked like a painting. You trembled listening to his controlled moans, and he jolted everytime you whimpered out his name.

As he rocked his hips, at times pulling out entirely only to smash into you again, he could feel your walls clenching around him, trying hard not to come undone and wait until both of you were close. Your kindness towards his own pleasure made him feel even more attracted to you, his desire to pleasure you beyond expectation grew even harder. He also loved the noises you made, even if you tried to restrain yourself, you sounded so pure and innocent. He wondered when it was the last time someone had you like this, hoping you were really never being fucked like this before.

Seonghwa wasn’t trying to make himself feel better about using you to satisfy his own needs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make you feel beautiful and desired too, you were too precious not to.

“Fuck, Seonghwa…” you moaned. He smiled against your lips, brushing his tongue over them. His hand then went down to your clit, motioning circles with his thumb, making you arch your back and firmly grab his arms, probably scratching them. He groaned at the pain, and told you to dig your nails even harder. You stopped thinking, digging them harder over his back, your head buried against his neck. He groaned loudly and your breath became heavier with him buried inside you mixed with the rubbing of your clit, impossible to contain your pleasure.

“Just like that,” he growled, “Let me hear you say my name over and over.”

You cursed out loud, muttering his name again and he reacted so loudly every time you did. Your sweat mixed with his felt incredibly intimate and you couldn’t dare to break apart from him. The familiar knot twisting and twirling on your low abdomen growing intensely. His name was the only thing you could say, forcing yourself to wait until he came with you, wanting to feel him spill inside you, as lustful as it sounded, you wanted to feel that, to feel him.

Everything became too much when Seonghwa took your legs, lifting them and throwing them over his shoulders, adjusting himself even deeper. You cursed at him, mostly because he was pushing you over the edge and you needed to let go sooner. He then grabbed your hair with his fist from the back, it hurted but you loved every second of it. For the brief seconds you could keep your eyes open, you see his face glowing, a devilish smile on his face enjoying the pain and pleasure he was giving you.

“Now you are getting close, fucking scream my name and I let go,” His voice was dark and eager, wanting you to come just when he told you to.

White dots flashing as you closed your eyes and rolled your hips to help you ride your release, too focused on the pleasure of the moment to notice Seonghwa had also come with you, filling you up to the brim, thick cum spilling out of you even if he wasn’t stopping.

As he slowly came down from his own high, Seonghwa carefully pulled out of you, letting you lean against the bed sheets, covered in sweat. You could see his skin shining, sweat covering him up entirely. He watched as you tried to incorporate and sit on the bed, feeling uneasy trying to somehow cover up the mess.

“Leave that, we’re not done” The words barely rolled out his mouth due to the tiredness. He pushed his drenched hair to the back, his chest swelling with each inhale.

“Seonghwa,” you mumbled, and he pushed the stay hairs off your face, leaning to kiss you again.

Next, you were on top of him, kissing him deeply, tongue buried inside his mouth exploring every inch, knowing after tonight you wouldn’t have the chance to do it again. In just a few minutes he was hard enough again to lead you on top of him, and just as fast your hips rocked back and forth with him buried deep inside you, the headboard of the bed hitting the walls loudly. Seonghwa looked at you as you rode him with half opened eyes, unable to believe this was the same girl that hours ago had her clothes completely ruined, looking totally out of place in the middle of the night club.

Seonghwa’s fingers were pressed against your hips, keeping you in place, guiding your pacing with his hands, helping you both reach your second release. “Come for me again, and say my name as you do.”

His words were not a request but an order, and you obeyed gracefully.

He pushed his cock even more and you cried his name loudly. As you ride your orgasm, your ears meet a heavy whimper and Seonghwa leans forward to you, his forehead pressing yours, he clenches his teeth, feeling your sweet release flowing down on him, the same time as his pulsing cock covers your walls entirely once more. He breaks the closeness to look down where your bodies are intertwined, pulling out and seeing his cum drip out of you again, and he wished he could have that sight every day from now on.

He’s trying hard to let go of the reality that will hit you both the next day.

“So fucking gorgeous,” He managed to say between heavy breathing. Your arms around his shoulders preventing you from falling to the side, his hands grabbing your waist, fingernails still pressing your skin, the touch burning.

He offers you a hand to help you sit up. You smiled shyly, taking it while having trouble standing up by yourself, and Seonghwa giggled.

“Come to shower with me?”

“Oh, Yeah, sure” you smile back, leaning to kiss him again.

“You are too adorable,” He smiled against your lips, guiding you to the bathroom, hugging you from behind.

Once inside the shower booth, twice as big as your whole bathroom back home, Seonghwa told you he will take care of you, not letting you even wash your own hair, instead scrubbing every part delicately. He washed your legs first, going up from there and taking time to rub the soap between your legs, making your knees weak all over. He shampooed your hair and massaged it, and you did the same with his. After you were clean, it was his turn, rubbing body wash into your palms you cleaned him entirely. Seonghwa’s eyes were closed while you did so, enjoying the softness of the sponge and your hands against his skin.

As you cleaned him up, your mind raced a thousand miles per hour. The image of Seonghwa sweaty on top of you, fucking you— was something you would never forget, you were sure of it. Now, after it has already happened, the uncertainty of what was next crept inside you, nerves and anxiety hitting you again.

“Seonghwa…” you said awkwardly as you two stepped out of the shower.

“Yes, angel?” Seonghwa reached for a towel for you, and took another for himself, drying his hair and body with quick pacing. You didn’t speak and he tossed his towel aside, getting closer to you. “You're thinking too much, you're still here with me, aren’t you?” He smirked, taking your towel and beginning to dry you up.

“Yeah, I am.” you closed your eyes, hugging him and kissing him deeply one more time, and many times through the night.

Hours later, minutes before sunrise, Seonghwa got up, dressed and called to order some clothes so you could change when you woke up. He made a special request for a similar dress as the one you had before, the staff were pretty familiar with his demands, so they proceeded to make the arrangements quickly.

He looked at his phone annoyed at the several missed calls from his manager, already exhausted about his packed schedule for the next hours. Just before leaving for his actual apartment, he looked at you for the last time, watching you sleep peacefully. The white bed sheets covered just half of your body, and he hesitated— wanting to leave a note, his number, something. Longing already to see you again knowing it was better not to.

“Don’t be stupid” he muttered to himself.

He stood up, standing, hesitating for a moment, before walking to the door without looking back.

When you open your eyes, you get blinded by the bright sunlight coming through the white curtains hanging up from the ceiling to the floor. You incorporate slightly, your whole body aching, and you smile, hopeful. Slowly you turn around to the other side of the bed, you shut your eyes tight, hoping to open them and find him lying still asleep next to you.

You smile, now dryly, to the empty side of the bed. You knew, yet still hurt.

Painfully, you stood up from the bed, going to the bathroom first, performing the usual morning rituals. After that you look up for your clothes on the floor, finding nothing. With the linen bed sheet wrapped around your body, you walk into the living room finding a rack of clean clothes in the living area.

You looked for a note but there was none. The clothes were casual and simple, but expensive. Some underwear, a couple of pants, some shirts and a dress, very similar to the one you were wearing before. You changed into a t-shirt and pants, and took the dress, folding it and keeping it in your bag, it was similar to the one you were wearing, a gift.

Just before you left the upscale room, you turned to look at it for the last time, feeling dumb and over-dramatic doing so. You pictured him there with you as it just happened not long ago and you felt your chest tighten.

“you're still here with me, aren’t you?”

“He did say it, didn’t he?”, you muttered to yourself, just as you walked out, closing the door behind you.

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