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aereres · 4 years

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Professional - Jonathan Toews

Summary: You were expecting things to become calm after landing the position as Jonathan Toews' PA, as calm as your stressful job could be. Your relationship with your boss, though, makes your life become anything but calm.

A/N: It’s here! It’s out! Wanna thank my bestie @captaindaddies for helping me out with some stuff, ily bby ❤️

Word Count: 14,4k

Warnings: Lots of swearing, SMUT, maybe even a tip of angst, lots of nervousness and lots of teasing. Mentions of Patrick Kane, if it might bother.

Nervous, that was how you felt. Standing on the front steps of Jonathan Toews’ house was you, your bag nervously pulled close to your side as you mustered the courage to knock, to let him know you were finally ready to work as his personal assistant.

How you landed the job was still unknown to you: you were inexperienced, and everyone could tell by the way you were nervously standing in front of his front door. Still searching for the courage inside of you, you breathed out a sigh. You needed to get your shit together.

Jonathan Toews wasn’t intimidating. Right?

After breathing in a large amount of air and pushing it out of your lungs quickly, you let your knuckles hit the wood of his door, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You waited, for so long you almost thought you had missed him due to his early morning practice. When the door opened, though, you were met with a composed-looking hockey player.

You had seen him only through the screen of your laptop, but you could say that he looked way better in real life. Trying not to get too lost in his dark eyes, you greeted him softly, a nervous smile on your features.

“Y/N! Great to finally meet you in person!” He spoke, his voice deeper than you could remember as he looked at you, a professional smile on his lips. “Come in, I got a few minutes before I have to leave for practice,”

“Thank you, Mr. Toews,” was all you were able to mutter, getting rid of your coat and holding it in your arms as you looked around the rather large mansion. He gave you a small tour, and you found yourself mesmerized by everything he had shown you, from the high ceilings to the large windows that viewed Lincoln Park.

“I left a list of things to do on the kitchen counter,” he said when you found yourselves back in the main hall. “You’ll find everything you might need in that paper,”

“Okay, sir,” you smiled, finally at ease. Rummaging through your purse, you grabbed the stack of papers you had printed out for the occasion, carefully handing it to him. “You asked for my curriculum,”

“Right,” he nodded his head, scanning through the words quickly. “I’ll take a look at it after practice,”

You smiled his way, nodding your head before he could leave the room to grab his bag, leaving you on your own in the large hall. You hesitantly let yourself wander inside the kitchen, where the paper he had talked about was sitting neatly on the isle.

“I’m heading out,” he called from the hallway. “My number is on that paper, if you need help with anything,”

“Thank you, Mr. Toews,”

“Oh, and make yourself at home, Y/N,”

“What are you even reading, man?” Patrick sighed as he dropped his helmet on the bench, looking at an already-showered Jonathan slumped over a bunch of papers.

“My PA’s curriculum,” Jon mumbled, lower lip tugged between his lips.

The teammate snatched the papers from his hands, scanning through the words with a smirk on his face. “Originally from Canada, fresh out of college, worked for a company for a couple of months, ten years younger than you,” he nodded his head. “And she’s even hot,”

“It’s strictly professional,” Jon huffed, jokingly punching his friend’s shoulder as he turned around to grab some clothes, his eyes finding your picture attached to the files as he did so.

“Yeah, sure,” Patrick rolled his eyes as he took off his skates. Jonathan got dressed in silence, his mind wandering back to you and what you could have been doing at the mansion. He had received no call from you, no text, so he was guessing everything was coming along just fine back at his place.

“You aren’t even going to give it a thought?” Patrick asked after a while. “You’ve been single for ages, man,”

“She’s my employee,” Jonathan sighed, sending his teammate a dirty look. “I pay her to work for me, that’s all,”

“Whatever you say, Jon,”

“I’ll see you later, Kaner,” was all Jon said as he grabbed his duffle bag, propping it over his shoulder as he left the room, his mind elsewhere. Entering his Tesla, he took a deep breath and decided to go grab another coffee, something he didn’t do too often.

Patrick was exaggerated, Jon knew it already, but his teasing words impressed themselves into his mind. He wasn’t going to lie to himself, he had taken a liking to you from the first moment you had your call together for your interview. You were kind, a smile constantly on your face as you answered his questions, you were willing to do everything he asked you to do.

He shook his head when that phrase formed itself in his brain, taking a rather different turn from the professional relationship the two of you shared. Hell, he was shocked at his own self when he let his mind even go there just after your first time meeting in real life.

Turning off the car in the coffee shop’s parking lot after grabbing his usual order, he slid his phone out of his pocket. His brain was telling him not to do it, not to get too into your business, but he wasn’t thinking straight anymore.

He couldn’t even remember when the last time he had pressed on that contact’s name was, that was how much time had passed since he had last called that person. He didn’t hesitate, finally starting the call and pressing the device to his ear, his eyes focusing on the steering wheel.

“Mike? Hey, it’s Jon,” was all he said as soon as the old acquaintance picked up. “I need a background check on someone,”

-----

You had graduated at the top of the class, moved away from home for college, to Edmonton. You had an older brother, you weren’t big on sports when you were younger, you liked traveling. All the information was engraved in Jon’s mind.

You didn’t like being late, it was clear from the way you had apologized earlier that morning, Jonathan’s coffee in your hands as you mumbled sorrowful words. You overworked yourself, you weren’t one to leave work undone, and you didn’t like disappointing people.

From his spot in his living room, Jonathan analyzed you, his brows furrowed in concentration and arms folded over his chest. You were interesting, to say the least. There was something about you that had him extremely intoxicated.

Was it your sweet perfume? Was it your laugh? Or the way you spoke? He didn’t know. Less than two months. That was how long it took his thoughts to become anything but professional, that’s how long it took for him to become more than aquaintained with your presence.

Was it your inexperience? Only two boyfriends throughout high school and college, both lasted less than two months. Or was it your innocence?

You kept him awake at night, thinking about you the way a boss shouldn’t think about his employee. You had become a constant distraction at practice, during meetings, during moments he had less expected to even think about you.

He had never felt that weak for a woman ten years his junior, and he truly felt frustrated.

“Mr. Toews? Everything okay?”

Your sweet voice sent jolts through his body, snapping him out of his trance. Mr. Toews, the name kept making his cock strain against his pants, no matter how many times you called him that. “Yeah, I’m fine, Y/N,” he mumbled, voice deeper than usual as he stood up from the couch. He was at your side in just a few seconds, his eyes finding the screen of your laptop to see a schedule. “What are you doing?”

His arms caged you against the kitchen island as his chest slightly touched your back, his eyes still attached to your screen as your heartbeat quickened. “I uh- I’m organizing your schedule,” you stuttered, your body shivering from his closeness. “Player media tour is coming up soon,”

“Right,” he mumbled, a smirk painting itself on his lips as your breath got caught up in your throat when he squeezed your waist before leaving the room. You struggled to stay concentrated after he left, your mind going places it shouldn’t go as you cursed yourself for feeling that way about your boss.

Everything felt so wrong, from the way your heart hammered against your chest every time he stepped close to you, to the way you often found yourself in need of release from his teasing actions.

Working for Jonathan Toews had been unexpectedly hard, it was testing your boundaries. Holding yourself back, acting as if he wasn’t the only person you could think about, as if his name wasn’t the one you had found yourself screaming at night; it was becoming hard.

Two boring months had passed from the day you had started working for him, two boring months of taking care of his stuff and doing what you were told. Two boring months that took a turn and became two hard months when your attraction for your boss had started, two hard months that would soon become three, four, five…

Things needed to change, if you wanted to keep yourself away from any kind of heartbreak. You needed to change.

With a sigh, you unlocked your phone, letting your fingers do their work until a dating app was installed. You stared at its icon for what felt like ages, wondering whether it would be worth it or not, but eventually, you got yourself logged in.

And maybe, it was for the best.

-----

“Fuck-” you breathed out as you skimmed your way through the people crowding the streets of Chicago, some of them even wearing the Blackhawks jerseys. “I’m so late,”

You forgot to pick up his suit. His damn suit. You had been so concentrated on answering emails and getting things settled for him that the task had slipped out of your mind. The city was crowded, almost everyone seemed to be buzzed for the game, and you truly were late.

The familiar banner of the dry and clean was visible from where you were, and it took you less than a few minutes to actually reach their entrance, your breathing heavy. Your phone chimed in your hand, snapping your attention towards the message that you had received. Markus, one of the guys you had matched with on the dating app just a few weeks prior, was asking you out. If you wouldn’t have been as busy as you actually were, maybe you would have squealed in happiness, maybe you would have even called your cousin to let her know you were back in the dating scene. But you were late, your boss was waiting for you, and the text from Markus could be left on delivered for a little more.

Pushing your device inside the back pocket of your jeans, you stepped inside the warm environment of the workplace, picking up the clothing as quickly as you could before making your way back towards the mansion.

You were almost sweating when you finally closed the front door behind yourself, slipping off your coat and looking around the first story of the building for Jonathan, your mind thinking about the text from Markus. “Mr. Toews? I have the suit,”

“Upstairs!” Was all he yelled, lightly scaring you. You were hesitant to walk up the stairs. He hadn’t made it official, but it was pretty clear that he cared about his privacy, so you had taken it upon yourself to stay away from the sleeping area of the house.

You had visited that area twice: on your first day, when he had toured you around the mansion, and a week into your job, to hand him Advil after a pretty rough night at a club. Even then, you never walked past the threshold of his room, too scared to intrude.

Carefully, you started to make your way to the last floor of the house, dragging with you the suit and your nervousness. Shuffling sounds came from the end of the hallway, where the door was peeking open. The warm tones of the lights inside the master bedroom were slightly illuminating the hallway, inviting you to step closer.

“Mr. Toews?” You said, knocking lightly on the door. “I have your suit,”

He was quick to open the door completely, revealing his body to you. He had a white button-up on, his bottom being covered only by a pair of boxers. “Come in, I need your advice on something,”

Jonathan Toews was almost half-naked in front of you, showed no embarrassment from it, and you felt oh so turned on. But it was wrong, you weren’t supposed to feel that way, and that was when you made your decision. You were going on the date.

He walked towards the mirror, turning his back to you as you hesitantly stepped in. You laid the suit on his bed, keeping your eyes to the floor to avoid any kind of discomfort from his side.

“Help me choose my cufflinks?”

He was looking at you, motioning for you to go stand next to him with a small smile. When you obediently made your way towards him, he turned towards the mirror to sort out his tie. Your eyes met his quite big collection of cufflinks, everything looking so shiny and expensive. You weren’t shocked, it wasn’t a secret that you were working for a man with money, you were just surprised to see so much gold in front of your own eyes.

“I was going to go with these ones,” he mumbled, snapping you out of your thoughts and pointing towards the blue pair that was resting on the dresser. “But I’m not too sure. Choose a pair, please,”

With shaky hands, you let yourself pick the ones that had caught your attention from the start. They were golden, probably pure gold, resting cold in the palm of your hand as you inspected them. They stared back at you as the room fell silent, the only sounds coming from Jonathan, who was touching up the look of his tie.

“My grandfather’s,” you heard him say after a while, his deep voice bringing you back to reality. He was closer than you had thought, his warm palms gently holding your arms as he looked down at the pair you had chosen. “Good choice,”

Your cheeks burnt at his praise, your eyes looking up at his mirror reflection for a second. He had you flustered, and it was extremely unprofessional. Everything about your boss seemed to bring you to the edge: from the way he spoke, his voice deep and lustful, to the way his rough hands would randomly graze against yours, their touch so gentle.

“I’ll- I’ll be downstairs, I’ve got some stuff to finish,” you stuttered, biting on your lip as you started to make your way outside, stopping in your tracks when you remembered. “Oh, I had a question, sir,”

“Go on,”

“I was wondering if I could get off earlier, tomorrow night,”

“Anywhere special to be?” Jonathan asked, a smirk painting his lips as he completed the pre-game look.

“I have a date, sir,”

He tried to keep his expression as natural as possible, even though jealousy was truly burning him alive. He didn’t want to see you with someone else, someone who barely even knew you, or who barely even knew how to treat you.

He was pretty confident when it came to knowing you. Maybe the way he found out - thanks to Mike - wasn’t the best way to actually get to know you, but he knew what got you flustered, what had you weak. He knew how to make you feel that way.

How could a guy your age even know anything regarding your pleasure?

“Sir?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” he mumbled - his voice fakely uninterested - ending the conversation as quickly as it started. That was your sign to leave the room, confused as to how you were supposed to feel. Happy because you were going to go on a date with Mark? Or sad because Jonathan seemed to not care at all, especially since you had thought he would, after all the teasing he had done on you?

His voice held you back one last time, making you turn around and catch his gaze in the mirror reflection. “Wish me luck?” Was all he said, making you remember just then that he had more important things to do to even care about your date.

“Good luck, Mr. Toews,”

Jon breathed out a long sigh as he let himself fall on one of Patrick’s couches, the glass of whiskey in his hand feeling cold against the warm skin of his palm. They had taken another loss, and that time, Jon was pretty confident when he said it was his fault.

He had tried to push you to the back of his mind, at least for one night, but it had been easier said than done. The jealousy he had felt just hours prior didn’t leave his body, and he wanted nothing more than to show you who you belonged to.

“Another fucking game, man,” Patrick scoffed, letting his body flop down next to him. “That shit gets me so pissed off,”

“Yeah, man,” was all Jonathan mumbled, putting the glass to his lip before taking a drink, the liquid burning his throat.

“How are things with your pretty girl?” Patrick changed the conversation, sending his friend a smirk as he sipped his own drink.

“What pretty girl?” Jon grumbled, looking at the whiskey in the glass with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Your PA, man,”

Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes, the look he sent his friend being enough to answer his question. “I told you, professional,”

“Come on, Jon,” Patrick chuckled. “You haven’t even given it a thought?”

Jonathan stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to gather his thoughts before actually giving his teammate an answer. Oh, he did give it a thought. Multiple times. “She’s going on a date tomorrow, that’s all you need to know,”

“And you’re jealous,”

“Am not,” Jon lied, scoffing as he downed the rest of his drink, pouring himself more.

“Then why are you telling me about this?” Patrick asked, knowing that no matter what, he was right. “Don’t act as if you haven’t been thinking about her, you’ve been weird ever since she started working for you,”

Jon clenched his jaw, his eyes directing towards the skyline of Chicago from Patrick’s windows. “Okay, yeah, maybe I am,” he admitted. “Guys her age will never be able to take care of her,”

“She obviously wanted a reaction from you, man,” Patrick rolled his eyes, so obvious in his point of view. “Why would she even tell you? You’re her boss, as you like to say,”

His thought made sense: why did you even tell him you were going on a date in the first place? “That girl got you fucked up, bud,” Patrick chuckled, shaking his head.

“Fuck, every time she calls me ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Toews’-” Jon sighed out, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. “I can’t resist her,”

“Then don’t,”

Sending his friend a dirty glare, he chugged another drink. “I’m serious, Toews. Just get the girl,”

“As if it’s that easy,” he mumbled under his breath, pushing his glass on the coffee table before standing up. “I’m outta here. Thanks, man, I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Heading out of the house, he wanted nothing more than to go home and get some rest. You crowded his mind even in his sleep, but he needed to get some rest and figure himself out.

He wasn’t able to resist you anymore, that he was sure of.

-----

You hadn’t been on many dates before, but it didn’t take much to understand that the one with Markus shouldn’t have even been considered a date. He had charmed you, brought you out to dinner just to get you in his bed, and even fussed when you had made it clear that you didn’t want to see him again.

You were frustrated, to say the least.

You had gotten just a few hours of sleep before having to head in for work, finding the mansion empty, no sign of Jonathan. No call from him was received, when you worked, he had shown no interest in you for the entire day.

Your cousin Laila also seemed to be missing in action: she hadn’t picked up your calls and ignored all your texts. You were pretty sure she had kept her phone off for the day.

The first sound inside the house was unexpected, it almost scared you. It was the front door closing, the sound of footsteps following soon after. You put on a smile, glancing up from your computer to see a tired-looking Jonathan entering the living area.

“Good evening, Mr. Toews,”

“Hi,” he mumbled, pushing himself towards the kitchen to grab a glass and an expensive bottle of wine.

“Can I help you with anything, sir?”

He had to hold himself back from sighing, shaking his head as he poured himself a glass. “Didn’t you have that date, last night?” Was all he asked after a while, twisting his wrist and watching the velvety liquid move around the glass.

“I did,” you sighed. “How was your day, sir?”

“I don’t want to talk about my day,” was all he said, voice stern as he sat next to you on the couch, more than curious to hear about the guy you had gone out with. “Tell me about the date,”

You held back a shocked look, letting your eyes find his for a second. “I-I don’t want to bother you, sir,”

“You’re not bothering me, sweetheart,” the pet name had you weak, your heart beating out of your chest as you struggled to breathe properly. “And please, call me Jon,”

The smile on his lips was enough to send shivers down your spine, a breathy sigh leaving your lips as you shut your laptop. The fact that Jonathan, your own boss, cared to even listen to you ranting about your date made him even hotter, from your point of view. He seemed to be the only one that wanted to hear about it, which spurred you on to actually talk to him about it.

“Well, he brought me out to dinner at this new Indian place, downtown,” you started, fidgeting with your fingers as you let your eyes stay on your lap. “He made us split the check-”

“Hang on-” he mumbled out, his hand finding your knee to stop you. “He split the check?!”

“Yeah,” was all you could whisper, gulping as you looked at his hand on your leg. With your last ounce of courage, you let your eyes focus on his.

“Tell me he at least paid for his shit,” he said, taking a sip of his drink as his hand slowly moved higher.

The shake of your head was enough to get him to groan. “He got the most expensive dish out of the menu and just split the check at the end,”

“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed, sending you a glance. “Hope you went home after that,”

You kept your mouth shut, your silence being enough to make him realize that you had done the opposite. “Y/N-”

Your name sounded so good, coming from his lips, it had you burning for him. Coming back to your senses, you kept explaining your side of the story. “Well, he mentioned going back to his place, and I needed to relieve some stress, Jon,”

“So you fucked,” he tried to keep his bitterness at bait by chugging down part of his wine. “You don’t look too relaxed, though,”

Everything seemed to spill out of you so quickly after that, especially under his gaze that left you more than submissive for him. “There was no foreplay,”

Jon rolled his eyes, hiding a cocky smirk when he realized he was more than correct, the night when you had revealed that you were going on the date: the guy didn’t know how to satisfy you.

“And, you know-” you mumbled, suddenly shy. “I wasn’t- I didn’t-”

“You didn’t cum,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as his hand slid up even more on your thigh. “It was pretty obvious,”

You looked at him, your body on fire as you tried not to concentrate too much on how his hand felt on your leg, or how much you needed him. “You know, you look cute when you get shy,” he mumbled, smirking as his thumb drew shapes on the tender skin right before your inner thigh, teasing you just right. “You’re so innocent, you don’t even know what you do to me,”

Your head rolled against the back of the couch as you bit back a moan, his eyes holding yours strictly as he let his hand inch closer to your center. “Did he have you so riled up for him?”

You breathed out a sigh, relishing in his touch as his fingers ghosted over the spot you needed him the most. He stopped, though, snapping you out of your lust-induced trance by pulling you over his lap. You were breathing harshly, your hands on his muscled chest as your noses brushed against each other. “Answer my question,” he grumbled, his hands rough on your thighs. “Did he make you feel the way that I make you feel?”

“No,”

“Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll stop,” he said, voice firm as his eyes stared deep into yours.

You finally seemed to be back to your senses partially, realizing just then how wrong everything was. But it felt so good, you needed release and Jon seemed to be the one willing to help you with that. As if it wasn’t enough, all the teasing he had done on you seemed to resurface, and it made you more than eager to let him have you.

What was happening, suddenly, didn’t feel wrong anymore. “I want it,”

That was all it took for him to let his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, your hands subconsciously moving towards his hair, gripping it gently. His mouth ate all your moans, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue in, leaving you even more at his mercy.

The smell of his cologne had you in a frenzy, kissing him until you were short of breath just to have him press open-mouthed kisses on your neck while you pulled apart for air. His lips were back on yours before you knew it, playing you like the finest violin as the warmth in your chest spread lower.

When his hands found your waist, pulling you even closer and helping you grind on his growing bulge, your mind started working again. It reminded you it was wrong, that Jon was just your boss and your relationship had to be strictly professional. Caving in had already been a big mistake, not stopping would have surpassed every possible line.

You scrambled away from him, pushing yourself off of his lap in a rush, feeling extremely guilty. “Y/N, come back-”

You didn’t listen to his pleas, grabbing your coat before heading out the door, your heart beating out of your chest.

You had fucked up.

You had almost considered calling in sick just to avoid the sight of Jonathan for a little longer. The regret was intense, and you were sure you hadn’t felt anything like that before.

You were essential to his life, though, it was something you had to face. You couldn’t stay home and avoid him, or beat yourself up for what had happened the previous night for months. It had happened, it was unprofessional, but you had to get yourself out of bed and on with your life.

The mansion was silent, when you first entered it. You found your laptop on the couch, on the same spot where you were sitting the previous night, and some of your belongings on the kitchen table.

You left a go-to cup of Jon’s hot coffee on the island, opening your computer to take another look at your boss’ schedule. After morning practice, he had to be headed towards his favorite restaurant to have lunch with his brother, and then, he had a session with his personal trainer later in the afternoon.

Just as you were thinking about the fact that you needed to go pick up a present for his mother’s birthday, you heard two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs. Jonathan was walking behind a blonde-haired woman, his hair messy as she sported a smile.

The sight of him with another woman had you regretting your previous night's reckless decisions even more. She was pretty, he seemed happy, and you felt dumb. Dumb to even have hoped for a small moment that it might have meant something to him, dumb because you were jealous of her, even though you had been the one to run away, after getting your moment with Jon.

His eyes found yours when he finally stepped foot inside the first floor. You held back a fresh set of tears as you looked back down at the computer screen, biting on your bottom lip as you tried to zone out.

“And that’s the door,” you heard him say quickly. “Y/N, I can-”

“Call me later?” The woman interrupted him, voice as sweet as honey as he opened the door for her, trying to get her out of the house as fast as possible.

“Sure. Bye,” the door was shut loudly behind her, the echo of his footsteps impressing itself into your mind as he made his way inside the kitchen.

“Y/N, I can explain,”

“You have lunch after practice with your brother,” you said, voice monotone as you avoided eye contact with him in every possible way. “Then a session with your personal trainer at five. Want me to schedule you a call with that woman, too?”

“Listen, Y/N, she was here because after last night-”

“Last night was totally unprofessional from both of our sides,” you stated, finally sending him a sharp look. “I’d prefer if the matter won’t be discussed anymore, Jonathan,”

“Y/N-”

“Practice is in five, I’d start leaving the house, if I was you,” you mumbled. “I’ll be out to get your mother her birthday present from you,”

“Fuck, her birthday, yes,” he muttered, grabbing his keys and coat as he settled for leaving the house, knowing just how much he had fucked up. “I thought we could have gone together?”

“Your schedule is pretty packed, but I could see,”

“Please?” He asked, voice soft for the first time. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the tears that were slowly swelling up as you nodded your head. He wanted to talk, it was obvious, and you just couldn’t say no to your boss.

“Thursday afternoon,”

“Thank you,” he sighed out, grabbing his cup of coffee before leaving the house, his mind elsewhere. “I’ll see you later,”

As soon as the door closed behind him, you let the tears fall. As much as you wanted to put up a tough facade, you had been broken, and you felt like your whole world had been dropped. You felt confused, heartbroken, jealous.

You pressed on Laila’s contact, sniffling when she picked up. “Y/N?”

“Oh, Laila,” you sobbed, even surprising yourself. “Why am I so stupid?”

She was confused, to say the least. You hadn’t called her in tears for what felt like ages; hell, work had gotten you so busy you hadn’t called her for months. Everything had come out of your mouth so quickly it had you shocked: you explained to her the teasing, the famous night, and just what had happened minutes prior, tears streaming down your face as if you’d never experienced heartbreak before.

The fact that you even felt heartbroken from your boss, Jonathan Toews, felt unreal. You had pushed your feelings for him aside for so long that you weren’t expecting to feel that hurt over something so small. You were shocking your own self.

“Why am I even crying over him, Lai?” You sniffled, wiping the leftover tears on your cheeks with the back of your hands.

“You clearly have feelings for him, Y/N,”

You closed your mouth shut at her words, shock evident in your voice as you stuttered. “But I barely even know him!”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Silence came from Laila’s line, a long sigh could only be heard as the two of you stopped talking. “This might sound so cheesy, but listen to your heart, Y/N,”

You sniffled at her words, still unsure of everything going on in your life as your heart still felt quite broken even after venting to your cousin. You needed time to figure things out, time to think.

And time was what you gave yourself.

-----

“Hey, thanks for coming,” Jonathan greeted you softly, his eyes finding yours when you stopped in front of him. “I’m not the greatest at gifts,”

You giggled, shaking your head as you mindlessly let your hand grasp his forearm, sending shivers down his spine. “Of course, Jon,”

“I uh- I got the car out,” he pointed towards his Tesla, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I know you prefer walking, but I exaggerated at the gym earlier and my legs are pretty sore,”

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, his softness making your heartbeat quicken. “Shall we go?”

As if you had snapped him out of his thoughts, he nodded his head, leading you towards the vehicle and opening the passenger door for you. The car was fancy, but you weren’t expecting anything else from him. He was Jonathan Toews, his wristwatch probably cost more than your old college tuition.

You small talked until you reached your destination, the large mall just out of town that hosted the most expensive stores, the ones you were so used to admiring from the distance. You slipped out of the car on your own, looking at the building with a small ounce of anxiousness as you waited for Jon to reach your side.

“You ready?”

You turned around to face him, nodding your head sharply as you tried not to get lost in his wide smile. “Thought you wanted to stay there and gaze at the mall for the rest of the afternoon,”

“No,” you giggled, starting to walk just when his hand slipped on your lower waist, nudging you. Your heart was fluttering, his touch so gentle against your skin as he helped you towards the door. Why did it feel so good when he touched you? You were supposed to hate him, to be disappointed in him; yet, you couldn’t pull away, keep a safe distance between the two of you. It was as if you were magnets, the attraction too much to actually let go.

Snapping out of your trance, you remembered just why you were there, with him, and what you needed to do. “Uh- have you been thinking about anything?”

“Jewelry,” was all he suggested, his hand dropping back to its place next to his waist when you walked inside the large main hall. “She doesn’t wear it too often, but she secretly loves it,”

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “Any store in mind?”

“There should be one just around the corner,” he mumbled, directing you around the quite empty mall with large strides. He was right, one of the largest jewelry you had ever seen was right in front of your eyes, the prettiest diamonds being exposed right next to rings and earrings.

“Woah,”

“I know,” was all Jonathan mumbled, dragging you along with him inside the store. You had an employee at your side the moment you walked in, her eyes barely even acknowledging you as she started blabbering about the shop and what they sold, entirely focused on your boss.

“We’re here for a gift, but I think we won’t have trouble looking on our own,” Jon politely said, sending the woman a small smile just as he pulled you close to his side by your waist, making you repress a gasp. The woman left soon after, giving you a once-over right before she went back to walking around the store in search of people to help.

You were struggling to breathe when he released your body, his eyes going to the jewels behind the displays as he kept you close. “I’m sorry about that. She was making me uncomfortable,”

“It’s okay,” was all you were able to mumble, following his gaze on a necklace. “Is she one for necklaces?”

“Not really,”

“Maybe earrings?”

“Yeah, she wears those often,” Jon nodded his head, searching for the displayer with the earrings. “I want something she could wear every day, though,”

“Something simple,” you hummed, your eyes raking around the various pairs of earrings. You came across a pair that looked like white gold in the shape of a flower, tempested with small, white diamonds.

You carefully pointed towards them, your fingers catching Jon’s attention. “Those look pretty,” he mumbled as he called over another shop assistant. “Could we get these out? I want to see them closer,”

The pair was in front of your eyes before you knew it, shining under the warm lights of the store. You had to refrain yourself from letting your eyes widen at the price tag, deciding to let them focus on Jonathan’s expression. “What do you think about them?”

“I think they might be too big to be casual,” was all he mumbled, glancing towards the displayer again to search for something else. “I was also thinking about a bracelet, you know?”

“I’ll go take a look at some of those for you,” you whispered, smiling his way before moving towards the other side of the store, where the bracelets were located. The diamonds and pearls were all staring back at you, begging to be bought as you talked lightly with the shopping assistant.

You didn’t even realize you had been stuck on one specific item until the lady helping you caught your attention. “That’s a Cartier,” she smiled your way. “Simple but classy, they’ve been selling pretty quickly,”

“It’s really beautiful,” you whispered, batting your lashes a few times to push yourself out of your daydream before focusing on the rest of the collections. You were pretty sure Jonathan would like the bracelet you picked out: a small, golden chain with a charm that represented family, also stutted with diamonds.

“Found anything interesting?”

You jumped when you heard Jon’s voice from behind you, his palm finding its place on your smaller back again as he stood by your side. “Thoughts on this one? The charm represents family,”

Jonathan was gentle as he lifted up the jewel, looking at it attentively before smiling your way. “I think we found the one,”

With a smile, you went to take a look at the earrings he had chosen, leaving Jonathan on his own in front of the bracelets. “We’re getting that one,” he mumbled to the shopping assistant, pointing towards the present for his mother. “Was she looking at anything else when she was alone?”

“The young woman?”

Jonathan nodded, hoping the employee could help him out in some ways. He had felt the urge to buy you something from the moment he first saw your eyes sparkle at the sight of the jewels. He knew it was wrong, but he felt like he might have needed it someday: maybe as an apology, or maybe as just a present.

“She was looking at this one,” the woman said, nonchalantly taking out of its displayer the Cartier rose gold bracelet you had been gazing at for minutes.

Just the best way to spoil his girl, he thought. “Add it to the rest, please. And don’t use a separate bag for it,”

“Of course, sir,” the woman smiled, leading him towards the checkout. “I’m sure she’ll love it,”

The two of you left the store soon after he swiped his credit card, heading towards the parking lot in silence. Your time together had come to an end, and you felt weird when the thought of missing him even crossed your mind. He had shown you softness, even regret, throughout the afternoon, and you realized you had gotten to know another part of him. The sensitive part, the part that was in some way asking you to give him another chance.

“I know I fucked up the other day,” Jonathan said when he started the car, the flashbacks of him walking the woman out rising back to life inside your brain. “And I know that you don’t want to talk about it anymore, but I owe you an apology,”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as he kept driving, the city running past your eyes. He was willing to admit his mistakes, but were you going to let him back into your heart?

“Okay,”

He seemed surprised when you answered, but snapped back to reality quickly. “Take a day off, tomorrow,” he said, his eyes finding yours quickly before directing them back to the streets.

“But you have the game, Jon,”

“I want you to come to the game, have some fun,” he said, words authoritative as he kept his eyes trained on the road, your panties dampening just at the tone of his voice. “And then go out for drinks with me after it,”

That was anything but professional, if you thought about it, but was your heart going to stop you? There was nothing holding you back anymore. You took a fast glance at his face, not realizing he had caught you until his eyes met with yours. “Y/N?”

“Okay,”

You suppressed a smile as he drove towards your apartment complex, playing with your fingers in your lap as you tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Your usual Friday night was going to take a turn: you weren’t going to watch Jonathan play behind the screen of your TV anymore, and you weren’t going to daydream about him before falling asleep.

Friday night was going to be different, and you knew it.

-----

Friday was calm. The sun was warm on your skin as you read a book on your couch, thankful for a morning off and some time to figure your life out. It had taken you a while to realize just how much you had been ignoring your own mental health, how you really felt, and your day off seemed to be just the perfect way to understand yourself better.

It felt confusing, if you had to be honest. Your heart was more than ready to give itself entirely to Jonathan: to give him your all, to wake up in the morning next to him, to make memories together. Your brain, though, made you feel like it was wrong, almost dirty.

You wanted the two of them to find a solution to all their divergences, to make it easier for you. You couldn’t bear the confusion anymore, staying away from Jon was already hard enough.

Laila’s words replayed themselves in your mind while you took a shower, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. What if you really had feelings for him, though? The way your heartbeat quickened every time he said your name was almost enough to answer your question; the butterflies dancing in your stomach every time you’d feel his touch were so evident you almost laughed at yourself for not realizing it sooner.

The sexual tension, at the same time, was something you clearly couldn’t ignore. You were so sure that it was what it had made you attracted to him in the first place, the warm feeling deep in your stomach, or just the way you were burning for him.

By the time evening rolled around, you felt nervous. You were worried you were dressed correctly for the game, but totally underdressed for drinks; you were worried you were going to make a fool out of yourself, as always, or that you were going to embarrass him.

The doorbell was enough to snap you out of your trance, making you grab your coat and purse in a rush before leaving the apartment building, only to be faced with a black car and a man in a suit. A driver?

“Good evening, Miss Y/L/N,” was all the man said, opening the door for the backseat for you in a quick second. “Mr. Toews wasn’t able to drive you, so I’m here to pick you up,”

“Thank you,” you said, holding back the last remnants of shock in you as you slid inside the car. The lights of the city moved past you as you were driven towards the arena in silence, the city looking busy as red and white jerseys packed the sidewalks.

You felt like you were in a movie. Never in your life had you thought you would have been in the backseat of an expensive car, a driver sent by your boss chaperoning you towards the destination.

“Miss, this is your ticket,”

The car had stopped, and you had realized just then that you had reached the arena, your heart starting to leap out of your chest. “Could I stay here a little more?” You asked, voice small as you hoped for a ‘yes’, suddenly overwhelmed with what was going to happen throughout the night.

“Of course, miss,” the man smiled, almost as if he wanted to reassure you everything was going to be okay, like a guardian angel.

Jonathan wanted to apologize to you, that was what was going to happen, nothing more. What were you even worrying about? Pushing all your worries aside, you grabbed your ticket and thanked the driver, following the mass of people towards the entrance of the arena.

You heard multiple excited conversations about the game, both from Blackhawks fans and from Sabres fans. You felt slightly out of place in the crowd of people dressed in red, already holding beers in their hands as they talked, even chanted their team’s name.

You found out just after getting inside the building that you were reserved a spot with the team’s close family members, a lot calmer than the spots near the rink itself. When you walked inside the room, you were met with who you could only guess were some of the player’s parents, but a group of younger women was by far taking over the room.

They were all sporting the team’s jersey, the players’ last names on their backs never repeating on the other girls’ shirts. You silently took a seat, noticing you had the best view of the rink, from the highest spot of the building.

“Newbie?”

Your head snapped to the side to meet with a girl slightly older than you, a smile on her face as she sat next to you. “What?” You asked, slightly confused at her word.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” she explained. “I’m Amanda, Kane’s girlfriend,”

“Oh, I’m- I’m Y/N, I work for Toews,”

“Oh, so you are new here,” she giggled, shaking your hand softly. “I’ve heard about you,”

“You did?” You asked, holding back a giggle.

“I’ve heard Jon talk about you many times,” Amanda confessed, your heart fluttering at what she said. Jonathan talked about you? “You know, other girlfriends and I are just sticking together for the game. Do you want to join us?”

The offer was given to you quickly, you weren’t even able to process the fact that Jonathan’s friends knew about you, in some kind of way. You were a total stranger to them, and yet, they knew you, they wanted you to join them. “That would be awesome,” you smiled her way. “Thank you,”

When she went back to the group, you glanced down at your phone, sending Jonathan a quick text before, eventually, joining your new companions.

Good luck, Jon :)

“Honestly, I’m so happy they won,” Amanda mumbled, looking over the few people in the hallway right before the changing room to see if the team was going to come out soon. “They really deserved it,”

A few noises of agreement came from the rest of the WAGs, the girls you had joined just a few hours prior. “What are your plans tonight, ladies?”

Most of the girls talked about going home, relaxing with their significant other, and enjoying the night; one of the wives mumbled about leaving for a small trip right after being done at the rink, and somebody else talked about going to a club. When you were asked, your cheeks heated up.

“We’re going out for drinks,” you mumbled, nervously playing with your fingers as most of the girls smiled your way.

“And you’re just working for him? Girl, don’t lie to us,” Becca, another girl, pushed your shoulder jokingly.

“What are you ladies mumbling about?” Patrick walked towards your group, wrapping an arm around Amanda’s waist as she giggled. His eyes found yours in a second, scanning your face as a smirk planted itself on his lips. “You’re Y/N, right? Nice to meet you,”

“Hi,” you smiled, your attention quickly snapping towards someone else when a familiar hand settled itself on your smaller back.

“Hey,” Jon said, propping his bag up his shoulder as he looked down at you. “Good evening, ladies,”

The girls barely even answered, too busy with greeting their husbands and boyfriends and congratulating them to actually acknowledge the captain. “Did you have fun?” He asked, his thumb drawing small circles on your back, your stomach filling with butterflies all over again.

“Of course I did,” you smiled.

“You busy tonight, Jon?” Patrick asked, snapping the two of you out of your trance. “Drinks at mine?”

“We’re going out,” Jonathan stated, looking at his teammate with a smile. “Next time, I promise,”

You still couldn’t contain the giddy feeling whenever he referred to the two of you as ‘we’, it was something that had always made you so smitten.

“It’s fine, man. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Patrick winked, leaving you just enough time to say goodbye to Amanda before the two were off on their own.

“Shall we go?” Jon asked, his eyes focused on yours as the hallway cleared out around you. With a nod of your head, the two of you were headed off towards his car, reaching in just a few minutes a fancy bar.

The lights inside were dim, and it wasn’t the usual kind of bar filled with bodies and loud music. There were tables, just a few of them occupied by people enjoying their drinks in silence as soft jazz music set the vibe. It was cozy, in some kind of way, even if the place was extremely out of your reach.

A table was reserved for you near one of the ample windows facing a rainy Chicago, the warmth inside the room making you breathe out a sigh of relief. “I like this place,” you said, looking around the room with a smile on your face.

“I’ve been coming here for years, now,” Jon admitted, taking a seat in front of you. “I don’t like normal bars too much, they’re too messy,”

“This place represents you, in some way,” you mumbled, your eyes finding his.

“I guess it does,” was all he mumbled before ordering your drinks, voice firm as he talked to the waitress. You were sure he couldn’t see the way she was looking at him, heart-eyed as she scribbled down the drinks as best as she could, it was almost funny.

When she left you to yourselves, silence built between you. You were more than nervous, to say the least, and he seemed to be in his thoughts, in his own world. He clearly was snapped out of his trance when your drinks were slipped in front of you.

“Y/N, I just wanted to apologize for everything,” he spoke, looking at the liquid inside his glass quickly before letting his eyes meet yours. “I never thought things would go like that, I even tried to hold myself back, but I didn’t make it,”

“It’s okay, Jon,” you whispered, playing with the rim of your glass as you tried to find some words to say. “I have to apologize too, what I did was anything but professional,”

“Y/N, it’s not your fault,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you. “If it wasn’t for me, things would have been normal, now,”

You stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes holding yours as you tried to not mutter out what you had been thinking about for ages, your body shaking in anticipation as you played with your fingers.

“I don’t want them to be normal, though,” you whispered with your last ounce of courage, shocking your own self as you bit on your lip. He looked at you in silence, making it hard for you to understand what he was feeling. “I wish you knew how I feel whenever you touch me, or when you say my name, Jon,”

There was a beat before he spoke, his voice firm after taking a sip of his drink. “Tell me what you want, Y/N,”

“I want you to make me yours, even if it’s just for one night,” you breathed out, holding eye contact as you said your next words. “Even if it might not work,”

He adjusted himself on his chair, biting on his bottom lip as his pupils dilated, giving you a once over. “Don’t play with fire, sweetheart,”

“Am not,” your voice was coated with lust as his hand traveled up your thigh with anything but hesitance. “You can take me home if you want me, Captain,”

He held your eyes for another moment, downing his whiskey before standing up, dropping a bill on the table. “Stand up,” was all he said, voice dark as he looked down at you. You fell into your submissive character as soon as his voice became authoritative, automatically jumping to your feet and following him out of the bar, the cold rain falling on your face.

The drive was silent, filled with tension as Jonathan went over the speed limit, the streets empty. His hand was on your thigh, too close to your center to even make you think straight. Everything was going too fast, but you didn’t care anymore.

Were the few sips of alcohol making you intoxicated, or was it Jon? Was it the strong scent of his cologne, the touch of his hand on your skin, his dark eyes?

His grip on your thigh tightened when he parked the car inside his garage, his eyes meeting yours for a long moment before he finally leaned in, over the console, and kissed you.

His lips were softer than you could remember, but there wasn’t anything soft about the way he was kissing you, grabbing you to pull you over his lap. You were eager to see where things were going to head, curious to explore more of him, and he was feeling the same way.

As his tongue caressed yours, his hands found their way towards your ass, pushing your center even closer to his growing bulge. You bit his bottom lip to suppress a moan, your hands dropping to his chest to undo his already messy tie.

He pulled away to breathe in some air, his lips ghosting over the skin of your neck as he grazed your throat with his teeth, shivers running down your spine. “Jon-”

“Say my name, sweetheart,” he said, voice dark as he threw his undone tie in the backseat. His hand dipped inside your jeans, tracing over your panties as he kept eye contact. “Tell the world who makes you feel good,”

“Jon-” you moaned again, head thrown back as he grasped your neck to pull you closer again, letting his lips find yours for another heated kiss, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Let’s head inside, baby,” was all he grumbled against your lips, hands on your thighs as he opened the car door. You whined, not wanting the moment to end, which made his voice darken even more. “Don’t be a brat. I’m not fucking you in my car on our first time. I’m better than that,”

You had to hold back a moan as he carefully exited the car, holding your body in his arms as he expertly walked towards the elevator, his mouth on yours. You were so lost in him you barely even registered your back hitting his comforter a few minutes later, his body hovering over yours as he wrapped your legs around his waist.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to have you like this,” he grumbled in your ear, breathing heavily as he pushed your shirt over your head, your bra following along. “Under me, at my mercy,”

His words, followed by his lips on your breasts, made the coil inside your stomach tighten. He felt so close, so real. You realized you weren’t on your own, in your room late at night, taking care of all the pent-up tension anymore. Jonathan Toews - the man who had been the center of your world for months, the man who had kept you up at night ever since he had first laid eyes on you - was on top of you, finally giving life to every fantasy of yours, and probably also of his.

His touch wasn’t as soft as it used to be anymore, his hands roughly moving from your sides to the button of your jeans, opening it in a rush as his lips found your skin again. His fingers ghosted over your heat, making you moan out a curse.

“Jon, don’t stop,” you breathed out, his lips kissing their way down to your navel. He was faced with your heat in a second, his hands pushing your underwear down your legs. You had to suppress a whine when the cold air of his room hit your heated core, your walls contracting around nothing as he let the pad of his index finger trace your slit.

“Look at you,” he whispered, licking his lips as he watched you quiver under his mere touch. “So drenched for me,”

He placed kisses on your inner thighs, teasing you just right as you whimpered under his touch, your fingers grasping his hair just when he finally let his mouth find your center. He was eager to learn what ticked you off, what made you feel good, what you needed to come off the edge. He had wanted to know for so long.

Jonathan sucked your clit in his mouth, the strangled moan that left your lips being enough to make his pants tighten even more. His tongue slid down to your entrance, his strong arms holding your waist down when you tried to follow his movements, to get some relief.

“Don’t make me tie you down, sweetheart,” was all he said, voice deep as his eyes bore deep into yours, sending you into a state of submission. When he dipped down again, he kept eye contact, his humming against your heat almost bringing you over the edge.

His tongue was making you feel stars, touching places you didn’t even know could make you feel so weak. He knew what he was doing, and he took pride in it. By the time one of his fingers slid inside of you, you were a moaning mess, everything inside your body screaming at you to let go.

Jon was attentive, keeping his eyes on you to see just how good he was making you feel, just how easily he could work you over the edge. But, just as you were about to give in and let the orgasm take over you, he stopped his movements, his lips kissing their way up your body again.

“Want to take it slow,” he whispered in your ear teasingly, biting your lobe and letting you know you weren’t going to leave the bed anytime soon. His mouth was on yours again, your taste on his lips making you moan.

Your hands were quick at undoing the buttons of his white, neatly ironed, shirt; your fingers didn’t hesitate when they touched the newfound skin of his chest, so warm and soft it made you melt.

His pants were off in a second, thrown in a corner of the room as his lips stayed on yours. You didn’t think you’d be able to separate after the night, after finally giving in and letting yourselves get close.

You were eagerly palming his cock over his boxers, ready to push yourself to your knees and give him what he had been thinking about for months. His hand gripped your wrists tightly just when you were about to push his undergarments down his thighs, your eyes snapping up to his when he shook his head. “Tonight’s about you, sweet girl,” he whispered, letting his free hand card through your already messy hair before giving it a firm tug. “On your hands and knees,”

His authoritative voice had always made you oh so desperate for him, and that time, it wasn’t any different. You were positioned in the middle of the bed as quickly as you could, your ass up in the air as he explored your body with his eyes.

“So pretty for me,” he muttered, discarding his boxers before making his way towards you. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him as he leaned down to kiss your spine. “Beg for it, baby girl,”

“Please, Jon-” you whined, burying your face in his pillows, completely at his mercy. “Please, fuck me,”

The chuckle that left his body was enough to make you clench around air again, the shameless moan that exited your mouth getting muffled by the soft material of his pillows. “So desperate,” he unexpectedly slid his length inside of you, the stretch making chills run down your spine as a string of curses left his lips.

“Fuck- so tight for me, sweetheart,” he breathed out, his hips stuttering for a quick second before he started to thrust into you, the sound of his hips smacking against your ass harshly filling the room.

His thrusts were quick, his skin slapping against yours rhythmically as you moaned loudly. One of his hands gripped your hair, pulling your head away from his pillows, the sting of his pulling sending pleasure to your clit.

“I want to hear every single moan,” he grumbled in your ear, his punishing pace sending you into subspace as your high neared again, your legs struggling to keep the rest of your body up. He could feel your walls constricting around him, making his own pleasure even more evident as he tried to keep his cool.

Your moans became louder again when you started to tip over the edge, but you were denied your orgasm again when Jon pulled his cock out of you, gently handling you around.

You found yourself on your back, legs spread for him as he tapped his cock against your overstimulated entrance, a smirk on his face as he entered you again. “Want you to look at me when I make you cum, sweetheart,”

His words had you whimpering, your eyes closing as he moved inside of you, the new angle making you feel even better. His hand slipped down your body, reaching your clit and teasing it as he kept his bruising pace.

“Jon- Jon I’m going to cum,” you breathed out, your legs wrapping around his middle as they slightly shook, holding him closer to you.

“Look at me,” he said, his fingers on your clit speeding up. “I said, look at me, Y/N,”

You let your eyes meet his as your orgasm made your body shake, a shout of his name leaving your mouth as your walls convulsed around his cock. You were breathing harshly as he helped you ride your high, his hips snapping quickly against yours as he held back groans.

He pulled out quickly, coming all over your stomach with a loud groan as you tried to gain back your breathing, your eyes struggling to stay open. The room sat in silence as he left the bed, only to come back a few minutes later to clean you up.

He took care of the cum on your stomach, gently cleaning it with a wet towel before going back to his position between your thighs. “You did so good for me, tonight,” he whispered, hushing your whines when the towel touched your sensitive skin. “Such a good girl,”

“I probably should go,” you mumbled sleepily, trying to push yourself out of his bed only to be interrupted by his voice.

“Stay the night, Y/N. Please,”

“Jon-”

“Please,” he repeated, taking a seat next to your laying body on his bed. His eyes were scanning your face for any kind of discomfort as he let his hand card through your hair, the moment of softness making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

As you looked up at him, you found yourself realizing just where you were, just where you were laying. Your eyes really met his bedroom for the first time at that moment, noticing every single small piece of him that was resting inside the place that he found most personal, the place he barely let people in.

He was sharing it with you, the part of him that most people barely even knew.

He slid with you under the covers, pulling your body close to his as his eyes found yours. He pushed a strand of stray hair away from your face, his other hand drawing shapes on your smaller back.

“What are we doing, Jon?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hand cupping your cheek as he sighed out. Silence settled between you as you tried to figure out what was happening between the two of you, if your relationship had changed, but his voice filled the room again. “You know, I was in need of release after you ran away, that night,” he mumbled, his fingers toying with the ends of your curls. “There wasn’t a moment where I wasn’t thinking about you, when I was with that girl. It was a mistake-”

“Jon, please, stop it,” you whispered, looking up at him with a small smile. “I accept your apology,”

Your words seemed to put him at peace, at least for the night, and he pulled you even closer. “Get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning,” he whispered, tenderly kissing the top of your head as you cuddled on his side. Your body was tired, but your heart was beating quickly against your ribcage at how your night had ended.

Not only did you have the best sex of your life with the man you had been wishing for ever since day one, but you also found yourself cuddling by his side, his warm body pressed against yours. The question that left your lips was slurred by sleep, but you needed to know, you needed to know if it wasn’t going to end just so soon.

“Will you be there when I wake up?”

There was a beat after you said your words, his hand carding your hair one more time as he smiled.

“Of course I will,”

“Good morning,”

The whispered greeting had you slowly waking up, the warmth of Jon’s body close to yours making you breathe out a sigh of fondness. “Hey,”

“How did you sleep?” the man beside you asked, voice still sleepy as he played with your bed hair. You had to repress a giggle at his question, hiding your face in his chest as you mumbled out your answer.

“Like a baby,”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you as the other held his phone, his eyes focused on the screen. “Plans for the day?”

“You have to meet up with your coach this afternoon,” you said, your fingers drawing shapes on his naked chest. “What time is it?”

“Nine,”

“Jon, you’re late to practice,” you scolded him with a sigh, rolling your eyes when he shrugged.

“Everybody needs a day off,” he said, making a chuckle leave your mouth. “I’ll go grab us breakfast, don’t fall back asleep without me,”

A peck was placed on your lips as Jon left the bed, your body missing his warmth after just a few seconds of being apart. You looked at the ceiling as you took in the events of the previous night, well-accustomed to the butterflies in your stomach.

You had to refrain yourself from clenching your legs at the flashbacks from the late-night activities, instead biting on your bottom lip as you remembered just how good it felt to be touched by Jonathan.

His hands on your skin, his mouth on your body, his eyes locked with yours.

You weren’t ready to leave him, though. You weren’t ready to forget about the night the two of you had spent together, to name it ‘just a one-night stand’. You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, to scold him when he was late, to spend endless nights talking about your lives after some good sex, and to be his. That was what you wanted.

You settled on getting ready as best as you could, taking a quick shower and throwing on his discarded button-up from the previous night, his cologne invading your nostrils as soon as the expensive material slid over your skin.

You heard the front door shutting after you had just made yourself comfortable in the kitchen, your laptop opened in front of your eyes as Jonathan put the coffees on the table. “Got bagels. Is it okay?”

“More than okay,” you smiled, your eyes meeting his as you took a sip from your cup. “I hope me taking a quick shower wasn’t a problem,”

“Not at all,” he smiled, seemingly noticing your outfit just then, as he leaned against the kitchen counter while he took a bite of his food. His eyes roamed your figure for a long while, your cheeks becoming quite heated as you kept your gaze on your computer screen. “You look good in my clothes,”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t find my clothes from last night,” you whispered, biting on your lip as you avoided his eye contact.

“That shirt looks better on you anyway,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he peeked at your laptop. “What do you have to do, today?”

“Just picking up some clothes at the dry and clean,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of your bagel. “Oh, I also need to pick up some packages,”

“I’ll come with you,” he mumbled, letting his hands squeeze your waist quickly before going back to stand against the kitchen counter. Your heart was beating against your ribcage as you tried to act unbothered, one of your hands running through your hair.

“You have other stuff to do, Jon,” you sighed, turning around to face him.

“Don’t care,” he smirked, his thumb and index finger grabbing your chin to make you look up at him. His lips ghosted over yours teasingly as you struggled to breathe, the warmth in your stomach invading your entire body. “The world can wait a little more,”

-----

Huffing as you walked around the halls of the United Center, you were trying to hold all your stress under control. It was a stressful day for Jon and you, probably the most stressful day the two of you had ever had, and things had been going okay.

Well, they had been going okay until Jonathan was nowhere to be seen after morning practice, your busy schedule being put on hold as you scanned through every room inside the building anxiously.

He had a meeting, a very important one, in fact. Coaches, PR teams and the most important people of the Blackhawks were all finding themselves in one room to discuss important business, and the captain just couldn’t be late.

His coach had mumbled something about him being extremely distracted during the previous weeks, his head going elsewhere whenever it was possible, and it didn’t take a while for you to realize it was because of you.

It had been a few weeks ever since the night, and you were confused, to say the least. You felt as if you had gone back in time, when all the two of you could share was teasing touches, deep eye contact, and sexual tension. Why were you two playing hard to get?

The large doors of the dressing room snapped you out of your thoughts, your heart hammering against your chest as you wondered whether it was a good idea or not to actually search for him inside. It probably was an invasion of privacy, right?

You almost squealed in fear when the doors opened, revealing one of Jon’s teammates, a beaten-up look on his face as his eyes met yours. “Can I help you?”

“I, uh- is Jonathan in there?” You asked nervously, sighing in relief when the younger guy nodded his head absentmindedly. “Thank you,”

He muttered something under his breath as he walked away, leaving you to open the doors to the changing room in silence. You were faced with emptiness, just the faint sounds of shuffling entering your ears as you looked around the room.

“Jonathan?”

“Ah, just who I wanted to see,”

His face sported a smirk when he walked towards the main hall of the room, dressed in only one of his extremely tight thermal shirts and a pair of boxers. He was hot, and he knew it; hell, he even took pride in it, you were sure.

“Missed you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you close to his body. You seemed to snap back to your thoughts - too busy admiring his Adonis-like body - just then, looking up at him with a stern look.

“Jonathan, you’ve got a meeting to attend,” you said, pushing against his chest to get him away from you. “And you’re so fucking late for it,”

“You’re hot when you’re pissed off,” he mumbled, dipping his head to your shoulder to press a line of kisses over your blouse, his fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. “Everyone was looking at your ass, sweetheart. Did you know that?”

You closed your eyes as his kisses trailed up your neck, reaching your sweet spot in just a few seconds. You felt in heaven, so deeply pushed into a lust-filled trance by just his mouth as you forgot what was happening outside, what you needed to do. “Had to kick all their asses to get their eyes off of you,”

His possessiveness was sending jolts to your core, his touch so teasing yet so pleasurable as he pressed another coat of kisses down your neck. His hands slid to your ass as he let his body drop down on one of the benches, your legs straddling his waist.

“Jonathan, the meeting starts in ten minutes and you don’t even have a suit on,” you scolded him as best as you could, his fingers undoing the first few buttons of your shirt.

“Just enough time to fuck you,” he whispered against your lips, his mouth on yours a second later as his hands were already pushing your underwear to the side to tease your drenched center. “So wet for me this early in the morning, baby girl?”

You let out a shaky moan as his thumb played with your clit, the pleasure too strong to pull yourself away from him. “We’ve got to be quick, Jon,” Your hands dropped to his bulge, pushing his boxers out of the way as he aligned his cock with your entrance, ignoring your sentence.

“So needy for me,” he muttered, his cock sliding against your walls smoothly as you moaned out his name, your hands tightly gripping his shoulders. To say you were a little surprised to have sex with him for the second time inside the United Center’s dressing room was an understatement, but everything felt just too good to make it end.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” he whispered, nipping on your earlobe as his hands helped you rock your hips against his, a sharp moan leaving your lips at the stretch. A few groans left his mouth when you picked up the pace, one of his hands dropping to your clit as he relished in the pleasure.

“Jon-” you moaned, your head lulling back as he kissed your neck, his teeth leaving a love bite on your skin. He knew it was something he shouldn’t have done, that marking was for kids, but he wanted the world to know you were his, even if he didn’t have the balls to make you his.

He seemed to be pushed in a trance as you speeded up even more, trying to chase your high and bring him to his as quickly as possible, time clicking. “I’m gonna cum,” you whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as the pleasure became too much.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he spoke, voice sweet as he let his lips find yours again. “Milk my cock, baby,”

Your eyes locked with his as you came, mouth opened in a silent moan as your cunt clenched around his length, bringing him unbelievably close to his orgasm. You kept moving on top of him as best as you could, your sensitive pussy making you whine.

“I gotta cum, sweetheart,” he groaned in your ear, subtly telling you he needed to pull out. Your cheeks, as heated as they already were, seemed to burn even more as you whispered your next words, hiding your face from him.

“I’m on the pill,”

“Fuck- shit-” he muttered under his breath, the thought of being able to cum inside of you sending him over the edge, his abs clenching as he released against your walls. You caught your breaths together, his forehead leaning against yours after he pecked your lips gently.

Your eyes dropped to your watch, noticing you had just a few minutes before the start of the meeting, another curse leaving your lips. “Jon, you better get yourself ready,” you said, pulling yourself away from his body to fix yourself up.

You were hoping it wasn’t too evident that you had just fucked with your boss inside the dressing rooms as you made your way towards the doors, ready to leave.

“Y/N?”

You turned around to face Jonathan, who was messily trying to put on the tailored suit you loved on him. “What?”

There was a beat of silence as he pulled on his slacks, sending you a quick look. “The team is hosting this gala, next weekend,” he mumbled, cheeks rosy as he avoided your eye contact. “I was wondering if you wanted to come along?”

“Are you asking me out, Jon?” You giggled, biting on your bottom lip.

“I’m trying to,” he huffed. “You obviously don’t have to, if you-”

“Yes,”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll be your date,” you giggled, tugging him close to you by the collar of his shirt to kiss him, your body relaxing against his. When you pulled back, a smile was resting on his lips, your heart beating out of your chest. “Now, get ready. There’s a meeting we have to be at,”

-----

You were so fucked.

The Cartier bracelet was on your wrist, shining under the lights of your apartment as you touched up your makeup, stomach churning nervously. You had come home to a couple of boxes on your bed, well-known names printed on top of them, and you were shocked, to say the least.

The material of your dress - a classy, black cocktail dress - was soft against your skin, and you were trying to refrain yourself from looking it up and check the price tag. The bracelet had been your breaking point, your eyes tearing up at the sight of the rose gold accessory you had found yourself admiring more than a month prior.

It felt strange to get spoiled by someone, you were going to be honest.

You heard the faint knock just as you were slipping on a dark pair of stilettos, your lips pulling into a smile as you opened the door, your eyes falling onto your date. He seemed speechless as he gave your body a once-over, his eyes softening at your smile.

“You look stunning, sweetheart,” he said, voice gentle as he tried to tear his eyes off of you. His hand slipped into yours, pushing it up to his lips to leave a lingering kiss on your skin, his eyes finding just later the bracelet he had given you.

“Thank you, Jon,” you whispered, cheeks heating up at his comment. He was looking better than ever in his all-black suit, matching your outfit perfectly, and it was hard for you to keep the butterflies in your stomach at bait.

“We should head out, I know you hate being late,” Jon mumbled, his eyes still not leaving you as you locked the front door behind yourself, his body close to yours. He led you out of the building with a gentle arm around your waist, nothing but warmth filling your chest as he helped you inside the car.

You were in silence as the driver moved the car around the city, directed towards the venue, Jon’s hand staying firmly on your thigh. You had so much on your mind, so much keeping you in your thoughts, and Jon seemed to notice.

“What’s happening in that pretty head of yours, darling?” He whispered, the palm on your thigh moving to grasp your hand.

“You- you bought me all this stuff and-”

“This is my way of saying thank you,” he whispered, smiling your way as the car came to a halt. “I actually bought the Cartier when we were shopping for my mom’s presents,”

Your eyebrows scrunched as you chuckled, giving him a shocked look as he helped you out of the vehicle. “Really?”

“Yeah,”

“You never told me if your mother liked the gifts,” you whispered as the two of you walked inside the venue, your arms linked together as people smiled your way.

“She did,” he stated, greeting one of his teammates with a nod of his head. “She loved the bracelet more than I thought she would,”

You smiled proudly, waving excitedly towards Amanda when her eyes caught yours. “God, Y/N, you look so beautiful tonight!” She squealed, pulling you in a hug as Patrick and Jon talked, her hands gentle on your skin as she took a good look at you.

You thanked her shyly, leaning against Jon’s side as your attention was pushed towards the center of the room, where they were announcing the start of the gala. You were introduced to various people throughout the night - shaking hands, hugging wives and girlfriends, even waving to some little kids - and you felt quite tired when you found yourself in the middle of a makeshift dance floor, your arms wrapped around Jonathan’s neck.

He seemed to be in his thoughts, his touch warm on your skin as the two of you messily swayed to the music, your eyes closing. “What are you thinking about, Jon?”

“It’s complicated, sweetheart,” he whispered, sighing when your head found its place on his shoulder.

“Tell me about it, I’m willing to listen,”

He chuckled, his thumb drawing shapes on your back as he tried to find the words, the courage, to tell you he was in love with you. He hadn’t felt like that in ages, so whipped for someone, so willing to give them the world, if they asked. It felt scary, he had never fallen in love that quickly for anyone before, but something in him told him you weren’t a mistake. You were the one.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he mumbled, pressing a small kiss to your shoulder. “And I truly can’t get you out of my mind, in any way I try. You’re my constant thought, no matter where I am or who I am with.

“I wake up every morning, and the first person I see is you. When I come home, you’re there to ask about my day, always smiling,” your body stopped swaying as you listened to his words, the world surrounding you stopping as you focused on the moment. “You’re who I want to see every moment of the day, you’re who I want to wake up next to, and who I want to gift flowers to on Valentine’s day.

“You’re who I want to vent to, and who I want to spend lazy afternoons with. I’ve made mistakes, Y/N, and you’ve always been there to help me through it, to accept my apologies,”

“Jon-” tears were coating your eyes as you realized where he was heading, your heart fluttering.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks as his eyes stared deeply into yours, softness in his voice. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, and it’s scary,”

“I love you, too, Jonathan,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his as you bit your lip. “So much,”

He didn’t seem to care that you were in the middle of a room filled with people, his eyes were gentle as he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss you had never experienced before, so full of passion and love.

He pulled you closer to his body as he kissed you again, his gentle hand keeping your face close to his by the jaw as he showed you all his love in just one kiss. When you pulled apart, you didn’t care about the people staring at you and him, or the hushed whispers that they were sharing. You just leaned your forehead against his again, catching your breaths in silence as a giggle erupted from your mouth.

“Be mine, baby,” he whispered, smiling down at you. “My one and only,”

“I’m yours, Jon,”

Taglist: @thirstyybitch @bellaguarneri @boqvistsbabe @trashforbarzal @captaindaddies @keithseabrook27

#jonathan toews #jonathan toews x reader #nhl #nhl x reader #chicago blackhawks #hockey imagine #jonathan toews imagine

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theskywaslookingback · 3 years

Text

[AO3] - [read the rest of the series here]

Martin has the TV set to a low murmur, letting Bake Off reruns play in the background as he combs his fingers through Gerry’s hair. It’s warm in the flat, the summer worming its way in through the cracks of the place and turning everything hot and tight. The fan is louder than the TV, oscillating back and forth between the two bodies slumped on the sofa and the one on the chair.

Jon grumbles as the movement rustles his papers, his glasses low on his nose and gaze intent on the paper he’s reading.

“You know,” Gerry says from his comfortable position on Martin’s lap, “if you didn’t assign so much work, you wouldn’t have so much to grade.”

Martin pinches Gerry’s ear in admonishment as Jon makes a noise of protest from his comfortable perch on the arm chair. Gerry yelps and then laughs, swatting at Martin’s hand.

“I’m just saying, you do this to yourself.”

“Hush,” Martin says, tugging gently on a lock of black hair, “It’s too hot to deal with you.”

Gerry hums, picking his head up enough to wink at Jon who just sighs in reply. Gerry settles back in and Martin resumes his petting. It’s nice, despite the heat, one of the very few days they have to spend together. Jon had offered to help out with a summer class at the university that had been overbooked and Gerry had recently been promoted to manager at the bar he’d been working for, which was all phenomenal and Martin was so proud of them both, but it left them all with shockingly little time together.

Martin’s thumb strokes down Gerry’s neck, rubbing over an old tattoo of an eye, pressing down slightly at the pupil. Gerry huffs a breath into his lap and turns just enough to look at him. “Hi,” Martin says.

“Hey.” Comes the soft reply, warm and fond.

Martin would very much like to kiss him, but that would require a level of flexibility he’s never possessed, so he settles for bringing his own hand up to his palm and kissing the center of it before setting it back down lightly over Gerry’s mouth. He can feel the smile tugging at Gerry’s lips before his palm is being kissed in return and Martin brings it back up to his mouth. “Tea?” He asks after finishing the ritual.

“Christ,” Jon says, letting his papers and pen fall onto the small table at his side. The pen jumps at the small shock and rolls off onto the floor. “Please? If I don’t take a break I may actually start pulling my hair out.”

“Well we wouldn’t want that.” Martin says.

“Mmm, I don’t know.” Gerry says, tapping his finger to his chin as if in indecision, “Bald can be sexy. I seem to recall a time when you shaved your head and it didn’t look that bad.”

“Oh?” Delight suffuses through Martin like honeyed sunshine, “Now that’s something I would have loved to have seen.”

Gerry’s face lights up and he sits bolt upright. “Wait here a second,” he says before hopping off the couch and bounding toward the bedroom. There’s a loud crack, like the door has banged off a wall, and then the sound of things hitting the floor in a hurry.

Martin looks over at Jon, bewildered, but Jon just gives a helpless shrug, looking just as lost as he feels. He’s about to get up and go see just what the hell Gerry is doing when he comes tearing back into the room, clutching something in his hands.

“Look!” He crows, clearly pleased with himself, and hands out a book to Martin.

It’s not very large, about the size of a standard journal, and bound in worn, brown leather. The front of it is scuffed, the top corner bent inward like it’d been stepped on or stuffed somewhere and left like that for a long time, forgotten. “What is-“

From the chair he hears Jon say, “Is that-“

But Gerry drowns them both out with his plea of, “Open it!”

So Martin does.

Inside the front cover is a mess of pen drawings and doodles. A stylized eye, a moth, an anarchy symbol, a middle finger, half of them overlapping and the lines blurring. There’s a burst of black in the top right, a dark blot like a burst pen. In the center of the mess are big blocky letters, all caps.

PROPERTY OF GERRY KEAY

Below that, in a much smaller font that Martin can only decipher from years of recognition and practice.

and Jon Sims.

Martin looks up at Gerry who just grins and flops back down on the couch next to him, pressing hard up against his side like he’s eager to watch. Martin flips to the next page.

There’s a polaroid taped to the center, two young boys staring up at him with twin grins of mischief and joy. The boy on the left has chestnut brown hair cropped short. His mouth and hands look sticky and stained a bright red, the likely cause of which being the ice lolly stick still clutched in his right hand. The boy on the right is much smaller, with unruly black hair and red stains on his button down shirt and a matching red mouth. At the bottom someone had written in a tight, cursive script ‘Gerard and Jonathan, August 1999.’ Someone had drawn an ice cream van on the bottom of the page. At the top, in Gerry’s capital letter font, were the words PARTNERS IN CRIME.

The following pages are similar, photos taped onto the pages, sometimes overlapping each other. Some were clearly taken by Jon’s grandmother - the two of them dressed in suits for some function, the two of them sitting at a table and studying, the two of them asleep in the backyard. Others were clearly taken by the two themselves - Gerry smoking a cigarette and flipping off the camera, Jon holding a bottle of beer, Jon reaching for the camera and looking angry, Gerry riding a skateboard, Gerry on the ground with his skateboard upside down next to him. Some of them held commentary - WE LOOKED LIKE TWATS we were eleven!, Gerry has never once landed a kick flip HEY!!!!, we stayed up waiting for the meteor shower, BEST MATES FOR LIFE. Even more held doodles - ocean waves crashing against a rock, a pair of doves, zig zag mazes and tic tac toe, a lit cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“Ah-ha!” Gerry exclaims when Martin is more than halfway through the book, jamming his finger down at the picture taped there.

Martin jumps and looks at him.

“I knew it was in here,” Gerry says smugly.

By this point it looked as if Gerry had already started dying his hair black and growing it long, almost past his shoulders. His eyes were rimmed in black eyeliner and he had at least two piercings that Martin knew hadn’t come with parental permission. Next to him was Jon, hair buzzed down to his scalp and scowling impressively at the camera, wearing a too large leather jacket and a t-shirt for a band Martin had never heard of.

“Oh!” Martin says, grinning, “It looks so good!” He looks up to gauge Jon’s reaction, maybe even tease him a bit, but the words die quickly in his throat.

Jon’s looking right at Gerry, his face a mass of emotions that Martin is at a loss to try and describe. His eyes look wet.

“Jon?” Martin asks, concern tugging away his amusement and leaving it raw.

Gerry’s head snaps up, his own smile rapidly disappearing in the weight of Jon’s gaze.

There’s a long moment where none of them say anything and the room is stifling from the heat and tension. Martin looks between the two of them, trying to piece together what on earth could possibly be wrong, but he’s coming up short on pieces to work with.

It seems like forever before Jon finally says, “You kept it?” The tone of his voice is raw and brittle.

Martin very gently closes the book and sets in down on the coffee table.

Gerry’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, confused noises eeking out like the squeaking of a rusted hinge. He seems almost as lost as Martin is. Finally his words take shape and land on, “Yes? Yeah, of course I did. Why wouldn’t I have?”

Jon’s eyes flicker away, to the oscillating fan and then to the TV kindly asking if they were still watching. He picks at a loose thread on the chair, fingers working anxiously. “I thought…after your mother- after you left- I thought that…”

Gerry’s eyebrows pull together, his lips tipping down into a frown. “What? Did you think I’d thrown it away?”

Jon shrugs, first one shoulder and then the other, like the collapse of a building. “Just kind of...assumed.” His hands were wringing together now, picking at the skin gently and scratching at his wrist. “After the...after the funeral we weren’t really talking, and then you were just...gone. Thought maybe…” Jon shrugs again, this time lower, hunching himself down smaller, “maybe you didn’t want to remember.”

Oh, Martin thought distantly. Gerry’s mother, Mary, had died when he was only 16, apparently by suicide. It had been a sudden, violent thing that had sent Gerry’s childhood spiraling in a direction he couldn’t control. Less than a week from the time his mother had died, Gerry had been uprooted from the home in Bournemouth he’d always lived in and made to move in with a distant relative named Gertrude up in London. He’d barely had time to process any of it, let alone let Jon know what was happening. It was over ten years before they’d seen each other again, and the gap had always been a sore spot for both Jon and Gerry.

Gerry makes a choked noise and crosses the room in quick strides to kneel in front of the chair. He gathers Jon’s hands in his own, cradling them together. “No,” he says, so softly Martin can barely hear him, “Not you.” He brings their hands up so he can kiss the backs of Jon’s hands, brush his lips over the knuckles. “I never wanted to forget you.”

Jon’s breath hitches.

Martin watches Gerry hold Jon’s hands to his face and mumble something that he can’t make out. Jon’s fingers twitch in response and he huffs out a breath. After a moment he gets up and goes into the kitchen to make them all some tea, flicking the switch on the electric kettle and rummaging through the pantry to find the container of lemongrass tea that he knows Jon likes and the mint tea that Gerry prefers. It doesn’t take long, but he likes the ritual of it anyway. He gathers their two mugs in one hand, and his own mug of a spicy black tea in the other and heads back into the sitting room.

Jon has moved over to the couch, tucked under Gerry’s arm with the book in his lap.

Martin smiles and sets their tea down.

When Jon looks up, Martin bends down and kisses his forehead and then grins wider when Jon’s nose and forehead scrunch up.

“Okay?” Martin asks.

Jon waves at him dismissively but makes a grab for his shirt when Martin turns like he’s going to take the chair. “Yes,” he says, exasperated, “come here, please.”

Gerry squishes himself into the corner and pulls Jon closer to make room, so Martin sighs and fits himself in next to them on the sofa. It’s a cramped fit, but ultimately worth it for the way Jon relaxes against him, flipping absently through the book of memories on his lap.

“Gerry had a point, at least.” Martin says.

“Hm?”

“You looked good with a shaved head,” Martin says too lightly, “might be a good summer to try it again.”

Jon’s protests are drowned out by Gerry’s instant and joyous peal of laughter.

Jon says something about ‘nothing being sacred’, the tips of his ears burning, while Martin tries to hide his grin in his cup of tea. He almost succeeds.

#fic #my fic #visible world #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerard keay #jongerrymartin #((here I’ve been writing for like three hours))#((you can have it))#((edit: just realized this was missing a whole ass paragraph??))#((also added a keep reading since apparently no one will reblog anything anymore))

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uncrownedmox · 3 years

Text

Dirty Secret

The Rigmarole: Mention of sexual contact / descriptive- dirty language. Swearing. Mox being a dominant cocky asshole. Sexual shenanigans (oral, male/female giving, toy play, alpha status) 18+ only.

Pairing. Dean Ambrose/Jon Moxley x OC

Rating. MC

Summary: When she looked at him she knew she was complete. She was HOME. They laughed and spent all their free time together. She wasn't surprised by the rumors, hurt yes but surprised no.

But he said not to worry, in the wrestling world, everything becomes a storyline sooner or later. That was fine with her. Sooner or later everyone will know who she is- the only thing she didn't plan on was the Shield. Or how looking at HIM made her into someone new, someone larger than life. She thought she was complete before? That she was home? Now..she knows better.

But now Evolution is back.. and that sledgehammer feels so heavy in her small hands.

(Actually, matches and timelines WON'T match up to this story. )

January 2013

Looking around she wasn’t sure where to go or who to speak to. The busy buzz of backstage was intimidating at best and people seemed only to be concerned in their own little bubble. Moving to the side as a fast-moving cart of clothing came flying by Catherine Jane Parks sighed and continued down the hallway.

Her long platinum hair was tied back into a loose braid and she had loose strands framing her face. Her light honey-colored eyes darting left and right until she came across a blonde woman standing around the round looking over a sheet of paper.

“Excuse me, Miss.” Keeping her voice light and hoping her confusion wasn’t too evident.

Watching as dark brown shot up to her and saw the surprise as the other woman took in her jeans and Nike hoodie. Smiling in what she hoped was a friendly matter CJ pushed forward.

“I was wondering if you could tell me where to find.” Pausing for a moment she had to remember what exactly to him.

Their relationship was so new and fragile that they had dared put a label on it. Digging out her phone from her back pocket she scrolled through some text messages and nodded silently when she came upon it. Looking back up at the blonde she smiles big.

“Hunter?”

She saw the blonde’s eyes go wide and dart from left to right then swallow hard. Then after a stale moment, she nods and chokes out softly as she points down the hallway. Licking her lips as she starts to speak and rolls the paper she had been looking at up in her hands.

“Down that hallway, take a left, third door on your right. Knock right- always knock first.”

Then she taps the rolled-up paper against her head as if she was reminding herself to do so. Nodding as she turned down the hallway CJ thanked her and made her way with the directions she was given. Coming up on the door she leaned her head against it for a moment. This would be only the second time they have met, and it took her breath away.

Knocking as she got herself back under control, hearing his rough voice call out in a biting command.

“Come.”

Smiling as she pushed the door open and slipped inside. He was sitting at a desk, in a dress shirt that was rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were focused on a piece of paper, but twitching to look at a laptop screen that was set up to his right. CJ simply leaned against the door and watched him for a few seconds.

Then his eyes flicker to her, a ghost of a smile graces his lips and gentles ask. “How was your flight?”

Kicking herself off the door and moving closer she settles into the plush chair that is across from his desk. Their eyes haven’t strayed from one another, they are both smiling like idiots now. There is so much to say and to do now that she is here, here with him.

“Good, I have never flown before so it was something else.”

She sees the surprise in his dark eyes, the hurt as well but she dismissed it. She doesn’t want regret or hurt between them. Reaching to lay a hand on top of his she squeezes lightly, hoping he understands. Smiling a little when a light shines in his dark eyes. Suddenly there is another knock on the door. Withdrawing her hand she sits back in the chair, almost ashamed. Smiling a little when he whispers out an apology and then bellows out.

“Come.”

Turning cause she is curious about his life and his business because she wants to be a part of everything that is him. She blinks in surprise as three rather large men come walking in, Hunter sighs and picks up the paper he had been looking at when she had came in.

“Joe, Colby, Jon, good good.” His eyes dart to her and she realizes that maybe she has overstayed her welcome?

Hitching her thumb towards the door in silent question and wanting to squeal in delight when Hunter shakes his head. She simply nods and tries to melt more into the chair. Hunter sighs and shakes the piece of paper at the three men.

“Care to tell me what this was about?”

Glancing back when she heard a deep sigh followed by a grunt. She saw the man in the middle close his eyes and rub at his temples, the man to his right just stared ahead, but the man on the left looked right at Hunter and muttered softly.

“Poor timing or self-defense?”

He said it so innocently CJ was almost convinced until she saw the glint of his hard blue eyes. The small kick of a smile on his lips, then a lock of his hair fell into those devilish eyes and CJ knew what he was. He was pure trouble. Moving without thinking about she made her way to stand by Hunter’s side. Not trusting Mr. Blue Eyes for a minute.

She was aware her movement had all four men looking at her in question. Shifting uncomfortably, she glanced down to see the paper Hunter was waving around at the three men in front of him.

A police report

Snorting softly, it would seem as Mr. Blue Eyes was a little troublemaker. Feeling his hard blue eyes on her she moved closer to Hunter, and keep on reading the report only stopping when Hunter spoke again.

“How do you claim self-defense, Good? She was an undercover cop.”

Mr. Blue Eyes, aka Good which she found hilarious because she only see him being good at being bad.

“Fine Entrapment then, fuck boss-man the things she said she could do with her pus.”

Eyes wide, mouth going dry. Watching as the guy in the middle slapped Mr. Blue Eyes in the chest and the other man grunted. Hunter raising out of his chair, a snarl on his lips.

“You watch your fucking mouth, Good. There is a Lady present.”

Mr. Blue Eyes blinks at Hunter then at her, all the while rubbing his chest. When goes to open his mouth Hunter snaps out.

“You all three are fined ten thousand dollars each, consider it a welcome to the big leagues.”

When Mr. Blue Eyes flares in either anger or disgust Hunter adds.

“The next time it will be fifty thousand and a suspension. I don’t give a fuck hot the Shield is right now. You will learn to play by my rules and understand that this is not the fucking indies- you understand me, Mox?”

Putting a hand on Hunter’s foreman she wasn’t sure if this was a normal business day for him or not but he seemed so invested in what was happening. That it got her blood pumping, when he cast her a look. She smiled big for him. When he shoots the three men another glance she can tell he is calmer.

“I know you’re still adjusting, especially you Jon. I told you once, listen to Joe okay. He may have the least amount of experience in the ring as you and Colby but damn it man you all can learn shit from one another.”

Nodding in satisfaction she beamed at him, letting go of his foreman she knew from her own background that wasn’t always peaches and cream.

“It’s all about being a team. Learning each other's weaknesses and strengths. It’s not always easy to let someone in or let pick at the scabs you have.”

All four men were looking at her again, blushing. She shrugged and picked up a pen from Hunter’s desk, and clicked a few times.

“Colton words, not mine.”

Mr. Blue Eyes asks and she can hear the amusement in his voice. Making air quotes with her fingers she murmured.

“My dad, ex-bad boy player extraordinaire.”

Mr. Blue Eyes actually laughs at her then sticks his hands into his jean pockets.

“Darlin you don’t know bad boy until you know me.”

Now she is laughing, so much so that she has to hang onto Hunter’s chair so she doesn’t fall.

“You a bad boy? Please!”

She totally misses the hardness that enters his blue eyes as he takes a step forward, the middle man jerks him back and grunts out.

“Leave her alone man, she is just a little girl.”

Snorting as Hunter opens his mouth but she adds.

“I and a group of my friends met Colton at Peru’s. He had just bent my mother over in the bathroom for fifteen minutes after a fight, didn’t know who in the hell I was so after some angry sex and seeing my mom talk to me he thought it would be cool to try to get with me in the same bathroom.”

Hunter is snarling and has her in his arms in a flash. She is laughing cause she thinks it’s so damn funny now. Mr. Blue Eyes is smirking saucy.

“He didn’t piece it together for a while and for a while I let him play the charmer. You, can’t outdo Colton Messer, my friend. No matter what you say or do.”

The third man finally speaks up in a low smooth voice.

“The Colton Messer?”

Nodding she laughs as he flinches and glances at his friend then sighs. He mumbles a second later.

“Yeah, Uce give over. If half that shit is true- not even Mox is as bad as he is.”

Nodding as she shyly snuggles deeper into Hunter’s embrace she watches blue eyes blink then narrow. He licks his lips then after a moment he shrugs, turns to face Hunter again.

“Okay fine, you tightened the leash on your new puppy. Can we go?”

Hunter only grunts, his hand is in her hair, his lips on her forehead and she finally knows what it’s like to be home.

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

Watching him across the room she can help the smile that graces her lips. Seeing him in this element is breathtaking, his wife Stephine stands beside him but she could care less about that. The woman doesn’t seem to care for CJ, and that’s just fine. Hunter keeps them separated most of the time, except when they are at shows.

WWE shows

At twenty-four CJ never thought she would be working for such a company. Currently, she is working with Mr. Maddox who is a pure gentleman and a delight. She has caught on quickly that the wrestling world isn’t like the outside world, or even the racing world. Colton was always trying to sucker into working for him after graduating from college this spring. Hunter had put his foot down and told her absolutely not.

Glancing at him again she couldn’t help but be proud. She was aware of the rumors backstage, Hunter and she hadn’t gone public with their relationship. Hunter was trying to give his wife as much as needed to adjust to having CJ around and in her face. But the rumors were there already.

They simply chose not to acknowledge them because in Hunter’s words.

I am sorry CJ, like it or not. I know Steph- you’ll be a storyline before long.

Then the nature of their relationship will come to light, some would doubt it she was sure of that. But Hunter promised to take care of things. And so far he had upheld all his promises to her.

Like never having to see Chase Beckett again.

Frowning at the thought of the man that almost ruined her life she blushed when Hunter suddenly met her gaze. His dark eyes weren’t soft and playful like they normally were but hard and cold. She had gotten used to seeing that look for the cameras for TV. Watching as he brought his cell phone up to his face she watched in slight concern as after a moment he hung up and looked away from her. His attention back on whatever his wife was talking about.

“That was strange.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, jumping slightly when a warm hand comes to rest on her right shoulder. Turning she comes face to face with one Dean Ambrose, whom she first met in Hunter’s office three weeks ago as Mr. Blue Eyes. Of course, she knows Dean is just his character’s name and his real name is Jon. But she still gets confused sometimes on what to call these guys.

“Mr.”

He doesn’t let her finish instead he gently takes her elbow in hand and starts to lead her out. They were at some charity event and blinked as his two friends flanked him as they near the door.

“No fuss and no noise sweetheart. Hunters command.”

The phone call

“But why?”

The question is out of her mouth before she realizes it, the man gliding her only grunts but when a reporter at the entrance calls out.

“Chase, can we get a word?”

Stiffing she tries to melt into three larger men, she hides the best she can. Once they make it out, pass the entrance and into a SUV she reaches in her purse and digs out her phone and hits a speed dial number.

“Yes?”

His voice is gruff and hard, but she can hear the concern under it. It makes her want to weep.

“Thank you.”

There is a pause then in a year of their relationship she finally whispers.

“Thank you so much and I love you.”

He sucks in a breath, and she starts to openly cry. His words are light and his voice is gentle.

“I love you too, CJ. Since the day I met you.”

She hears him hang up and she can’t stop crying because even with the hurdle of telling Hunter she loves him she feels so very much alone. A strong arm comes around her shoulders and she doesn’t even blink; she just turns into him and balls her eyes out.

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

May 2013

To say he has gotten used to being a WWE superstar is understatement. But he has watched and listened. After the fiasco in January, Joe had put the hammer down to their partying and he had cleaned up his act. Not that he was super bad to begin with.

Jonathan Good was a good man, or that’s what Colby and Joe says. Joe’s old lady swears by it too.

If you wasn’t I wouldn’t trust you with my daughter, you asinine.

Chuckling at the memory as he warmed up, they were coming off Mania season and anything could happen. He had no clue if the Shield’s thing with Sheamus, Big Show, and Randy Orton was completely done or not. Then inside of his brain snarls and pokes at him. He wouldn’t tell a soul about this- about how bad he is hurting because being handed a scripted for every promo kills him.

The snarling and poking inside of him, he knows is from his creative side. It’s a side that has mashed into his old Mox character and the fucker is still breathing and living deep in his soul.

But he is trying to cut it out, slowly and carefully. And, it feels like, with a dull ass spoon. Certain things don't help, either. Namely the little young number that is currently his boss' side piece.

Since that back in January he has kept a loose eye on her. CJ Parks even landed herself a job as a personal assistant to Greg Maddox. That he mused, was an injustice, all by itself. But who was he to say otherwise, one of the perks of fucking the boss man he supposed.

Looking over at Joe he put it out there.

“A what-if for you.”

It’s a game they play, Joe was quick to catch on it helped with his mental state at times. So six month into their run, having become closer, the bigger man only grunts as he sits down and slips on his boots.

“If you were the princess. Wouldn’t it piss you the high off that your hubby was keeping his younger side piece in your face all the damn time.”

After all he mused Hunter had called him and his boys from their charity interview a while back to pull his babygirl out of the whole event for some odd reason. Colby butts in with.

“Maybe it’s an open arrangement?”

Looking at Joe specifically he asked more heatedly.

“But I mean, the age- wouldn’t it be like robbing the cradle or something?”

Joe chokes on thin air and shakes his head, Jon can see the smile he is sporting though. The is a knock on the door and when whoever doesn’t wait for an all clear it speaks volumes. Watching as Hunter himself slips into the locker room, Jon plops down and reaches for the tape out of his bag. It doesn’t take Hunter long to get to the point.

“Tonight you boys will seek out Maddox for a new challenge. However he will get wind of it, and high tail it out of here. That leaves you dealing with his assistant.”

Sighing softly so this was why the personal face to face. Hunter wanted to make sure they treated his side piece with kid gloves. Fair enough, he supposed, they could-

“Ambrose I want you to go full throttle on her.”

Blinking in total surprise and a little shock, he nodded.

“Sure I can- WAIT. What?”

Joe snickers at him and Colby clunks down beside him in a hurry. Hunter only grunts then raises a hand and rubs it over his domed head.

“If you can get her to shed some tears even better. Dip into Mox if you have too but keep it PG. Cause this where things are going to get interesting boys, seems like Dave is coming back. And well since Randy is still wanting some of you boys.”

Colby is leaning forward like a kid on Christman morning. His eyes are lit up and sparkling up but Jon can’t seem to care because he can’t seem to wrap his mind around Hunter wanting him to cut a promo on his side piece. And not just any promo. Suddenly Hunter's words break through his thoughts.

“That’s right Evolution will be reborn next week.”

Shaking his head he drops his tape and snaps out.

“Hunter are you sure, you want me to cut a promo on your girl? I mean..?”

Hunter gives him a hard look then stands, looks at his watch and nods. Moves towards the door, all without looking back at him.

“You have one hour Jon. And three takes to get it done. Don’t disappoint me Jon.”

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

The Shield finds Maddox's assistant in their joint office, her pretty long platinum hair is twisted into a messy bun that has chopstick sticking out of it. Her eyes look so fucking delicious behind a pair of reading glasses. She is on her cell phone, her eyes go wide and big when she sees them.

Dean gives her credit for standing when they file into the office room. He barks out.

“Where is Maddox?”

She physically flinches and replies to whoever is on the phone.

“Mr. Hemsley one moment if you please.”

An errant “Jon” thought crosses his mind.

Do you call him that behind closed doors baby?

Dean quickly pushes it away, there is no time or space for Jonathan Good or Jon Moxley in the here or now. This, THIS right now belongs to him- belonged to Dean Ambrose. He won’t screw it up again. Never again.

“Gentlemen how may I assist you tonight?”

The Mox in him howls and begs at his control, they had rehearsed the promo earlier. It had taken all three tries to get, he not happy with the first- she the second. And now here was another damn character in his head wanting to detail the whole damn thing. With something that clearly wasn’t PG. That clearly would get him fired.

“Little girl, you can’t assist me with what I want.”

And there it was. Jesus Fucking Christ. Not only did he see the surprise in her honey colored eyes but he FELT the surprise in his teammates. Shifting the US Championship belt on his shoulder he grinded his teeth together, how in the fuck to save this?

“What you can give me, and my boys, what we want!”

Okay that was a little better, at least it was getting them back on track. Then to his horror he saw something flash in those shiny golden eyes, saw her lips form in o pout and the tilt of her head as she looked him dead in the eye and leaned forward.

“Nope!”

His mind blanked.

Time stilled.

When it picked back up and he reacted it wasn’t Dean Ambrose that snarled back, almost happily.

“I was hoping you would say that, doll.”

As quick as lightning his hand shot out, tangled itself, her messy bun hair do and brought her smashing up against his body and her lips up against his.

Jonathan Good knew as the cameraman called out that they were all clear that he was good as fucked. The question was, did he care?

#my writing #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #dean ambrose smut #no one under 18+#masterlist #chapter series #my muses #over1000words

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quillsareswords · 4 years

Text

And Arnold Makes Four

The next part of Blurb #18, because it got surprisingly great feedback! Thank you all so much! You don't necessarily need to read 18, but I'd recommend it, just to get your bearings.

Interested in a Polyamorus Taglist? Comment here!

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

Jon did not keep his promise. When two hours had passed and you were still snoring next to Damian as he reclined on both of you, he considered waking you because goddamn it he wanted a slushee, but decided against it.

Too many night had you both sat up until the sun shone. The least he could do was let you rest.

Besides—he was pretty sure one of you would try to punch him if he tried.

So, he laid contently against your legs, wasting most of the day between his Switch and your television.

Damian is the first one awake. He blinks hard twice, because the sun is shining directly through the window and straight into his eyes (likely what woke him up, he decides). You're the first thing he sees. You probably got a little too warm snuggled so close to him, so you've pulled back so he can see your whole face. Subconsciously, he tracks your breathing for a moment.

Then he's looking past you, for his other partner. One of you are usually in the middle, because Jon gets too hot laying between you. Jon's not there. Damian reminds himself that he's in your house and that there's realistically no reason to worry, before the niggling of panic worms it's way into his mind.

The weight against his shins shifts. He sits part way up, careful not to jostle you too much in the process.

Jon turns away from your TV and smiles brightly. "I wondered when you'd wake up," he says, quietly.

Your eyebrows furrow as you groan.

Damian rolls his upper half so he can properly himself up with his elbows. "Why didn't you wake us? It's been well over two hours," Damian asks, inclining his head towards the window, where it's obviously nearly sunset.

Jon shrugs, shifts his weight so Damian can roll completely over. "You seemed like you needed it, so . . ."

Damian nods slowly. He feels a little bad, wondering why his internal alarm clock didn't have him up within an hour. Probably you.

You mumble something about the light before your eyes crack open with a glare. You'd been half awake, listening to the conversation. "What time is it?"

"Sunset," Damian sighs, crawling over you to get off the bed. "Sunshine here didn't wake us up."

Jon's cheeks bloom pink at the endearment, but he pretends they don't. "You looked like you needed sleep," he defends, flopping back down in his boyfriend's place.

You realize he's already gotten dressed, while you're still in sleep shorts and a ratty tank top. You also realize that Damian is fishing clothes out of his duffel, which was slung down beside Jon's bulging backpack yesterday afternoon.

You don't know why they insist on bringing so much every time they come to stay, considering the bottom two drawers of your dresser are respectively theirs. You consider this silently as you roll out of bed to pull on jeans and your Converse.

By the time you grab your longboard and bid your parents goodbye, the sky is orange and pink and white and it's brilliant.

Jon's camera is in your backpack, your speaker on a strap slung across his body while you search for their designated playlist.

Damian's pennyboard hits the ground first, then your longboard, then Jon's skateboard. Down your suburban driveway you cruise, then down the cul-de-sac and onto the sidewalk running alongside the slow traffic of the road.

The Travel Center sign glows orange and red as you roll forward, Vance Joy booming from Jon's hip. The sky only gets prettier, so Jon asks for his camera once you stop.

When you reach the parking lot, you slide your heel along the cement to lose your momentum, simultaneously slinging your backpack down to the crook of one arm to get the camera.

You hand it to him when he stops beside you, then you pop the nose of your board and pause your music.

"What are you getting?" Jon asks, as you pass him, one arm outstretched to hold the glass door open for you, while Damian swings the other side of the door open for himself.

"Coca Cola, obviously," you hum, tucking your board under one arm and reshouldering the straps of your bag. "I'll cover snacks and whatnot if one of you will pay for the bracelets at the fair."

The county fair is finally back for the beginning of summer in your home town, so the three of you have decided to go, since the fairgrounds are so close to the pier anyway.

Damian nods. "I'll pay for them." He takes a small cup size from the stack as the three of you round the corner of the back isle.

"I'll pay for the slushees," Jon decides, taking a large.

"Good for you," you smile, filling your medium with the light brown, thinly ground ice from the rolling machine.

Jon flicks your nose as he pumps his large full if blue-burrrry first, then cherry.

Damian snaps a boring old flat lid on the top of his cup before he saunters off in search of a snack to take for the road.

You're the next one done, but because you have a soul, you take a dome lid and fill your cup past the brim.

You roam the isles for a few minutes, despite already knowing where everything, just like every weekend. You pick up a bag of cheddar Combos, a miniature tube of original Pringles, and a Hershey bar.

You meet your boys by the checkout, where the same tired-looking woman smiles at you fondly. Just like every weekend.

Damian sets down a bag of M&Ms, while Jon is still juggling four bags of candy, a skateboard, and a multicolored slushee which is oozing out from the top of the dome lid, because—like every weekend—he's overfilled it.

While you fish out some bills from the wallet in your backpack, Damian finally steps in and takes the slushee from him so he can slap down his pack of Rainbow Belts, a bag of Skittles, a Hershey Cookies and Cream bar, a bag of Trolli gummy worms, a bag of miniature Twix bars, and a blue Gatorade onto the counter.

You laugh, because it's a little bit like a clown car, the way he piles it all on the counter. Damian sighs, staring at Jon with a healthy mix of impression, surprise, and adoration.

Sheepishly, Jon takes his slushee back from his boyfriend and mumbles, "The slushees are separate."

The middle-aged woman withholds a laugh at the whole thing, even though this is a very regular occurrence, while she slides all the items across the scanner.

A few minutes later, the three of you pause in the parking lot to cram everything into your backpack. While Damian is helping you, Jon stands at the very edge of the sidewalk, snapping pictures of the gorgeous sunset and the colors it paints the sky.

Soon enough, you're on your way again. The pier isn't too far from your house—maybe three miles, not counting the backtracking you have to do from the Travel Center. Its also not used often unless there's some big event, like a holiday or something at the fairgrounds, which are a quick jaunt up a dirt path through a patch of woods.

It's been a favorite spot of yours, ever since you were old enough for your parents to let you loose. You brought the boys out last summer, only about a month after forming the three way relationship you're so comfortable in. Since then, it's been a frequent for you three, when the weather's nice.

It isn't an ocean pier, by the way. It's on a lake, which is partly owned by the park on the other side, and partly owned by the same family who's owned the fairgrounds for as long as you can remember. They have a miniature boat race every Spring, and a lantern release every New Year.

You make it to the fairgrounds just about as soon as the sun sinks below the treeline, courtesy of the (mostly) paved road that stretches through the massive unused field and dense woods that divides it from the main road. Mostly, because it was paved so long ago that it was well forgotten in the most recent repaving your small town underwent a year or two ago.

You pop the nose of your board up, shoving the rest of your chocolate bar into your mouth as you step on to the whiterock path leading to the ticket booth, and the rest of the pop-up carnival beyond it.

"Three bracelets, please," Damian requests, holding out a twenty and a ten. Ten bucks for an all-access bracelet that are only valid for twenty-four hours might seem crazy, but it's logistically cheaper and easier than buying X-amount of tickets, and then having to come back for more later.

You hastily strap the paper onto one another's wrists before you scamper off, your eyes set on the Twister, dragging your boys behind you.

You spend most of the night squished between two people in a two-person seat; or throwing things at other things to win more things; or sprawled out in the grass behind or between some booths, chowing down on pre-bought snacks. Jon went off and got an Elephant Ear at some point, so you spent more time sitting in the grass, eating and chatting idly, humorously judging people with Damian while Jon glared on disapprovingly. Still, even he couldn't find anything good to say about the full neon rainbow leopard jumpsuit that fit about six sizes too small in the worst way, other than at least he's creative.

At one point or another, you come across a giant stuffed sloth that's about a foot short of being as tall as you, and you decide on the spot that it is absolutely going home with you. Damian and Jon see the number of points it costs and sigh in unison. You spend about one hundred and sixteen minutes throwing baseballs at far-too-heavy milk bottles, but hey, who's counting?

You do, eventually, win the sloth, with the combined efforts of three super-sidekicks—Jon's super strength, Damian's freakish aim, and your intuitive throwing finally converge on one task, surprisingly.

Hauling your new friend—Arnold, you've dubbed him—on your back, you decide to show your gratitude by putting your knife throwing skills (you're very good at instinctive throwing, because of your flawless intuition) to good use at the dart-and-ballon game.

You leave Arnold in Jon's care (Damian ever so gently told you that he'd leave Arnold to sit in the dirt beside them, not hold him, which offended you deeply), and and your longboard with Damian, before you march over, wad of dollar bills in hand.

You return twenty minutes later, two plush animals in each hand. You proudly bestow a ambiguous black bird to Damian, and a fire engine red marshmallow-esque creature to Jon. You take Arnold in your arms and resituate him to ride piggy back, long boneless arms draped over your shoulders.

Jon giddily grins at his new blob friend, and thanks you, muttering, a little shyly, that you really didn't have to. Damian stares down at the stuffed bird in silence, a smidge of contempt flickering in his eyes. It crosses your mind that he might have preferred something else, but all doubt is erased with his grip on it becomes a little more firm, a bit more protective, and you catch his gaze going soft on it. He offers you a little smile, because he's bad at genuinely accepting and showing appreciation for these kinds of gifts.

And because you know this, you return the gesture to prove that you understand.

Your trio heads for the dirt path through the decently small patch of woods, where a dirt path peeks out like a old man with gentle eyes and a warm smile.

Jon stops right as you reach the mouth of the path. He hands Damian his skateboard. "You go ahead, I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Where are you going?" Damian asks.

Jon starts walking backwards. "I'm gonna get something. I'll be quick, I promise! Go ahead!"

Damian exchanges a look with you. You shrug, reaching toward his hand and wiggling your fingers.

He locks his fingers with yours, sparing Jon one more look over his shoulder before the two of you set off.

"What do you think he's up to?" you wonder, peering over your shoulder just before the carnival is out of sight. You don't see him, but you imagine him bobbing a weaving through the crowds of half drunk, drunk high, and half asleep people ambling around in the last hours of the festivities for the day.

Damian glances back one more time. "Don't know," he answers. "Can't be anything good, if he wouldn't tell us."

You nod. "Can't be awful, if he wouldn't warn us," you add with a smile.

He laughs. "Can't be amazing if he wouldn't gloat about how amazing his idea is."

You laugh loudly. "You got me there."

You pass the marker for the middle of the path soon after. It's just an old wooden post, marked properly with fading orange tape. Not long after that, you leave the treeline behind.

The pier is old, and a little creaky. The wood is dark with age, warm with sun, and worn with the repeated paths of the residents of your hometown. The group of people is surprisingly small, despite the carnival's large attendance.

Your eyes roam the few couples scattered around the clearing by the water, and the group of friends laughing loudly from borrowed fishing boats further out in the water. Warm summer night air sticks to your skin and fills your lungs the way only it can.

The pair of you find a good spot at the very end of the pier, where the boards are still stable, but boast a concerning number if cracks and splinters. You prop Arnold up behind you, safely away from the water, but he slouches inanimately while he holds Damian's crow and your backpack in his lap.

"We should do this more," you hum, leaning back on your elbows to get a proper look at the mostly clear sky. It's nearly a full moon, and lack of light pollution leaves the stars on display, while the open moonlight reflects beautifully off the tops and sides of passing clouds.

Damian hums in agreement. "That would be nice." His neck cranes to get a good look for himself. "Any constellations?"

"Orion is there," you point to the belt specifically. "And the Dippers are right there."

A beat of silence as you admire the heavens.

"How long do you think until Jon calls us because he's gotten into trouble?"

You laugh. "Fifteen minutes," you bet.

Damian nods. "Sounds right. He's probably getting some kind of food."

"I hope it's something without grease," you groan. "Otherwise I might be sick."

Damian chuckles. "Don't get your hopes up."

As if it was a stage cue, you hear footsteps thumping up the rickity wood planks toward you.

You both turn at the sound of your names. "Look what I got!" Jon howls excitedly.

He's got a giant bag of popcorn and another of cotton candy under one arm, and brandishing a clear plastic bag with the other.

"That better not be a fish," you warn, but the spark in your eyes betrays the implied threat. You sit back up to get a better look.

"It'll be dead in a week," Damian warns, "so don't get too attached."

Jon fakes a pout, stopping beside Arnold. "His name is Jerry and you're being very rude." He drops the bags of snacks among your prize-filled bag and stuffed animals, then drops himself on the other side of you.

"Let me see him," you swipe the bag without permission. You hold it level with your eyes. It stares back boredly. "What are you gonna do with him? Do you have a bowl?"

He smiles sheepishly at you. "I thought your mom might have a vase or something."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and hold the bag out to Damian to inspect. "I'm sure she does," you assure anyway. "If not, you can borrow a water glass or something."

Damian's eyes light up suddenly, as he eyes the yellow fish. "Your mother has a huge wineglass, doesn't she?"

You grin. "Yes. Yes she does, and you're a genius."

Damian smiles suavely, reaching across you to hand the bag back to Jon. "This isn't new information."

You snort and roll you eyes again, reaching for the cotton candy. "And so modest, too."

Jon tucks one leg under the opposite knee, setting the bag of water in the crook of his knee. "And ugly as a moose."

Damian indignantly rips the bag of cottony sugar from your grasp, leaving you with an offended glare, an agape mouth, and a thick tuft of pink fluff in your hand. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

You giggle over to Jon. "I think he hates us," you loudly whisper.

Jon nods thoughtfully, peering past you as he whispers back, "He's planning to poison us with dinner."

Damian sighs, loudly. "Firstly, poison wouldn't effect you, Jon. Secondly, if I hated either of you, I wouldn't be here."

Jon laughs. "He's got us, Lovely."

You lean on Damian's shoulder. "In more ways than you one."

Your plan works perfectly. Red flushes down his neck, eyes still locked on the horizon.

Jon picks up on it immediately, and hooks an arm around Damian's waist. "Wouldn't you agree, Love?"

He grumbles between the two of you, annoyed and embarrassed and so overwhelmingly in love.

As predicted, he makes a quick effort to switch topics. "How long are we staying?"

You and Jon respect his discomfort with focused public affection and pull away. "Long as we want," you answer, shoving a smaller tuft of pink into your mouth. "Mom just said to be home before two."

Jon nods. "I wanna watch a Disney movie when we get home." You agree.

"Speaking of getting home," Damian peers over his shoulder at the small mountain of prizes, food, and skateboards behind you, "how exactly do you plan on getting Arnold home?"

You eye the four-foot-six sloth and your longboard. Then you turn back to your boys, moonlight casting a gleam in your eyes. "I have absolutely no idea."

[TAGS – @qween-of-trash ]

#damian wayne #damian x reader x jon #damian wayne blurb #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #jon kent blurb #jon kent x reader #jondami x reader #jon kent imagine

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janekfan · 4 years

Note

for the bingo board, would you mind doing health scare with jon and the crew? i love your writing btw

Thank you so much!!!

Uh, I filled this probably unconventionally? But I hope it’s okay!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514178

Jon first noticed something was off when he woke up shivering in the dead of night. But temperatures had been dropping steadily, there was no reason to think that it was anything other than the thin, poorly insulated walls of his flat causing the problem. Exhausted, Jon knuckled enough sleep from his eyes to retrieve another blanket, deciding before he slipped away again to wear a warmer cardigan tomorrow because the archives had a tendency to be chilly.

When Jon limped his way into the office the next day his joints were already burning and loose, feeling all too much like they’d been crushed into powder. He knew better than to walk that extra stop from the train but he was so embittered about his new, illustrious position as Head Archivist that being crammed like a sardine with hundreds of other people all but reading his mind, knowing instinctively that he wasn’t cut out for the work, was unbearable and he’d needed an escape. It wasn’t that bad; he was just tired from trying to fix Gertrude’s mess, that’s all. He just needed to redirect his attention away from the needles stabbing into him every time he took a step and focus on the mountain of files he had yet to sort through.

There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how they were organized, but he had been able to use the dates scrawled across the tops of the stiff yellowing papers to get some semblance of a timeline going. That was where Jon found himself when Martin dropped off a cuppa, thanking him absentmindedly as he compared what was either a nine or a seven to another, clearer script.

“Um. Jon?”

“Hm?” It couldn’t matter that much and Jon filed them away in deference to the tea. Jon hadn’t realized how thirsty he was...what time was it?

“I. It’s half three.” Oh. “And I. I just haven’t seen you eat? Anything?”

“Oh.”

“You’re so busy, of course! It’s natural to get, uh, caught up! I could fix you something, if you’d like?”

“I’m.” Not hungry, that was for certain. Either the pain or the exhaustion was upsetting his stomach and the idea of eating right now was--

“Jon?” Maybe he’d eaten something gone off? Past the expiry?

“Oh. Um. Actually.”

“It’s no trouble!”

“Some. Some toast would be lovely, Martin, thank you.” A bite or two would help and as strange as it felt to take Martin up on his offer, the slightest bit of tension bled out of his shoulders.

Things had been.

Tense.

Since he’d accepted the position.

It was clear, no, true, that Sasha was better deserving of the job. She had more experience, more knowledge, more everything and yet Elias had passed her right over, giving Jon the ridiculous choice to resign or take it.

He should have resigned.

Finding a new workplace would be easier than watching his friends pull away from him. He didn’t blame Tim for siding with Sasha. She needed support right now. And anything he could think of to say to her would make him sound ungrateful that he’d been selected over her. Couldn’t very well go up to her and admit that he hated this and wanted everything to go back to the way it was in Research, because she really did want it.

And he.

“Toast’s up.” Martin sidestepped into the room to place the small plate on the corner of the desk. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like with it so I got a few things!” Cheerful and bright, he placed the jams down with a small spoon. He couldn’t have known it was exactly the right thing to do, that dry toast was about all Jon was going to be able to manage. “Anything I can help with?” Tentative, it was no secret that Jon was prickly at the best of times.

“Ah, um.” Jon gestured to a box, repressed a flinch when it seemed like his shoulder would jump from its socket. “I’ve been organizing by the dates on the top? Just, just for something.”

“Got it.”

Jon made his way slowly through one slice, later agreeing with Martin that he’d gotten too caught up with work to think about the second.

Things didn’t improve.

Maybe it was this.

Maybe it was that.

Excuse after excuse, because anything would be better than what he knew in his heart this really was and finally late one evening Jon clutched the bed spread despite the fire flaring in his fingers and buried his face into the soft fabric. It was foolish; it wouldn’t change anything to be so upset and he should be better equipped to handle it considering these spells would continue happening. He breathed in, out, slow, measured, but instead of calming him, he burst into sobs, muffling himself in the sheets and crying despite the pain and as he lay there, coming down from his tears of frustration, Jon realized, accepted, what was happening. The reason for his fever, headaches, the increase in pain, the trouble eating, sleeping--

“You are fine.” He whispered repeatedly into the cold isolated dark of his bedroom. “It won’t last forever. It never does.” But it always felt like forever and he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be this time. What mistake did he make to cause it, even though Jon knew deep down it didn’t matter. That these things came and went with the wind and no matter what habits he changed to try and mitigate it, it never mattered. It was as if he was only able to talk himself down in time for it to flare up again and the constant fight to convince himself he would be alright, that he would make it through again and again and again was exhausting because it meant he was done in before the day even began.

Jon’s body ached like one giant bruise, crushed, pulled apart, at once boneless and so heavy that moving out of bed was out of the question. Brain stuffed with cotton wool and foggy thoughts meant that to speak meant to hurt so he didn’t, knowing he came across as spiteful but he didn’t have the energy to explain, not when he was so focused on making it from train to Institute to door to stairs to office; each leg of such a routine journey worse than the last. Sitting up was an ordeal and Jon had to drag his stick and string self out of bed after each restless night with caution, lest he pull something loose out of place. Braces, tape, hidden, hiding, normal, normal, normal. How he could be so tired and still not be able to sleep at night was a torture he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Greetings, pleasantries, small talk all standing in the way of Jon reaching his desk and taking a break from what was essentially waking up. But it hurt. It all hurt. And it made it all worse because they were already angry with him and they wouldn’t stop being angry at him unless he put work into mending their relationships and he couldn’t put work into it when he wanted nothing more than to lay down and be unconscious for however long it took until this all passed.

The worst part of it all was that he needed help and didn’t know how to ask for it. Not with the cold shoulders, the whispers, the looks. And he only had himself to blame. The desk phone caught his attention and Jon was surprised it wasn’t shrouded in a layer of dust, still weighing his choices. Call someone, probably Martin. Or drag himself out of his office. One would only wound his pride. Gingerly, Jon cradled the phone to his ear, licking chapped lips before dialing Martin’s extension.

“Oh, J’Jon?” He’d never called any of them before. “Uh, what can I do for you?” Thank god. Trust Martin’s helpful nature to override any other questions.

“Ah, Martin. Yes, thank you. If you could--” There was a scuffle, a yelp, muffled through his door, followed by the dramatic clearing of a throat and:

“You can’t hide in there all week, Jon!” Came Tim’s sing-song reply and the hang up was two fold; through the receiver and the clang of the thing on Martin’s desk. Jon took a deep breath, pushing back the emotions threatening to flood him, tipping his head back and begging the tears to stop.

Having to ask for help was almost impossible and the longer he waited to show his face, the worse it would be.

The only thing he’d accomplished by picking up the phone was to put himself on a time limit.

This was too overwhelming.

Their desks are meters away but it may as well have been kilometers with how much he was hurting. But Jon pushed himself to his unsteady feet anyway, wishing both that someone would just notice and that he was masking his symptoms enough that they wouldn’t. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave his cane behind. It took concentration to keep his expression neutral, to force himself to walk smoothly. To pretend it was a regular day.

“That’s a level ten scowl, boss.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’ve been so moody lately.” Tim looked up from where he was twiddling away on his phone. Taking a break, that’s all, nothing to be upset with even though he couldn’t help but compare the number of files stacked on their individual desks. Jon swallowed hard around the tangle of hot disappointment.

“I’ve b’been, uh. It’s well, it’s a lot.” He hadn’t heard Sasha come up behind him, tone droll and capricious and all too familiar these days.

“I thought you’d be happier considering your position.” When Jon laughed nervously, it was damp with suppressed emotion. “It’s like you didn’t even want it.” And good lord at this moment he’d never wanted it less. But how could he talk to her about how difficult this transition had been when he was the thief? So he didn’t defend himself, instead going along with their jokes at his expense, trying to explain what he’d tried to call for. It was difficult to breathe in their presence, it was difficult to stand. It was difficult to accept that his friends were actively making things harder.

How would they know?

Tell them.

They’ll think you’re lying.

You were fine the other day.

“I was hoping you’d help me collect some files.” Jon wrapped his pompous academic exterior around him like a shield and for a horrifying moment he thought Tim was going to tell him off.

“Why didn’t you say so, boss?” Sarcasm dripped like crude oil from each syllable. “You just tell me what you want and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Ah, j’just uh.” Jon pointed to what he needed in the stacks and Tim grunted with the weight of it, chuckling without mirth.

“Letting being the Big Boss go to your head are you?” He wiped a hand dramatically over his forehead. “Too shiftless to collect your own work?”

Why was he being so cruel?

“Too busy, I think you mean.” Jon shot back, letting anger and frustration seep through the continuously forming cracks. It was that or sob.

“Yeah, well. If you need anything else, you know where to find us.”

Jon absolutely refused to cry in his office.

It was stupid of him to not ask for help.

But he’d needed help with so many things this week past. Small things. Moving things. Carrying things. Things a normal person could do without constantly relying on others and the idea of parading himself into their midst again made his eyes sting with tears and his knees and hips burn. They hurt so much even with the bulky braces and sticky tape hidden beneath his trousers literally holding his joints together he didn’t think he’d be able to make another trip back and forth.

Which is how Jon found himself staring dumbly at his dangling arm for full seconds after trying to lift a box.

He’d dislocated his shoulder if the audible and sharp pop! was any indication and when the hot flush of agony hit he yelped mostly in surprise before controlling his fall to the floor. Someone was digging around in his shoulder socket with a superheated spoon as he writhed on the ground and he took just a moment to feel sorry for himself. He’d just wanted to do this one thing by himself and not have to surrender the tiny scrap of independence he’d been clinging to with his fingernails. Cursing himself for being so stupid and cursing himself again when his mewling brought all three of his assistants to his door, Jon looked up, feeling not unlike a beetle trapped on its back and waiting to be pinned. Now he was surrounded, in pain, under the glass of their frightened stares and he couldn’t spare the breath to tell them that he was fine. Just needed a moment to, to fit the puzzle pieces back together while he was being torn apart at his fragile seams.

“Boss--” A cacophony of panicked voices rising higher and higher and--

“Don’t!” They were reaching towards him, stopping at his tight command. “Don’t. I need. I--a minute. It’s fine.” Sweat streaked into the greying hair at his temples.

“This isn’t fine.” Tim sounded angry, scared, and Jon didn’t have enough in him to explain. Not right now. “Jon, you need--”

“Don’t tell me what I need!!” Surprising even himself with the vehement strength behind his declaration Jon put real effort into slowing his rapid breath. If he couldn’t control that, he couldn’t control himself, he couldn’t control the situation. At some point he closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, listening to the sound of Tim’s angry footsteps, Sasha’s following, their muffled voices upset and far away. He sensed Martin kneel beside him.

“Got you a cold cloth. Would you…?”

“P’please…” carried on the gust of his next exhale, the hum of relief stuck in his throat when Martin smoothed it over his eyes and it dulled the constant headache.

“You feel warm.”

“S’normal.” Martin was a surprising well of calm, not pressing or pushing or probing.

“Can I help?”

“In a, need another minute.” Experimentally Jon wiggled his fingers to check for numbness before trying to extend his arm and ultimately asking Martin for help.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to, to make it worse.”

“Can’t. Not really. Just there.” Martin’s hands were soft and warm as he maneuvered his arm over his head, helping bend it at the elbow and Jon grunted at the sensation of it falling back into place with a cool wash of relief.

“Oh! Uh, better?”

“Much.”

“I’ll make you some tea.” As though it were the man’s answer to all ills.

Jon took his time sitting up and getting to his feet, grabbing his cane and making his way to the breakroom where he knew he’d find Tim and Sasha. They at least gave him time to get settled before Tim launched into his interrogation.

“What happened?” Jon squirmed uncomfortably under their scrutiny, eyes downcast and focused on the glare of the fluorescent lighting reflecting off the surface of the tea Martin made him and glinting off the untouched foil backing of the paracetamol blister pack. His arm was in a sling. A sling he happened to have in his desk. A sling he happened to have in his desk “because this just happened sometimes.” The pain had decreased significantly but it didn’t feel right and probably wouldn’t for a while.

“I tried to lift a box.”

“A box.” Jon could really, really do without the incredulity.

“You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, because you never talk about it!”

“Because it’s always the same!” Jon didn’t mean to shout, but they wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. And no amount of explaining or talking about his symptoms or complaining when he was hurting because he was always hurting would make a difference. “People don’t want to hear about it, Tim. It’s. It’s depressing.” They don’t believe me. “It makes people feel bad and then they get awkward. It’s easier for all of us if we just. Pretend.”

“Jon--”

“You’ve known since Research.” Jon wrapped sore arms around a sore stomach. “You know what these episodes look like, if not what it is.” And you didn’t care enough to even ask. It goes unsaid. Blaming Tim for something so far beyond his control wasn’t fair and Jon refused to do it.

Noticing would have been nice.

Not being forced to haul himself out to their desks to ask for help would have been nice. He understood they were acting out a bit of revenge and he didn’t blame them considering he’d stolen the job out from under Sasha. But it had been a blow to his pride all the same. Every time. Like being kicked when he was down.

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“And I. I don’t need. I don’t need to be coddled. But.” It felt stupid to say he wasn’t always able to walk between their desks and his office. He should be able to do that. It should be easy and he hated that it wasn’t. “I n’need to be allowed to, to.”

Leave. Leave here and never come back because he’d never felt worse than he did right now trying to beg his assistants for permission to use the phone.

“Call us.” Martin provided. “On the bad days.” Jon nodded, hiding his trembling lips behind the mug of cooling tea.

“Jon.” Tim sounded stricken. “I, I never meant--I.” Jon knew that. Tim was kind, had helped him when they worked upstairs together. But being punished like a child for saying yes-- “Jon.” He looked up to see that Tim was sitting across from him, hand outstretched on the table between them. Reaching. “Jon. I’m so, so sorry. That was. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“I never. I didn’t say anything. You didn’t know.” It was Jon’s fault for being stubborn. It was Jon’s fault for not explaining.

“That’s no excuse for acting like a prat.” Jon ducked his head, embarrassment heating his face.

“I just. I chose y’you because.”

I trust you.

When Sasha sat beside him and bundled him into a gentle hug, that’s when the tears came in a biblical flood.

“Oh, Jon. I’m so sorry.” She rested her chin atop his head and the relief outweighed the unprofessionalism as he let himself be held. “We’re going to be better, alright?”

“Al’alright.” Salt damp and trembling, Jon was too exhausted to worry about what they thought of his greatest secret.

Hours later Jon blinked awake, bleary and warm, on the couch, head in Sasha’s lap as she read through a case and wrapped up in one of Martin’s jumpers.

“Almost quittin’ time, boss.” Oh. “You okay to make it home?”

“Uh, y’yeah, yes.”

It was nice to be asked.

It was a bit like walking on eggshells, the first few days of them navigating Jon without smothering him but the support was a far cry from the isolation and loneliness he’d dealt with since this whole thing started.

And then finally it began to break; the pain that’d been ratcheted up to eleven finally started dying down to a more manageable five or six.

“Need anything while I’m up, Jon?” Sasha poked her head into his office on her way by, a familiar, easy smile on her face and one he’d missed dearly.

“Ah, no, I--oh. If it’s not too much trouble, Martin was working on a translation?”

“Sure thing.”

Simple as that.

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #gen #hurt comfort #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Jon has a cane #Jon has EDS #chronic pain #chronic illness #internalized ableism

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eternalgoldfish · 4 years

Text

(now all on AO3)

what r u wearing

It’s so fucking tacky. So fucking Billy. And Steve would normally oblige him, would really fucking love to get into some obliging right now, but Aunt Cynthia has just started passing around the peas, and Steve kind of doesn’t have a death wish.

(Okay, sometimes it’s not so obvious, when he does dumb shit like look at his phone over Christmas dinner, but he doesn’t really wanna die, not really, because if Billy’s texting him like that, it means Billy’s got his hands in his pants. Thinking about Steve. Getting off on Steve. So.)

He sends,

Nothing.

Fuck. What he meant to send was, Not now. And Nothing is a lot different than Not now.

Steve is a moron, maybe, because his jeans are growing a little tight, palms a little sweaty, and. He’s got to set his phone to silent, got to set it face down on the table. Because if he thinks about Nothing for too long, he’s going to think about how Billy looks with his fist around his dick, about what Nothing will mean to Billy. And if he’s thinking about that at the table, about what he wants to do about that--

Aunt Cynthia tilts her head as she offers him the gravy, purses her lips like, “Something the matter?”

“Oh, no,” he says, uses too much gravy. “One of my profs just put up their syllabus early and I’m not prepared to think about that.”

He’s never been a very good liar, but Cynthia seems to accept it, handing him the bread rolls next. She shares a look with Aunt Krista, which is bad news, no bueno, abort mission, too late.

“How is school going, anyway?” Aunt Krista asks.

“Pretty alright. I found this semester challenging, but I kept on top of all my courses, so I think I’m getting the swing of things. Nancy and Jon got in there too, so I think that’s helped, you know, with the transition.”

“Nancy, your girlfriend?” Aunt Cynthia asks. “I was wondering where she was.”

It’s been a year, but Steve guesses that’s fair. His aunts only give a shit on holidays. He clears his throat, says, “Yeah, no, uh. I thought I’d mentioned that she started dating this other guy, Jonathan? It’s totally not a big deal. College, uh, is a land of opportunity, right? Lots of people to meet?”

Krista nods like she gets it, until she proves she maybe doesn’t. “Have you found a new girl, then? I doubt the ladies could leave a handsome man like you alone.”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” his mom chimes in.

And Steve’s been trying to do this thing where he’s more honest with his mom, because he’s on a journey of personal growth and all that, but.

He’s not really lying anyway.

(But it feels like he’s about to, like maybe his mom will be able to tell that he’s guilty of something. Like she deserves to know about the things he’s learned about himself, his sexuality, who he’s been sleeping next to, who probably just sent him a video covered in come, and.)

(Billy’s not his boyfriend, anyway.)

“I’ve gone on a few dates. Honestly, I’ve just been focusing on keeping my grades up.”

---

“You just left me hanging,” Billy says, voice never as deep over the phone as it is in person.

“I was at dinner!”

“So was I. Don’t act like you’re new to sexting, amigo.”

Which. That is not what Steve was expecting, but he’s pretty sure it’s not better either. “They didn’t give you shit for having your phone at the table?”

“No one gives a fuck about what I’m doing if all the cousins are there. I’m still at the kids’ table. It’s a fucking bore.”

“You sext at the kids’ table?” Steve asks, can’t help but crack up a little as he flops down on his bed. “Lucky. I got grilled.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure it’s coming to me.”

Billy hadn’t shut up all last week about going to California, about seeing his high school friends and walking the beaches. About how shitty it was in Indiana, even though he’d chosen a school there.

On the phone, Billy doesn’t sound so eager to be in California, and Steve can’t quite put his finger on why.

“I gotta go back down for dessert soon,” Steve says, because he remembers Billy’s tone that day in the library, knows better than to ask.

“Thought this was your dessert,” Billy says, voice low, slick.

He knows how to make himself sound like a sin, and Steve should know better, knows he doesn’t have time for this. The problem is, Billy is probably lying on his own bed, a hand in his hair and his shirt rucked up, and Steve’s never had very good impulse control.

“What are you wearing?” Steve asks, aims for leg-spreading charm. Wishes he could see Billy laugh.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on.” Steve laughs. “You’re not.”

“I am. I mean, I guess my dick is wearing my hand, but.”

Steve’s dick twitches, and it shouldn’t be so easy.

“So, you’re jerking off?” He asks, unzips his jeans, prays he’s got more time than he bargained for.

“I was waiting for you, princess. What’re you wearing? Since I’m guessing it’s not nothing.”

“No, uh.” Steve shucks his underwear and jeans to tangle around his thighs. “I’ve got that green cashmere sweater on, the one you give me shit about, and my good blue jeans.”

“You still have them up?”

Billy must be palming himself, same as Steve. Probably has his stupid head tipped back, skin covered in gooseflesh as he smears precome over his slit with his thumb.

“I’ve pushed them down.”

“Past your ass?”

“Yeah.”

“You getting on your knees for me?”

He’s not, but he can play along.

“Yeah. If you were here, I’d be letting you fuck me.”

“With your parents downstairs?”

“With everyone downstairs. Would you do it? Just -- shove me over on the bed, fuck into me before they notice?”

Billy’s breaths are growing more laboured, soft groans catching in the receiver. Steve’s trying hard to keep his own sounds soft, words silent and even. Keep his moans to himself when Billy is naked and glorious.

“Shit, baby, yeah. Are you fucking yourself? Think you should fuck yourself, for me.”

It’s a good idea, has Steve fighting off his jeans. “What’re you doing?”

“Stroking my cock. Got a hand twisting my nipple, just for you.”

That should not be so hot. It’s unfair.

“I’d suck your cock.”

“Would be kinda hard for you to do that while I’m fucking you with it,” Billy says, and his laugh is unfairly hot, too.

“Shut up. It’s the idea.”

“I know, pretty boy. Shit.” Billy hisses. “You fingering yourself, yet?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies. Now that he’s got his legs spread, skin flushed pink and cock heavy, it’s occurring to him that he doesn’t have enough hands.

He’s not putting Billy on speakerphone like this. He’s not.

But Billy must have him on speakerphone, to have a hand for his nipple, and.

This is complicated, alright?

He fumbles with his phone a second to get Billy on the speaker, turns the volume down low, begs every god he knows to keep anyone from coming up to knock on his door.

“I’m, uh. I’m on my stomach, fucking into a pillow, while you -- rail me?” he says with a wince. He’s got lube in his suitcase. It only takes a moment for him to fetch it and return to bed, lying on his back with his legs spread, slicked fingers working his cock, teasing at his hole.

“Letting me take you from behind? Shit, baby.”

And Steve doesn’t know why he’s lying about that, either. Why it matters to him if Billy knows he’s on his back, thinking about how good Billy looks over him when they’re chest to chest. Why he loses words when he starts to fuck into himself, thinking about Billy’s cock.

“Bet you look so pretty,” Billy murmurs. Rambles, really. “Fuck, Steve.”

For a moment, Steve just listens to Billy breathe, hears every little hitch at the back of Billy’s throat. Then Billy says, “Shit. I’m gonna come.”

The sound Billy makes almost breaks Steve. Almost, because he’s still not quite there, feels like he’s going to rip apart at the seams waiting, because he’s so, so close.

“Steve? Dessert is out!” His mom calls up the stairs.

“Fuck,” he whines, soft. Then, “Be there in a minute!”

“Shit, pretty boy. They probably all know you’re getting fucked, if you sound like that.”

And that shouldn’t be the thing that does it for him, because that’s really fucking embarrassing, but. Steve comes with a curse, making Billy laugh.

“Shut up. You’re the fucking worst.”

“Baby, go on. You’re keeping the family waiting.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #my fic

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mag200 · 3 years

Note

Honestly so happy that Jon got to brutally kill Jonah with his own hands. Like ... I'm so glad TMA didn't go the way of "revenge bad, I'm better than that."

literally!!! jonah really tried the whole “you cant kill me you dont have the stomach for it” and jon just went OH BET??? easily one of my top ten hot jon rights moments.... jonah getting killed with a knife is a memory i will cherish until i die 😌

#anon #answered #tma #mag 200 spoilers

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winterrose527 · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Person A backs into Person B’s car.

Truly adored this one. Here you go, my love!

****

He was really starting to hate King’s Landing.

It wasn’t that he’d ever liked it. Even when they’d come to the capital for their eighth grade class trip, he and Jon couldn’t quite understand why anyone would want to live here.

And now, he did.

Well he didn’t want to but he did live here. He had for about two months. His family company was expanding and as the heir apparent he was in charge of opening the new office, a soft launch for his future as its leader.

With that in mind, he’d gone with very little argument. It wasn’t that there weren’t good reasons. It had given him a convenient excuse to get out of a relationship that had run its course without hurting anyone’s feelings, he was getting to build a team from the ground up, and he’d even gotten a pretty great apartment close to the beach.

Not that he could go anytime other than at night because it was too hot. And even with the salt air it still smelled like garbage.

None of that was anything compared to the people. This city was like a magnet for selfish, aspirational, people with non-existent moral compasses. And not only that, but there were a lot of them.

Which led to his least favorite thing about King’s Landing: the traffic.

It felt like he lost hours of his day to traffic. He would have taken the subway, but the line that would have taken directly from his doorstep to his office (the exact reason he’d chosen the apartment) was under emergency construction, because of course it was.

The light was green and yet the car in front of him wasn’t moving. He looked and saw that the driver was – is she plucking her eyebrows?

King’s Landing had turned him into something he hated. Robb Stark was officially a honker now.

“MOVE!” he yelled, even though his windows were up as he lay on his horn.

As though he was inconveniencing her, she made a big show of stopping what she was doing and started to drive. He went to place his foot on the gas and -bam.

“What the fuck?” he asked the general world.

A gold – yes gold – convertible had just backed up into his SUV.

He got out of the car, ready to let this person bear the brunt of every bit of frustration he’d been feeling for the past two months.

“Are you alright?” a voice asked as soon as his door closed, it was getting closer as they came around his car, “I am so sorry!”

“Yeah well –“ he started and then stopped. “I…uh… are you okay?”

It wasn’t exactly what he had planned on saying but he also hadn’t planned on the person who hit him being the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

She shook her head, slender fingers brushing back naturally golden hair (after two months here he could spot the difference), “I’m fine, I am just so embarrassed. And sorry. Is your car damaged?”

“Um, I don’t know,” he admitted, realizing he should have been thinking about that rather than wondering how her legs could seemingly go on for miles though she would hardly make it up to his shoulder. He started walking towards her and she turned and lead him around his car. And then bent over. “Looks good to me.”

“Thank the gods,” she said with a hand to her chest, straightening up and peering over at him, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He nodded, “It was just a little love tap.” Her eyes widened and he blushed, “What a stupid fucking thing to say, huh?”

She laughed, “Original, though.” Then held out her hand, “I’m Myrcella Baratheon.”

He shook her small one, and introduced himself, “Robb Stark. Can I ask you something?” She nodded, her hand still in hers, “What is a girl like you doing with a car like this?”

This girl was all class. Her structured white shorts and silk button down, fresh face, pale nails as opposed to the garish red pointed ones so many women down here wore.

The car was decidedly not.

“It’s not mine,” she told him and his stomach clenched, wondering if it belonged to a boyfriend that was clearly in no way good enough for her. “It’s my older brother’s. He’s… the actual worst.” He opened his mouth and she smiled, taking her hand up and holding it up in front of her, “The worst. Look at his license plate.”

He glanced at it and saw that it read KING JOFF.

He laughed, “It hurts.”

“Hey Robb, I know I just rear ended you and all, but can I show you something?” she asked.

Anything he might of said. Instead he just nodded.

She turned and walked down the length of the car and he followed her and then she pointed at the rearview mirror.

“Do I need to see a neurologist or is that not a mirror?” she asked.

He leaned over and his jaw dropped, “That is not a mirror… I think it’s some sort of…mosaic? And definitely not legal. You could have taken out the whole city with this thing.”

“Thank the gods, I thought I was going crazy, it’s just that my car is in the shop-,” he smirked at her and she rolled her eyes and smiled, self-deprecatingly, “For a standard tune up. I should have known there would be a catch when he offered to let me borrow this one.”

“Yeah I don’t recommend you drive this thing,” he told her, then asked stupidly, “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

He watched as a blush rose on her cheeks and she demurred, “That’s alright. I can’t inconvenience you anymore than I already have. Thank you, though.”

He nodded, because he did have a meeting he was supposed to be at in about ten minutes.

“Well… could I maybe have your number?” he asked.

She nodded immediately, “Yes, of course, I won’t be on his insurance so please just get a quote and send me whatever it is. I’ll make it right.”

“Oh,” he shook his head, realizing that while that was the normal reason to have asked the woman who just rear ended you for her number it was absolutely not something that had even occurred to him. “No that was actually my way of asking you out.”

A smile landed on her face so quickly that it brought one to his own.

“You’re asking me out?” she asked.

“Trying to,” he agreed.

She crossed her arms over her chest, thinking something over and asked, “And what if this was my car?”

“Um,” he laughed as he thought about it, “Well I’d still ask you out. I would just never ever agree to drive anywhere with you in it.”

She giggled, and then informed him in a stage-whisper, “I drive a hybrid.”

“Family dinners must be interesting,” he teased.

“Oh you have no idea,” she smiled.

“I’d like to,” he told her.

She grinned again and then knocked a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses off of her head and onto her nose, “You know, you’re a lot smoother than the last guy I rear ended.” He opened his mouth and she told him, “Kidding.Do you have your phone?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She typed her number in and then handed the phone back to him.

“Are you going to be alright getting this back in there?” he asked, gesturing to what looked to be a private garage.

She nodded, “Thankfully he didn’t cover the windshield in crystals.”

He chuckled, “No because that would be tacky. Well get home safe, Myrcella Baratheon. I’ll call you soon.”

She gave him a heart stopping grin and then opened her door and eased into the driver’s seat. He went around his car and got back in, easing back into traffic.

Thankfully it was fairly light the rest of the way so he was only a little bit late for his meeting.

It was a busy day, some final interviews that people had wanted him to take part in, some calls with his Dad and Jon up north. So it wasn’t until later, as he walked the beach still in his suit, his shoes off and the sand beneath his feet, that he had a chance to call her.

He scrolled through to M, but Mom was the last entry.

“Was it Marcella?” he asked the sea.

He scrolled up just to be sure, but the only Marcella in his phone was a girl he’d met on a vacation in the Summer Isles. He deleted the contact because he hadn’t spoken to her in a full five years.

No girl had ever not given him her number before. He knew that it happened, it just hadn’t ever happened to him. There weren’t many that he asked for, and only when he felt something that seemed reciprocated. And though they’d only had a limited conversation, it seemed like they had.

She’d been so sweet and sorry and cute, pointing out her brother-

He scrolled up to the Ks and would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy sighing in relief when he saw King Joff waiting for him.

Without hesitating he pressed call and listened as it rang once, twice.

“Hello?” a soft voice asked.

“I’m uh, looking to speak to the king,” he greeted her.

Her giggle filled his ear, “Don’t even mention him I am in SUCH trouble. How are you Robb Stark?”

“I’m better now that I found your number, two scares in one day? Is this what it’s going to be like with you?” he asked.

“I’m free tomorrow night,” she informed him, “Want to find out?”

***

Two months later…

“And of course,” he sighed as he slowed down behind a bright yellow SUV.

“I would think you’d be used to the traffic by now and besides,” Myrcella noted at his side, “I would have thought you’d be fine being late for dinner with my family.”

“Your mother already hates me enough,” he pointed out, “I can’t afford to be late on top of being northern, being a man, being unrelated to you, being sexually attracted to you, being liberal, being alive…”

The light had turned green and yet the cars in front of him hadn’t moved. He went to go honk his horn but Myrcella grabbed his hand before he could.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hello,” he returned.

“Do you know what’s nice about traffic?” she asked. He raised his brow and she smiled, “I get to do this.”

With that she leaned in and kissed his lips softly. He kissed her back less so, his fingers carding into her hair as she opened her mouth to his.

Cars had started honking all around him, but in that moment he didn’t care.

He was really starting to love King’s Landing.

#fanfiction #modern au #robbcella

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schrijverr · 4 years

Text

What’s up with that Sims guy?

After the Apocalypse Jon becomes an uni teacher, three students take in interest in what’s up with this weird new professor.

On AO3.

Ships: JonMartin

Warnings: none, but tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~

Time and space moves differently around the Fears, something that could be confusing and strange, but also pretty handy as Jon and Martin had discovered during the Apocalypse. It meant that when they’d turned the world back to normal, banishing the Fears far away, no one had even noticed it had happened.

With Elias, uhm Jonah, gone their ties to the Institute had lessened. However, Jon was still depended on statements, but Martin had decided that being away from it all would be better for him, so Jon was now working part time, while Martin kept an eye on the place.

Which is how Jon had ended up as a professor at a university. He was filling in, because the current professor had gotten pregnant and they hadn’t been able to find someone more suitable than Jon to replace her temporarily.

Jon knew he didn’t have the credentials necessary, but he Knew everything with the help of the Beholding, so he hoped that would be enough to get him through the year.

So here he was, standing in front of a big hall that was slowly filling up with students, who were eyeing him with a mix of curiosity, confusion and uneasiness.

Once everyone had settled down he took a deep breath and started: “Hello everyone, I’m Jonathan Sims and I’m replacing your previous professor until she returns from her maternity leave. I have an oversight of what you all need to know and do this semester, so lets get started with that right away.”

Jane looked down at their new professor and shifted in her seat uneasily. He was strange, or at least had a strange aura surrounding him. Jane wasn’t once for judging on appearances, but it was hard not to wonder what the Hell had let a man such at him to this.

He was short, sure, but he wasn’t small and he had a big presence to make up for it. His black hair was streaked with gray, but he had a youthful face that didn’t quite match up, although the tiredness that hung around him seemed old.

Beside that he was also littered with scars. It was hard not to notice the white circles that contrasted with his dark skin, it could be acne scars if they hadn’t been on his exposed forearms as well and so perfectly round. And those weren’t even his only scars, the entire palm on his right had was covered with a burn mark and the open buttons on the top of his shirt exposed a white thin scar across his throat.

So, yeah, strange.

He started to introduce himself and his voice was posh and low, but overall pleasant to listen to, she supposed. This didn’t stop her from exchanging a small look with Jesse, her best friend. Jesse raised her brows at her and the message was received, they were so going to talk about this later.

Later came as soon as they were out the door. Jesse leaned over and said: “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who got a weird vibe from that guy.”

Jane laughed and shook her head and answered: “You weren’t, I mean, this who building is filled with stuffy academics and suddenly this random dude walks in with the scars of a thug? That’s weird.”

Jesse nodded and asked: “What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Jane shrugged, “But it seems pretty rude to just ask.”

Jesse sighed, then perked up with a realization: “We could plant a seed in Sams head.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Jane said, mischief bubbling up inside her eyes. They had known Sam since their first year and were pretty close with the guy. Sam was also known for not being the most delicate or observant and unafraid to ask personal questions. If he was curious, he would ask.

“I would.” Jesse grinned back, she tugged her along through the crowd with an: “Come on!”

They found Sam easy enough and Jesse plopped down next to him and started: “Hey, Sam. What did you think of our new professor?”

Sam shrugged and scratched his forehead as he said: “Dressed like every other pretentious asshole in here, posh accent. But seemed to know his stuff. Normal teacher if you ask me. Why?”

Jesse inflated: “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t even noticed!”

“Noticed what?” Sam asked with a frown.

“The scars.” Jane said.

“Oh, were they scars.” Sam said, “I thought he had weird freckles.”

“Weird fr-” Jesse began before cutting herself off and asking: “Aren’t you curious why they’re there? I’ve never seen scars like that.”

“And the burnt hand and the scar on his neck.” Jane continued, “Those don’t appear randomly.”

Both looked at her now, heads to the side in confusion. Jane said: “Oh, didn’t see those?”

Jesse and Sam shook their heads. “Well,” Jane explained, “He has this burn on his hand like he gripped a hot burning coal or something and this line here,” she drew on her neck with her finger to signal where it was, “like someone tried to slit his throat. Makes me wonder what he did before this job.”

The three of them fell silent. Lost in thought to what could’ve happened to their new mysterious professor before all of this.

The next lesson didn’t clear anything up in the slightest. While they were discussing the 17th century literature circles Sam had raised his hand signaling he had a question. Jane and Jesse, who had decided to sit behind him tensed up. He got called on and asked: “Dr. Sims, what did you do before this?”

Dr. Sims frowned and pushed up his glasses, before saying: “You don’t have to call me doctor, it wouldn’t be deserved. Just Sims is fine, or Mr. Sims if that feels better. And I’m the A- an archivist.”

“Am?” Sam blurted out.

Sims laughed humorlessly and said: “Yeah, part time now.”

Then he went back to the lesson and didn’t acknowledge any more questions about his life. Jane didn’t know how he did it, but he seemed to just know which people had questions about the lesson and which about him.

She walked out the hall with Sam and Jesse, who said: “That wasn’t insightful at all.”

Jane agreed: “Yeah, in what danger would an archivist be that leaves that kind of scarring?”

Sam shrugged and pulled out his phone as he said: “I can Google it.” the he muttered more to himself: “What kind of danger experiences an archivist, cool yeah.”

Jesse strained her neck to look on his screen and asked: ‘Well, what does it say?”

“Nothing much actually. Just a bunch of online archives and stuff.” Sam said.

Jane had a bit of a light bulb moment and suggested: “What if you type in Jonathan Sims?”

“Jonathan?” Jesse asked.

Jane shrugged and said: “It’s how he introduced himself during the first lecture.”

Sam typed in the name and his eyebrows crept further up to his hairline as he read the results of his search. Jesse couldn’t take it anymore and ripped the phone out of his hand, quickly scanning the page and gasping. Jane was now also curious and asked: “Well, tell me.”

She showed her the screen and Jane read the headlines. ‘Explosion at the Wax Museum, two survivors.’ The small excerpt reads: Last night there was an explosion at the wax museum, cause is still unknown, but suspected attack. Two survivors were found on the scene. Basira Hussain and Jonathan Sims, the latter of which is in a coma…

Underneath that is another headline. ‘Attack at the Magnus Institute unearths body of former archivist Gertrude Robinson’ with a picture of a big fire brigade, some police and an ambulance under it, she can vaguely make out Sims getting loaded into the back of one of them.

And lastly a small report into the murder of Gertrude Robinson, listing Jonathan Sims as one of the suspects along with one about an older guy, who was apparently found dead in Sims office.

Jane leaned back and whispered: “What the actual fuck.”

After that the rumors spread over the campus and by the time the next lecture rolled around the whole room was buzzing with nervous energy. Sims took one look around the room and sighed: “You are probably not going to let this go in favor of learning something that will actually be useful. Correct?”

A murmur went through the crowd, they had realized that the rumors had most likely reached Sims, but they hadn’t realized he’d be so straightforward about it.

“Okay.” Sims said, “I am willing to sacrifice ten minutes of my lecture for inquiries, but I will not promise to answer.”

Then he waited. Sam was the first to raise his hand and when called upon he asked: “How did you get the scars?”

Sims thought about it, the class thought he was thinking about how to bring it delicately and thoughtful, but inside Jons mind he heard Martin laugh at him and tell him he was an idiot after Jon had told someone the round scars had come from tripping. In hindsight it hadn’t been a good excuse, so Jon decided that vague was probably the safest way to go and said: “A workplace incident.”

Without raising his hand this time Sam asked: “Did it happen during the attack on your workplace? Why would anyone even attack archives?”

“The Archives are a small place in a big organization.” Jon began to explain, ignoring the fact that the Archives had been the target, “And in the end it turned out to be an aggressive infestation, just an accident.”

“Why your institute then?” Sam asked.

“Depends on if you believe in the paranormal, but you have to excuse me, Mr. Jacobs. It seems you are not the only one with questions.” Sims replied, then he turned to the other side and said: “Yes, Ms. Hendrickson?”

“Did you murder anyone?” she asked, clapping her hand over her mouth afterwards in shame of the question that she had blurted out.

Sims didn’t react to the harsh and accusatory question, just said: “If I murdered anyone, I wouldn’t be here, but in prison, don’t you agree?” then he smiled, but somehow Jane didn’t feel comforted by it.

Jesse spoke up, causing Jane to duck into herself in the hope that she wouldn’t be noticed in her seat next to Jesse. She asked: “Then who murdered them?”

Sims huffed a breath, blowing a strand of hair out of his face in the process and answered: “That would’ve been my former boss, I have to say I’m happy to see him gone and his replacement is more than capable.” he looked at the clock and clapped his hands, making more than a few people flinch. Then he stated: “That’s enough questions, time’s up. Lets get back to the symbolism in poetry during the Renaissance.”

And so life continued with Sims as their professor. There was still something uneasy about him, like he was just a sliver off in a way you couldn’t pinpoint, but felt in your bones.

But he was actually quite nice. Which was weird in itself, since he could be pretty prickly and snappy if he found your reasoning or answer particularly stupid or ignorant and he was generally grumpy, but that changed completely if you actually had a problem and needed help. He would listen and then explain with the things you could understand, it was as if he could look at you and know what you needed to understand. That was also strange, but it was nice to have someone explain so correctly.

He was also a walking encyclopedia. He had fun fact about everything and when they said everything they meant everything. When he noticed Mary had died her hair he said: “I like your hair, did you know hair dye contains over 5.000 chemicals.”

Then when Jamie asked what kind of tea he was drinking he answered: “Lady Grey, it was created by Twinings in the early 1990s to appeal to the Nordic market, which found Earl Grey too strong.”

While discussing Oscar Wilde he commented: “Funny how important this guy is, since he has only published one novel in his life.”

When Kyra stumbled in late telling him the taxi had broken, he replied with: “Well cars have about 30.000 parts, so it isn’t far fetched that something broke.”

The funniest part about it was that it just happened to slip out it seemed. He was also just as surprised as them when something like that tumbled out of his mouth and he always covered it up with a small cough, before ignoring it had happened and moving on with his lesson.

It had become a bit of a game among students to make him say a fun fact. Sims had caught on to it, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much, his lips only tightening the littlest amount and his eyes tiring slightly.

So all in all, after two moths of lessons they felt like they knew the guy. He was nice in a grumpy way, could tear you apart verbally if he wanted to, had a lot of facts and worked part time as an archivist, which was apparently a pretty dangerous job.

Jane, Jesse and Sam had become pretty close to him, often staying after class to ask a few questions about the subject, help clean up, try to pry into his private life. The last thing never seemed to work, but it was fun to try and Sims had never let on that he minded it. He even seemed to enjoy their little chats.

Then one time after class, he suddenly looked up, frowned and stalked out of the hall. Quickly sharing glances the three followed after him, curious what had gotten his attention so suddenly.

They walked through a bunch of the main halls, then through a few quiet corridors until they were much further than hearing range, making them slightly uncomfortable. There was a kid, first year probably, barely an adult still very much baby faced, crying on the floor, knees drawn tight to his chest.

Cautiously Sims approached him and gently lowered himself to the ground. The kid looked up at him with a startled face, but Sims shushed him and gently asked: “What’s wrong?”

There was something off about the words, something compelling. The kid starts to speak, he had a slightly northern accent: “It’s all so different here with the big buildings and large crowds with loads of people everywhere, still I’m all by myself. No one want to talk to the dumbass from north, who has trouble with the tubes, you know.” he sniffled a sad chuckle, “And everything is just so overwhelming and I have no one to guide me or to talk to and I hate it. Then I saw everyone just talking about a party and I know it’s dumb, but I heard them say they were going to invite everyone and someone asked even me, but then they laughed and said of course not and I just couldn’t anymore, so I went here and I cried.”

It seemed he was finished and went back to small sniffles and silent tears. Sims gently put a hand on the kids knee and said: “Did that help?”

“Yeah,” the kid looked at him, “bit cathartic, honestly. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Edward.” Sims said.

The kid didn’t seem to realize it, but the three silent watchers noticed the kid had never mentioned his name.

Sims went on: “If you like, you can come over to my lecture hall. There are a few older years there, nice people, who I’m sure will want to help you. And a cup of tea.”

Edward rubbed his eyes and said: “They wouldn’t want to talk to me, I’m a loser and I don’t want the to think I’m even more one by telling them what happened.”

“I’m sure you won’t have. They’ve been where you are.” Sims responded, there was a bit of an edge to his voice and they realized he knew they were there and he was right. Jesse had been too brash, Jane too shy and Sam too blunt, it’s what had made them flock together. It was much better now, but they all remembered those awful first weeks. Without saying a word they hurried back to Sims hall.

When he came back they were making tea and lounging around. Jesse greeted him: “Hey, Sims. Where were you suddenly off to?”

Jane pushed her slightly and said: “Don’t pry.” then she turned back, “Want a cuppa, we just put on the kettle?”

Sims smiled and said: “I’d like that, could you make one for my friend, Edward here, as well. I had forgotten I was going to meet him, he’s curious about the Minor course and I thought maybe you could tell him a bit about it. If it isn’t any trouble, of course.”

“Of course not.” Jane smiled, then gestured to a chair: “Here, come sit with us.”

Edward did and later left feeling much better with a few new friends.

Friends, who were beginning to be suspicious about their teacher. They had a lengthy discussion about his knowing stuff and his spooky vibe. But no certain conclusion could be made and they decided that the mission for this year was finding out at least one personal fact about their teacher to prove he was at least somewhat normal.

They didn’t have to wait long. Their classes had been thrown around due to an unfortunate miscommunication. So two classes were switched, causing Sims to teach on Wednesday instead of Thursday for just one week. He looked a bit pale that day, but nothing out of the ordinary. It was the season, so no one spared it a second thought. Until a larger man came through the door after a gentle knock.

He was tall, about 6ft2, and chubby with a crème sweater and jeans. His face was freckled and he wore a gentle smile like it was second nature. His hair was curly and looked very soft, he in his entirety looked soft, you know, like the kind of person you know gives good hugs the moment you see them.

Sims was the only one who didn’t seem startled by his knock, just looked at the man and frowned as he said: “Martin, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry, sorry, Jon.” the man, Martin, said apologetically, “I know you said not to come and such, but I saw you had forgotten your statement and I know how you can get without them, so I thought I’d bring them to you.”

“I was going to read it tomorrow.” Sims said, “It can wait for one day. It’s not like it used to be.”

“Yeah, I know that as well, but we agreed that a rhythm would be good for you and your body to get used to.” Martin replied, holding out a folder.

Sims grabbed the folder and sighed: “You’re probably right, annoying as that may be, but couldn’t it wait till after I was done?”

“No, I’m meeting Daisy to discuss the proper storage of a Hunt artifact and you know how Daisy can be.” he answered.

“Yeah, I know.” Sims chuckled, absentmindedly touching the scar on his neck.

“Besides, I wanted to see you.” Martin said, then he brushed a lock of hair, that had freed itself from Sims’ messy bun, behind Sims ear and pecked him on the cheek. Turning to leave immediately after calling out over his shoulder: “Read it, Jon! And don’t forget to pick up milk on the way back if you want any good tea.”

Martin opened the door and Sims smiled, like a real and soft and dopey smile, as he touched his cheek and yelled back: “I will, say hi to Daisy from me.”

Then Martin was gone and the silence that had fallen over the hall with Martins entrance was broken. Multiple people called out questions and it was a bit of a chaos. It took a few minutes to get everyone settled down again and Sims returned to his lecture as if nothing happened. Sam called out from the second row: “Really, Sims? Nothing?”

Sims shoulders sagged, he had clearly hoped he could get away with it and was sad that it hadn’t worked. He said: “Mr. Jacobs, although I appreciate your interest in my personal life, I hope that I don’t have to explain how normal it is for my husband to come bring me something I forgot at home.”

The hall exploded again, but Sims ignored it all again telling them there were more important things to talk about, for example the lecture, which will be on the exam.

For Jane, Jesse and Sam it was enough. Their teacher was weird and off, but he was nice enough and if someone as soft looking as the Martin figure was willing to marry him, then he was good enough in their opinion and not worth the detective work.

#RR writing #the magnus archives #the magnus pod #jonathan sims #jonathan sims x martin blackwood #martin blackwood #jonmartin #martin x jon #ocs #tma #tma season 5

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years

Text

Holy Rivers {Jon Snow x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3117 Summary: You really don’t like the attention that your lover, Jon, has been getting from the Dragon Queen. You intend to make sure he knows that he’s yours. TW: Pretty much all smut below honestly. NSFW.

You always loved the sea, and a part of that was because your father, Davos Seaworth, was very much a man of it. It was even in your surname! But this had to be the gloomiest voyage that you had ever been a part of. Many of the people on these ships were heading for death. Hope of survival was slim in these days in any war, but one against the incoming dead? You stood on the bow of the ship, looking out at all that was ahead, trying only to see the good side of things. You had your father here, and he was still a good fellow to have during a fight despite his disfigurement. And you had your lover, Jon. And circling above the ship in the grey skies were two dragons, which was some pretty good arsenal in your opinion.

Yes - you were sailing with Daenerys, and the weight of all of her other titles. She surprisingly liked you, admired your lack of servitude towards men, that you didn’t put up with any sexism, that you were even tougher than some of the men in your own army. That you refused to slink back and act like a helpless woman when things got tough. When she wasn’t demanding people bend the knee or going on her ten minute rant of all of the names that she had, she wasn’t all that bad. But she had done something tonight which had pinched a nerve in you, and made you think of her as an entitled brat - not for the last time either.

During dinner, which she had invited you two to have in her cabin, she had been giving Jon some looks. Now, she could definitely not say that she did not know about the two of you since you were always together. Just because there was no wedding doesn’t mean that you two weren’t practically married already. Everyone knew that - even your father, though he didn’t fully appreciate that you two hadn’t had the ceremony yet. And yet, she had rested her hand upon Jon’s arm, and probably more under the table that you could not see.

You kept your calm during dinner, keeping your eyes on the plate to avoid shooting dirty looks at the ‘Queen’. You didn’t trust anyone with that title these days. Cersei was bad enough. Now you had this to contend with up close and personal. After the meal, once you and Jon were back in your own shared cabin, you were really able to let loose with your thoughts.

“Yes, I’m grateful that she had brought her dragons to fight our cause, and yes, I think it’s great that she has a whole army of people who are obviously devoted to her but my god, do I have to lose you to her in order for us to have a chance to live another a couple of years?” You asked, pacing the floor with your arms crossed in front of you. Jon was sitting on the bed, undoing his boots, saying nothing. He’d learned the value of silence when it came to your anger since arguing back had disastrous consequences. “And you just let her!”

“What do you think I should have done then?” He asked when there was a lull between your words.

“Not look at her like you were going to pick up your fork and feed her!” You said, opening up the window just to have something to do with your hands. You were feeling hot, your blood boiling. “I know we are not wed and your life is still your own but I never want to see another woman put her hand on you like that.”

“Some might say that you’re jealous,” He said, attempting to hide a little smile but you had caught sight of it. It just made you feel all the more passionate about the situation.

“Jealous?” You asked, turning on him, your whole body standing over him now. “You think that I am jealous of that white-haired woman? I would not trade places with her for any ship in the sea. Jealous - as if.”

“She was just trying to be friendly, and gain our trust.” Jon insisted, looking at you, completely undaunted.

“Well, she lost some of mine,” You scowled. “Are you trying to make me seem like the bad guy here? Because if that’s really what you want, I can become that.”

“I don’t know if you can,” He said. His words had flipped a switch in your mind. You were angry before, but now - now you were downright possessive. You had to make sure that he knew that it was you who would be there for him, you who would fight at his side, you who would love him until death. With the war coming, the two of you had not wasted much time. The relationship had developed quickly, and feeling that your time was coming near, you’d been making the most of it. There was not an inch in this cabin that had not been explored by the two of you during sex, nor were the kitchens or the deck truly clean. It would make your father disgusted to know that ships had been used this way by you. But you didn’t care if he knew - you were in love.

“You really think,” You asked, hopping yourself on his lap, wrapping your legs around his abdomen while he sat up straight. “-that you’re going to be able to distract me from that with sex?”

“I don’t have another choice,” He said, leaning forward to press a kiss on your chin. “I can’t have you killing her before we fight the war.”

“I guess that’s a fair point,” You sighed, tangling your fingers up in the curls of his hair. It was a sweet spot for him, causing his eyes to close and a mouth come out of his slightly parted lips. It was a beautiful sight. You wouldn’t trade him for any ship in the world either.

The playing with his hair went on for another moment before you yanked your hand away, causing him to groan rather than moan. His eyes shot open and he looked at you pleadingly to continue but you tutted and shook your head. “I’m the bad guy, Snow, you’re not always going to get exactly what you want.”

You hopped back to your feet and turned your back towards him, knowing that it would only tease him more. You lifted your tunic up from over your head and let it land on the floor near him. Your back was exposed to him, and you knew how much he loved it. Many a night he had fallen asleep while running his fingers up and down your spine. You turned your head over your shoulder and blew him a kiss, your hair falling over your shoulders to cover whatever might have been in view.

You abandoned wearing dresses whenever you were on a ship. Such a little thing as tripping on one’s long skirts could easily mean death when you could fall overboard and into the freezing water of the Narrow Sea. As well, you were rather proactive in the upkeep of the ship, even ascending the nets to get to the Crows Nest and take a turn looking out for land. That sort of climbing was not something that you could do in a dress. So now, in front of Jon, you were attired only in your trousers, your stockings to keep the cool air out, and your shoes.

A benefit of being a part of the ship was the muscle tone that you had, that you were proud of. You could arm-wrestle with the best of them, even beating Tormund once. The same arm that you used untied the laces of your shoes so you could kick them off - always the least sexy of the undressing processes. But then you were at your trousers, tied up with a corset-like front with a strong knot. Your fingers worked nimbly with it, undoing it slightly, pulling the thin piece of rope out so that Jon could tell what you were doing.

“You’re not being bad, you’re just being a tease,” Jon said, leaning backwards, balancing himself on his elbows. He was taking in the show, though. He would be crazy not to be enjoying it. He longed to kiss your shoulders, work his way down your back, down down down until he reached where your pants lingered -

But those soon disappeared, much like the top that you had thrown away. You had taken the stockings with you, stepping out of them with care. Now you were nude in front of him, but still with your back towards him. His eyes took in the most prevalent thing he could see - your ass, which was just the perfect size for him. He never cared much for looks - not caring about the whores the way that Theon did. But you - you were blessed with both looks and a personality that he had fallen for so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash.

You ran your fingers through your own hair now, cocking one hip up and then another in a dance that seemed very much like it was Dornish in origin. You hummed a song that you recalled from one of the ports you had stopped in many moons ago when you were helping your father with smuggling, and danced to it. “I don’t think you’re much of a good guy yourself, Jon. Letting her touch you like that in front of me. Putting me into this rage just to get a reaction out of me. I think you deserve to be teased.”

“Is that how it’s going to be?” He asked. You turned to the side, still rotating your hips, back to humming, and nodded. “The Queen is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

You avoided looking at him, knowing that he had a smug expression on his face. He enjoyed testing you, getting your mood up. Things always got rather heated that way. You slowed your dance down to a tantalizing pace, spinning around so that he could see your full front, a scene that always took his breath away. “Do you want to say that again?” You asked. He shook his head quickly, eyes transfixed on your chest.

“Didn’t think so,” You said. You leaned forward, moving in closer and closer to him, before tugging violently at his trousers. He lost his balance due to the force that you used and fell back upon the bed. Good - that was a good place to have him. You undid those trousers and pushed them down over his feet until they fell on the floor beside yours. This room was infamous for having discarded clothing all over the place.

His cock sprung out, freed from the fabric cage that they had been locked into all day. It was already as hard as a rock. You teased him further by licking the tip, making him grab onto your shoulders. His hastily trimmed nails dug into the skin, leaving little pink crescent marks. You would be sure to return the favor later. You kissed the tip, then licked up and down the sides in the same painfully slow pace you had taken with your dancing.

“Do you think that the Queen would do this?” You asked, sucking about half of his cock down your throat. Now, he wasn’t a giant in that department, but he was a nice size. Still, you were able to get all the way down if you wanted to, but right now he didn’t deserve that. He moaned at that, but didn’t give you an answer. Instead he just squeezed you once more, lightly attempting to push you down but you didn’t budge. Your tongue played against his split, then licked the underside of his cock before you released, the cold air bringing goosebumps to his pelvic region after being in your warm mouth.

“You’re thinking about her way more than I am,” Jon said, raising his head up to look at you. You shook your head, resenting the idea of that. Before you could make another move, Jon grabbed onto you and pulled you onto the bed. He was strong, and able to move you like you were a child’s doll made of fabric and sheep’s wool. His face was now buried in between your legs, and he started to lick at you as if your pussy was the fountain of youth.

“You’re so focused on thinking about her face that you can’t even remember her name?” You asked, biting down on your lower lip to keep from squealing. His beard always ended up tickling you, making you squirm. You didn’t grab at his shoulders like he did, but rather, grabbed onto the sheets for support. Your head was so close to knocking against the headboard but that was the least of your concerns at this moment. He was sucking on your clit, bringing you to a high far more quickly than you had anticipated. You struggled against him, then raised your feet under him to push him off. He looked up at you, lips moist and glistening, caught your eye then rolled his.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” He said, looking exasperated. He tried to grab at you again so that he could return to his feast but you kicked him off of the bed, making him land on the floor. You smirked as he got up onto his feet, but that didn’t stay for very long. He picked you right up off of the bed before you could protest, slamming you down onto the desk, which was covered in maps and letters from ravens.

“I just think you liked the attention, Jon. Do you like her more than me? Do you think she’s better than me?” As you were asking these questions, you were trying to get off the desk. There were little figures on the map to help with strategy and they were digging into your bare back. As you flailed, Jon took the opportunity to step between your open legs and thrust his hard cock right into you. It was so quick that it hurt, causing an immediate discomfort but it slowly eased into pleasure. That didn’t mean, though, that you were done being irritated.

Jon held onto the back of your neck, forcing your head up to look at him as he thrust in and out, keeping eye contact the entire time. “Does it seem like I think she’s better than you?” He asked in disbelief.

“Can’t tell with you sometimes,” You muttered, pushing his hand away from you and leaned your head back against the wall. He instead grabbed onto your ankle and your thigh, keeping your legs spread as you struggled to find a way to keep yourself from being shaken too much. “Are you thinking of her right now?”

“I’m trying not to, but you keep bringing her up!” He growled. “Are you done with your jealous fit?”

You thought for a moment, which was hard because you could nearly feel yourself reaching a climax. You didn’t want to - that would mean that Jon won the argument. But you had a plan. Finally getting your arms underneath you, you pushed yourself up off of the desk, quite a few of the little figures sticking into your back but you didn’t care, and wrapped your arms around Jon’s shoulders. He was in a standing position while you were holding onto him like a reverse piggy back. Using your strength, you raised yourself up so only his tip was inside of you, then clenched your inner muscles to tease him all the more. Milk him.

“Almost,” You told him, resisting when he tried to drop you down little by little. “Who is your Queen?”

Jon froze entirely at that question. “What?”

“Not the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not the Queen of Slave-Freeing, none of that. Your Queen. Whisper it if you are afraid of treason, but if you do not give me the answer that I want, I’m walking out that door.”

Jon didn’t hesitate after that. “You are,” He said softly, whispering it into your ear. “My Queen.”

You released your hold on him, sinking down onto him until he was fully inside you. He carried you back to the bed, where instead of throwing each other around, you made what you would call love. However, you still felt the need to be in control of him. To make sure that you were the only one that he was thinking about during these pleasurable moments.

You went on top, straddling him, bouncing yourself up and down in a quick pace. That didn’t however, mean that he could slack off. He thrust upward to meet with your bounces, and his hand went to your clit where he started to rub it slowly at first, then picking up speed. Since he only had experience with one other woman before you, you had to teach him some things. The value of pleasure in that little bundle of nerves was lesson number one and oh how he had learned. His other hand went to your breast, holding it in place rather than letting it go up and down with you, your nipple getting caught between his thumb and his index finger.

You looked down at him throughout, keeping up the eye contact. “I love you, Jon Snow. My true King.”

“I love you, y/n,” He said in return. The words seemed to have a physical effect because before he could even warn you, he cum up inside of you, thrusting hard against his own control.

You rode him out, only slightly disappointed that you weren’t able to finish at the same time. After his moment of pleasure had past, and the sensitivity began did you roll off of him and lay down on the bed, sweaty and tired. “I take that back,” You groaned. “A King would be a gentleman and let their Queen finish.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon breathed, rolling over on his side to kiss your shoulder. “I’ll just make you finish twice next time.”

“Keep this up and there won’t be a next time.”

#Jon Snow #Jon Snow x reader #Jon Snow oneshot #Jon Snow one shot #Game of Thrones #GOT #Game of Thrones oneshot #Game of Thrones one shot #GOT oneshot #GOT one shot #oneshot #one shot #x reader #jons

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goodmeowningcols · 4 years

Note

could you list your top ten jonrya moments?

Hi Anon and thank you for the question! 🥰 I love the question because Jonrya is chockful of canon content straight from the books, and this isn’t even including George’s 1993 original outline. We have to thank George RR Martin for that. And surely, with Jon’s death, Arya will be thinking of him a lot in TWOW. In the 5 released books, they have so many moments and memories about one another that serves as a firm foundation for both of them to be each other’s favourites and the person they love and miss the most with all their heart. Let’s do a countdown, shall we? Not necessarily in order.

10. At the crypts

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. "There are worse things than spiders and rats," he whispered. "This is where the dead walk." That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya's hand.

When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

9. The closest of their siblings and defending each other

...A dozen spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb’s voice the loudest among them. She spotted Theon Greyjoy beside him, his black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House, a look of wry contempt on his face. Both of the combatants were staggering. Arya judged that they had been at it awhile.

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. They were the only ones. Robb and Sansa and Bran and even little Rickon all took after the Tullys, with easy smiles and fire in their hair. When Arya had been little, she had been afraid that meant that she was a bastard too. It had been Jon she had gone to in her fear, and Jon who had reassured her.

...

Reluctantly, Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. “A bravo’s blade,” he said. “Yet it seems to me that I know this maker’s mark. This is Mikken’s work.”

Arya could not lie to him. She lowered her eyes.

Lord Eddard Stark sighed. “My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?”

Arya chewed her lip and said nothing. She would not betray Jon, not even to their father.

...

"Lumpyhead," corrected Lommy. "He prob'ly stole it."

"I did not!" she shouted. Jon Snow had given her Needle. Maybe she had to let them call her Lumpyhead, but she wasn't going to let them call Jon a thief.

8. The woman is important too!

She watched her little brother whack at Tommen. “I could do just as good as Bran,” she said. “He’s only seven. I’m nine.”

Jon looked her over with all his fourteen-year-old wisdom. “You’re too skinny,” he said. He took her arm to feel her muscle. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I doubt you could even lift a longsword, little sister, never mind swing one.”

Arya snatched back her arm and glared at him. Jon messed up her hair again. They watched Bran and Tommen circle each other.

“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked.

She hadn’t, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back, under the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.

“Look at the arms on his surcoat,” Jon suggested.

Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince’s padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?”

Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

7. Seeing one another in other people

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers.

And...

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya.

...

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever?

And...

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?” The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart.

“Let him be scared of me.” The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

“Winter’s lady.” Jon squeezed her hand.

6. Missing each other the most

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.

...

As he rode, Jon peeled off his glove to air his burned fingers. Ugly things. He remembered suddenly how he used to muss Arya's hair. His little stick of a sister. He wondered how she was faring. It made him a little sad to think that he might never muss her hair again. He began to flex his hand, opening and closing the fingers. If he let his sword hand stiffen and grow clumsy, it well might be the end of him, he knew. A man needed his sword beyond the Wall.

...

No one talked to Arya. She didn't care. She liked it that way. She would have eaten her meals alone in her bedchamber if they let her. Sometimes they did, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa. That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her "little sister" and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn't even talk to her unless Father made her.

...

She went back to the window, Needle in hand, and looked down into the courtyard below. If only she could climb like Bran, she thought; she would go out the window and down the tower, run away from this horrible place, away from Sansa and Septa Mordane and Prince Joffrey, from all of them. Steal some food from the kitchens, take Needle and her good boots and a warm cloak. She could find Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon on the Wall. She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone.

...

"I'm a girl," Arya said, exasperated. If the old man was down from the Wall, he must have come by way of Winterfell. "Do you know my brothers?" she asked excitedly. "Robb and Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon's on the Wall. Jon Snow, he's in the Night's Watch too, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger yet? I'm Arya Stark." The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking. "When you ride back to the Wall, would you bring Jon a letter if I wrote one?" She wished Jon were here right now. He'd believe her about the dungeons and the fat man with the forked beard and the wizard in the steel cap.

...

"My lady?" Ned said at last. "You have a baseborn brother . . . Jon Snow?"

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. "How do you know about Jon?"

"He is my milk brother."

5. Keeping her secret identity as Arya of House Stark in the House of Black and White: Needle was Jon Snow’s smile.

At the water’s edge she stopped, the silver fork in hand. It was real silver, solid through and through. It’s not my fork. It was Salty that he gave it to. She tossed it underhand, heard the soft plop as it sank below the water.

Her floppy hat went next, then the gloves. They were Salty’s too. She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she’d gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time …

… but it wasn’t.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

4. After breaking his Night’s Watch vows for her alone, Jon’s dying thought is of Arya: Stick them with the pointy end.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger’s hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. “Ghost,” he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold …

3. I want my bride back... I want my bride back... I want my bride back...

Jon walked to the edge of the Wall and gazed down upon the killing ground where Mance Rayder’s host had died. He wondered where Mance was now. Did he ever find you, little sister? Or were you just a ploy he used so I would set him free?

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he’d had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he’d told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl.

...

Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. The Night's Watch takes no part. He closed his fist and opened it again. What you propose is nothing less than treason. He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

"I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said.

2. What do you know of my heart priestess? What do you know of my sister?

“The heart is all that matters. Do not despair, Lord Snow. Despair is a weapon of the enemy, whose name may not be spoken. Your sister is not lost to you.”

“I have no sister.” The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister?

Melisandre seemed amused. “What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?”

“Arya.” His voice was hoarse. “My half-sister, truly…”

1. Needle!

“I have one more farewell to make,” Jon told him.

“Then I haven’t seen you,” Robb replied.

Jon left him standing there in the snow, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.

Arya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. Nymeria was helping. Arya would only have to point, and the wolf would bound across the room, snatch up some wisp of silk in her jaws, and fetch it back. But when she smelled Ghost, she sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.

Arya glanced behind her, saw Jon, and jumped to her feet. She threw her skinny arms tight around his neck. “I was afraid you were gone,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “They wouldn’t let me out to say good-bye.”

“What did you do now?” Jon was amused. Arya disentangled herself from him and made a face. “Nothing. I was all packed and everything.” She gestured at the huge chest, no more than a third full, and at the clothes that were scattered all over the room. “Septa Mordane says I have to do it all over. My things weren’t properly folded, she says. A proper southron lady doesn’t just throw her clothes inside her chest like old rags, she says.”

“Is that what you did, little sister?”

“Well, they’re going to get all messed up anyway,” she said. “Who cares how they’re folded?”

“Septa Mordane,” Jon told her. “I don’t think she’d like Nymeria helping, either.” The she-wolf regarded him silently with her dark golden eyes. “It’s just as well. I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”

Her face lit up. “A present?”

“You could call it that. Close the door.”

Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. “Nymeria, here. Guard.” She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he’d wrapped it in. He held it out to her.

Arya’s eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.

The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. “This is no toy,” he told her. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.”

“Girls don’t shave,” Arya said.

“Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa’s legs?”

She giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.”

“So are you,” Jon told her. “I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re fast enough.”

“I can be fast,” Arya said.

“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”

“I think so,” Arya said.

“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.”

Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. “I know which end to use,” Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. “Septa Mordane will take it away from me.”

“Not if she doesn’t know you have it,” Jon said.

“Who will I practice with?”

“You’ll find someone,” Jon promised her. “King’s Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do …”

Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together. “… don’t … tell … Sansa!”

Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”

Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”

“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. “I better go. I’ll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.”

Arya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing.

She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.

When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. “I almost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have names.”

“Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.”

“Can’t you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:

“Needle!”

The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.

Bonus: Only her father had ever called her pretty. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes.

#asoiaf #jon snow #arya stark #jonrya #a song of ice and fire #jonarya #the purest love #thank you grrm #house stark #edited: supple as sin

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puckngrind · 4 years

Text

What’s In a Name: 3 - J Toews

Chapter 3

Where we left off: Bekah dropped Jon off at the airport after the 2015 All-Star game but how was he going to see her again before the end of the season when they lived over 300 miles apart...

Warnings: Smut, swearing

Word count: 3,370

Series Masterlist ) Puck ‘n Grind’s masterlist

Unexpected.

Bekah‘s brain would go from shock to denial every time her phone would vibrate and she would see a text from Jon. It was unexpected each and every time. Mostly his texts were random and out of the blue but with the intention of making sure she remembered him. Bekah never thought she would hear from him after dropping him off at Port Columbus airport in January if she was being honest with herself. It was three weeks later and there were hundreds of mini conversations between the two of them.

“So have you requested off for our trip?” Brynn leans into Bekah’s office with lunch in hand. Bekah tries to wipe her smile off her face but her best friend catches it. “Whoooo are you texting?”

“No one. Wait, what trip?” Bekah places the phone down but sees the notification that Jon has messaged again.

“Chicago with the Lady Jackets? Please tell me you remember this from Christmas? My gift to you was the trip. We will go shopping and catch the Blackhawks playing the Jackets. Have some girl time.” Brynn sits the food on Bekah’s desk and tucks her feet under herself.

“Oh! I kinda forgot with the whole being dumped thing but that actually sounds fun.” Bekah eyes her phone as it buzzes again. The thought of if she should tell Jon or not crossed her mind.

“You actually seem to be doing okay with the whole being single thing...” Rin starts taking in the way her friend was looking at the message and had a look of confusion now. “What’s that look for Bekah? What did you just think of? Who are you texting?” Brynn breathes in ready to ask more questions.

“Rin. Stop. Please. I was just thinking about the time I need to take off and the accounts I have. Let’s eat lunch m’kay?” Brynn stops the line of questioning but her expression is one of inquiry. “So is there an agenda for the trip or just the girls hanging out? Hotel reservations?”

“We have some things planned. It’s the WAGS and some of the wives from the staff and women who work for the team. You will have your own room. I‘ll be with Derek...”. Brynn stops and looks at Bekah’s contorted faced.

“WAGS?” Bekah asks with her eyebrows furrowed trying to place the term.

“Wives and girlfriends...of the players. Despite public opinion they aren’t all blonde models and are all very sweet. You’ve met a few before.”

“WAGS. Interesting.” Bekah’s eyes dart to her phone again. “Public opinion. Hmm.” Bekah takes a bite of her sandwich.

“I don’t know how to read that but you can google it if you want.” Brynn points to the laptop on Bekah’s desk. “There are whole social media accounts devoted to each team.”

“Oh, I was just processing that’s all. I’m sure I’ll remember them when we get together.” Bekah continues eating her lunch.

“Well, take off and I’ll see you later.” Brynn pops up and as soon as she rounded the corner Bekah was typing ‘Blackhawks WAGS’ into her search engine. Several pictures down she sees a picture of Jon with his hand wrapped around a blonde who could easily be in any magazine. She huffed out the breath she was holding then cussed softly. Realizing she was at work she checked to see if anyone was in ear shot. Bekah decided then and there as the heat filled her face that she was not going to tell him she was coming into town. Her phone buzzed again.

Jon: 🤪

Jon: Was that not funny?

Jon: how was lunch with Rin?

Bekah: always funny. the usual and learned the term WAGS.

Jon: OH! I would pretend not to know what the hell you are talking but I won’t. Please don’t read too much into the public perception of the NHL type

Bekah stared long at Jon’s text before answering. He kept doing that in their conversation. Anticipating what she was thinking without her saying anything. She couldn’t decide if she liked it or not.

Bekah: Rin was just saying the CBJ girls are nice that’s all. We were talking about our next game.

Jon: I know a few. I would agree with Rin.

Bekah goes to question who and why then realizes she noticed during the All-star game they all seemed to know each other even being on different teams.

Bekah: I still haven’t told her about All-Star weekend or this texting thing we do btw.

Bekah wasn’t sure why she felt the need to tell him this now.

Jon: maybe you should. She’s your best friend but that’s up to you. Need to go workout. Later Beks.

March came. Bekah realized she was more nervous about the trip than expected. She packed and repacked her bag. Considered just telling Jon then the picture of the girl with her arm around him and his hand resting on her ass was enough to convince her not to.

Her phone vibrates as soon as starts walking down to the hotel bar to meet the ladies.

Jon: are you in Chicago?

Bekah: how do you know that?

Jon: on the plane back from Philly and I see a post that the Lady Jackets are headed to Chicago and I’m sure that’s your braided hair at the top of the steps.

Jon sends her the pic. Bekah’s face floods red as her hand combs over her go to travel braid.

Bekah: yeah. I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to see you.

Jon: are you fucking kidding me Beks?

she goes to text back and her phone vibrates again

Jon: I’ve been trying to figure out how to see you before playoffs.

Bekah: really? What about the blonde model I saw in a picture tagged as your girlfriend? I know we said no expectations but I’m not that kinda girl.

Jon: Is that why you’ve not texted me back as much? You think you are just some side piece? Come on! There is no other girl. Scroll up. Look at our conversation.

Bekah stares at his words and before she can even text him back he’s calling. She looks around and answers.

“Hhhh...” Bekah nervously starts to answer.

“Don’t fucking make me use my sources to find your hotel room! That’s not beneath my need to see you.” This makes her smile at his tone. She can feel his desire and sheer annoyance through the phone.

“Maybe I should.” She giggles and he huffs out his disapproval but gives him the information anyway.

“I’ll see you in one hour. One hour Beks.” With that he hangs up the phone.

“Who are you talk to?” Brynn hands Bekah a drink from the bar.

“My mom.”

“I call bull shit. One, I know your mother is asleep. Plus, I see the look on your face and the pink in your cheeks...but if you don’t want to tell me right now that’s fine. I’m just glad you are getting back out there.” Bekah looks down at her best friend and sips.

“I’m not...” Bekah tries to combat the statement but stops.

“That was a statement not a question. And we don’t have to talk about it.” Brynn sips her cocktail taking in her best friend’s demeanor.

“Thanks Rin.” The ladies chatted and Bekah was thankful about 50 minutes after Jon announced he would be there the group decided to head to their respective rooms.

Just like after the All-Star game, the man was clock work, ten minutes after Bekah shut her hotel room door there was a knock. Her heart skipped a beat and she slid open the door to find Jon just as handsome with a small bag in hand. “Hi Beks.” He walked in and drops his bag.

“Hi Tae.” She breathes out before his lips were on her. His weight pressing Bekah against the wall a slight whimper escaped her lips.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about kissing you again since the moment I left your car.” His lips ghost her pulse points.

“Really?”

“Beks, we aren’t doing this again. Yes, I find you smokin’ hot and have been thinking about this moment for too long.” He slides his hands under her thighs and carries her to the bed. “I’m slightly pissed you didn’t tell me and we could have started this an hour ago.”

“Sorry. I got in my own head. The google search.” Her breath hitches in her throat thinking of the perfect blonde.

“You didn’t click on the post, did ya? You missed the time stamp, Babe. She was my girlfriend two years ago and that’s been long over. Remember our conversation about being used for my status? She was one of those.” Jon looks deep into Bekah’s eyes. “The internet doesn’t just delete it even if you break up.” His hand cups her cheek as he kisses her lightly.

“Well I decided not to google you at all just so you know.” Her hands re-familiarizing themselves with his abs. “How was your game?” She kisses him sweetly and he smirks.

“We lost. More sex then we talk, kay?” Jon pulls off his sweater then unbuckles and slides his pants off.

“Did ya score?” Bekah follows his lead and pulls off her clothing.

“No and I wasn’t planning on it tonight and look who showed up in my city.” His body was pressed against hers then he kisses down her body making Bekah moan with each move Jon makes. Jon slips his fingers between her folds and laughs. “Your body says you’ve missed me.” He smirks and Bekah’s hands fly over her eyes.

“Well I have thought about you a lot since January too...and the hour waiting got me all worked up...just come here.” She lifts and pulls at his neck. He follows her lead and slowly presses into her core. Kissing each other with so much need that when their teeth knock together laughter erupts.

“Fuck I’m sorry.” Jon kisses Bekah again.

“I think that was both of us. But you gotta move Tae.” Bekah pulls her legs up and presses her heals into his ass. Jon finds a rhythm that makes both of them find their highs quickly. Panting as he rolls off her and pulls her to his chest.

“Seriously, so glad you came to Chicago.” Jon lifts up and kisses the top of Bekah’s head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just don’t know what this is and I saw the flawless girl...and I just...” Jon adjusts Bekah’s body so he can stare deep into her hazel eyes.

“You are exactly what I need, you know? Also, did you say you haven’t googled me Beks?” Bekah nods and he continues. “Well I don’t care if you do or don’t just so you know.”

“Thanks.” Bekah winces. “I don’t care about the hockey stuff but the social stuff just makes meee....I don’t know. Feel weird.” Bekah admits honestly.

“Not that I think you will see this if ya did but I will admit I’ve been on a date since we were together but you, Beks, are the last person I’ve slept with. You don’t have to believe me but it’s only been you.” Jon kisses her lips sweetly.

“Well, I went on a horrible date for Valentines Day. Rin was on this getting me back there train and I tried to say no.” Bekah draws circles on Jon’s chest and closes her eyes thinking of the horrible date. “It was actually the 15th and you were on the damn television. I was distracted and the man was boring as hell.”

“I was on the tv?” Jon questions kissing her cheek and trying hard not to laugh.

“Yeah, you had an assist and scored in the shoot out. I cursed my body that night for how watching you made me feel and then we texted all night which made it even worse.” Bekah admitted.

“I’m not against sexting Beks.” He flinches ready for her reaction and she just eyes him. “And you’ve been watching hockey?” Jon laughs.

“The man took me to a sports bar and the game was on. I have watched some highlights to see your dumb face.” Bekah buries her face in Jon’s chest.

“That’s adorable.” Jon whispers.

“It is not. We are what? Friends with benefits? Me watching Blackhawk highlights to catch a glimpse of you is ridiculous.”

“Friends with benefits? Hmmm... I definitely consider you a friend now and this is definitely a benefit... but I don’t know if I’d call this that.” Jon’s hand grazes her back and Bekah arches into him.

“What would YOU call this? Fuck buddies?” Bekah sits up and Jon busts out laughing.

“No... I don’t know what to call it okay but I like this. All of it. The texting, the sex, the convo...” Jon goes to stand up.

“Are you leaving?” Bekah stares at his perfect body as he crosses the room and pulls the sheets up her own in a moment of insecurity.

“I’m staying tonight. Did you see the bag? I was thinking a shower sounded nice.” He keeps walking. “Aren’t you coming?” Bekah leaps out of the bed and follows him into the bathroom.

Jon kisses her hard then sneak out for morning skate while Bekah heads down to the lobby to meet up with the ladies.

“I just heard the group over there buzz that Jonathan Toews just left this hotel.” Brynn leans into Bekah.

“Oh really?” Bekah wills her face to not flood red.

“Any reason that man would be leaving super early from a hotel in the city he lives in, especially when he was in Philadelphia yesterday for a game?” Brynn stares at her now bright red best friend’s face. “Yeah, your face tells me all I need to know. I know you don’t want to talk about it now but we WILL be talking about your little secret Beks.” The use of Jon’s nickname rolls off Brynn’s tongue.

“Did you just call me?” Bekah’s mouth hangs open.

“Oh I heard him call out to you at the game. I’m not sure why you have been hiding this from me?” Bekah pulls Brynn away from the group.

“Because how do you tell your best friend that you spent two nights with a man you hardly know and have been texting since?”

“Wait, 2 nights? I’d clap for you if we weren’t in public.”

“Rin. Seriously. I don’t know what this is with him.”

“It’s good clearly because it looks like you didn’t sleep a wink.” Brynn’s sly smile makes Bekah’s face flame again.

“Well are you seeing him tonight? They have the night off.”

“Yes, dinner at his place.”

“Find your answers then friend. If ya want them.”

Jon picked Bekah up around 4 after a day of shopping in all the go to places in Chicago. His car starts heading in the direction of his place.

“You live in Lincoln Park? Isn’t that a drive to work?” Bekah takes in the surroundings and direction they were heading.

“Yeah...wait, how do you know the neighbors so well? Most tourists know know the Mile and such.” Jon’s eyes drift to Bekah.

“Didn’t look at my diploma on my wall huh?” She clicks her tongue.

“Noooo....” Jon tries to recall if he noticed a diploma on the wall.

“DePaul. I went to DePaul for school.” Bekah giggles flicking her finger towards the direction of campus and Jon slams on his breaks at the light.

“Wait. What the hell? Seriously. So that means...when did you graduate?” Jon’s eyebrows are knit together processing.

“09.” Bekah answers with a smirk forming.

“So that’s two seasons we were in the same damn city! Fuck.” Jon’s jaws flex at the realization.

“First of all, I had my nose in a book for four years which is why I have only one real friend from college. Two, unless you were riding the L way too late avoiding your junior year roommate’s sexcapades, I didn’t get out much. Three, you wouldn’t have even noticed me if we did meet. Remember...average.” Bekah pulls her legs up onto her seat and wraps her arms around them.

“Beks, I would have fucking noticed you and now I feel like an idiot when we first talked how this girl knew so much about Chicago.” Jon takes another glance at Bekah before turning. “Townhouse is this way.” He points and Bekah’s mouth drops open.

“This is not a fucking townhouse Toews. It’s a damn mansion in Lincoln Park!”

“I just bought it so the decorations aren’t really me. Let’s just head in.” Jon ignores her shocked face and rounds the car to hold out his hand for Bekah.

“And I’m pretty sure five maybe more of my apartments could fit in it!” Bekah’s assessment was accurate of the place Jon called home in Chicago. After a small tour the two headed up to the rooftop where Jon prepared dinner.

“Could you come back here after playoffs?” Jon shoves food in his mouth and looks over at Bekah.

“You are making the playoffs?” She winks at him.

“Well, it looks to be that way. We can hang out before I head home. Plus, I’m gonna need to um...release some tension post playoffs. Damnit, that sounds worse coming out than it sounded in my head.” Jon pinches the bridge of his nose.

Bekah chokes on the wine she was sipping on. “Shit what? Like the whole athletes don’t have sex during playoffs is really a thing?”

“Well they either have a ton of sex or release or none...I tend to fall in the none category.”

“And this works?” Bekah clears her throat and takes another sip.

“Well, I’ve been to the playoffs every year I have been in the league but the first and have two cups.”

“You have TWO Stanley Cups?” Bekah’s hands hit the table and Jon laughs loudly.

“Yes Beks. And please don’t look it up. My beard is unattractive.” Bekah makes a mental note to ask Brynn. “Let’s head to bed. I’ve got a game tomorrow.”

The game was great for the Jackets and not so much for Jon and his team. He did score and it took everything in Bekah’s being to not stand and cheer when he did. Brynn eyed Bekah when it happened. Her knowing Bekah’s secret was a good and bad thing.

Jon: meet me in front of the locker room please. I know you are coming down here.

Bekah: you sure?

Jon: I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure.

Bekah smiles.

Jon: I mean you are the one keeping this a secret.

Bekah: Rin knows.

Jon: yeah?

Bekah: I’ll see you in a minute.

Bekah followed the rest of the Ladies to the United Center locker room area. “He’s that way.” Brynn points to the home locker room where Jon stood freshly showered and in a suit. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning...ish.” She laughs and gives Bekah’s ass a little love tap as she starts walking.

“Nice sweater.” He pulls on the strings of Bekah’s new thirds jersey the Lady Jackets bought each girl. “It doesn’t have another man’s name on it, does it?” Jon almost growls and Bekah goes to show him the blank back while biting her lip. “You would look much better in a red Blackhawks one in my opinion.” Jon’s finger runs down her sleeve.

“Sorry you lost but I got to see you score!” Bekah lifts up to kiss him and then drops down to the ground realizing they were in his world. His lips press against her forehead before she even looks back up.

“Let’s get out of here Beks.” Jon puts his arm around her and leads her to the car. It was in that moment she became even more confused about what they were. He clearly didn’t care who know knew or saw their exchange but yet they weren’t dating. And they established that a relationship wasn’t a good idea back in January. Now the lines were very blurry and she wondered if it was timing or something else.

#tazer me 19 #what’s in a name fic #WIAN #jonathan toews fic #jonathan toews #love a damn blackhawk 🤦🏻‍♀️

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