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kikilefangirl · 3 years

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New Beginnings For Late Bloomers

Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Word Count: 2.4k)

You answered the Wakandan prince and princess’ call almost immediately. You quietly and swiftly made your way from your room, taking the familiar route south to the lab.

King T’Chaka’s death was so recent that his presence was still very much felt around the palace. Everyone, of all ranks, collectively mourning the loss. As you passed through the halls, you thought of his children—you couldn’t imagine losing your father, especially in such a jarring way. You bristled before turning the corner, bracing yourself for whatever was on the other side.

A pale skinned, dark haired man appeared to be sleeping in a large tube. Beside it, Prince T’Challa and Princess Shuri were in deep conversation with another white man, this one blonde. He stood opposite them and face to face with you.

You weren’t one for rudeness, but you had never seen a white man in person before, and it was strange. You found yourself switching back and forth between the and his sleeping friend. The first and second white men you had seen up close. They both had white skin tinged with pink, and their hair really was bone straight. The blonde gave you a warm smile, maintaining a slight recline and dropped shoulders.

You weren’t very good at interrupting or with strangers; your shyness was a terrible hindrance, and it was a wonder you even had friends in the royal family. The stranger’s reaction saved you the trouble, causing both siblings to do the same. Immediately, your eyes drifted the man in the tube, lightly pressing your fingers on the glass.

T’Challa cleared his throat and gestured at the blonde, “Y/N, this is Captain Rogers.”

You nodded at him and followed his downward gaze––to the other white man. Because you were closer, you could see his breath fog up the glass in front of his nose.

“We need you to watch over Sergeant Barnes while he is within our borders,” Shuri said. Though he looked relatively peaceful, what this Sergeant Barnes was like when he was awake must be hard.

“Your daily tasks will be to tend to him.” T'Challa explained.

Your gaze softened when you glanced at Captain Rogers. His concern was plain to see, enough to make you muster up whatever courage you had to speak.

“I will do as I am asked. Sergeant Barnes will be well cared for during his time here.” You replied. You gave him a small smile.

The man nodded at your reassurance, and you excused yourself. You had a lot of work ahead of you.

…

The sound of giggling and shuffling feet took you out of your reverie.

You were greeted to the sight of children laughing and chasing each other on the river bank. You smiled at their antics, but had to shoo them away. They were playing outside of Sergeant Barnes’—erm, Bucky’s hut while he was sleeping. You noticed how little the man allowed his body to rest, and you did your best to prolong it.

You knew the kids had broken his sleep, so you entered his hut, anyway. As you expected, the man was on his back looking at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Please, try and go back to sleep,” you whispered, averting your gaze.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head back on his bed. You took the opportunity to light an incense on the outer edge of the hut while you went about your daily tasks. It was the one that usually lulled him back to sleep, but Bucky was wide awake.

You occupied yourself with menial work in an effort to ignore his eyes on you. You were taking out an old blanket but when you touched the other side, you felt a thick, runny liquid. The harsh smell of iron hit your nostrils almost immediately.

Blood.

“I had another one after you left.” A raspy voice called from behind you.

You quickly wrapped the blanket in your arms, doing your best to hide the sight. Bucky was sitting up; he may have been looking at you, but his eyes were much farther away. The color wasn’t familiar to you, but the distant sadness in them was. You could see fresh scratches poking out from his tunic and the slight grimace on his face.

Gently, you set the blanket back down and grabbed the tin of shea butter from your supply bag. You unscrewed the cap and scooped the product out. You made your way to his bed, sitting on your knees beside him.

You pulled the cloth down to reveal the familiar nub where his arm used to be.

“Your head therapy with Dr. Amari has been switched to Tuesdays and Thursdays, for now. Shuri needs time to grieve the king and the mind must come before the body, in your case. ” You said softly, applying the shea butter evenly and without fanfare.

Bucky was leaning away from you, but he nodded nonetheless. You never had to yell or shout to get his attention––he always heard you, no matter how quiet you were.

When you were done, Bucky offered you a tired smile, but you couldn’t return it. You felt your face get hot and averted your gaze. It was different when you had nothing more to do, and he was just staring at you.

“I will get you new bedding and clothing when I return.”

You darted out of the hut as fast as you could, only stopping to let out the breath you had been holding.

…

“I don’t know if your treatment is working, Shuri.”

The princess was busy working on a new project. With heavy protective goggles on, and a wicked grin, there was no telling what she was up to. Carefully, Shuri shut the lid on it, and spun towards you.

You held up the bloody fabric, and Shuri frowned.

“Ah, Y/N, Sergeant Barnes’ brain will take more work than his body.” She said, scanning the blanket.

“He claws at himself while he sleeps.” You replied. The memories of his episodes were so clear in your mind. For a man who was fairly quiet and calm, in those moments he was mechanical and unflinchingly cruel. It was the first time a cold feeling settled in the pit of your stomach and it was truly awful.

Shuri was periodically glancing up at you as she read Bucky’s file. The farther she read, the more the princess looked puzzled. She clicked her tongue, then suddenly clapped loudly. The sound made you jump.

“Shuri!” You hissed. The girl was bouncing on the balls of her feet, animatedly. An especially devious smirk made its way onto her face.

“He is from New York City, ah! The city where dreams are made of!” She sang. Her off key version made you cringe at first, but a smile soon replaced it.

The Wakandan princess’s bubbly mood was the thing you enjoyed most about her. She was always so excited to explore and plot anything she wanted; it was refreshing to see.

“Take Sergeant Barnes to the market! It is a city environment to remind him of home.” Shuri exclaimed wildly.

Your eyes widened in horror at her suggestion. Shuri lit up, her ideas kept coming.

“He needs you to go with him. It can be a date!” You nearly choked.

“Princess Shuri!” You cried out. It was actually more of a high pitched squeak.

You gazed down at the blanket. It’s rich brown color was tinged with a darker one. The sickly smell of blood—Bucky’s blood—still invaded your senses. Your job was to care for him while he was in your country’s custody.

You sighed and agreed.

…

Bucky knew something was wrong the second you found the blanket.

The slight downturn of your chin as the realization dawned on you—he should’ve buried it when he had the chance.

The scratches were deep this time, but Bucky healed fast. It had been just over eleven hours since they happened. He had since changed into new clothes, so as to spare you from seeing the gashes, but he didn’t have the tools to get rid of the blood on hand.

Bucky heard your approaching steps, and went out to greet you. It was the height of the late afternoon heat; the dark haired man could see you approach through the vapors.

He knew it had been a long time since he’d been around a woman as Bucky, not the Winter Soldier. That was the exact reason why he wasn’t used to how you looked then. Your deep brown skin glowed as you came closer. A gold armband sat on your upper left arm, shining in the sunlight. You had on a green two-piece, decorated in bright Wakandan prints.

Bucky missed his phantom limb during times like this. It meant he was still capable of being the smooth, confident guy from Brooklyn and not the mess he truly was. He shifted his weight, bracing himself for your arrival.

…

“Would you like to come with me to the market?” You asked.

You wouldn’t look up at him for more than a second, but you did sit near him during the escort over. On his left side, too.

Once you two made it to the market entrance, it was in full swing. Hundreds of people were mingling through the stalls. A woman was haggling a tailor for a shoddy job he’d done. The smell of spices and roots hung in the air.

You snuck a glance at Bucky, giggling at the curious stares he received. And what a strange sight he was—a very white man in Wakanda. It was unheard of.

“I was told you were from New York City. Manhattan?” You said.

Bucky turned to you, mildly offended.

“Brooklyn, doll. Real different.” He said. You watched him inhale, taking in the bustling vendors and patrons.

You put a slight pressure on his shoulder, leading him to a street show. The performance was fun and free as the drummers played their sing song rhythms. Even you felt the urge to sway your hips to the beat.

A crowd had gathered, stomping and clapping as they went along, growing more boisterous as the dancers went on. Lost in the moment, you failed to notice Bucky’s balled fists and his blank stare. The only reason you did, was because in the middle of your small dance, you bumped into a hard body. The way you bounced off of him jostled you back to reality.

You got him some water, pouring it on your hand and then on his forehead. The cold shock worked, but with it came those scared, disoriented eyes. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t try and steer the big man any direction. You never could, Bucky was just kind enough to oblige most times. This time, he seemed so splintered, he followed without protest.

You led Bucky into an empty alleyway.

“I’m sorry. Please, let me take you back.” You said, apologetically.

You thought it would help him, not this. You leaned back on the wall opposite to him, waiting for Bucky to decide what to do. Slowly, heavy breathing subsided and he lifted his head from the ground.

“I don’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I did. But the people and the sounds and the—I know I was raised in a big city, but it’s been a long time since then.” Bucky said, finally.

He met your concerned gaze and almost looked relieved. The man stood up to his full height in one swift motion.

“I don’t think I like them anymore.” He admitted in a low, gravelly voice.

Your heart sank at his omission. Bucky had no idea who he was anymore, or what made him happy. He needed some peace that didn’t come from his place at the river, that was too familiar.

“I know a place you might enjoy, but it will take time to get there.”

Bucky had complete faith in you, and nodded imperceptibly.

…

It was a quiet ride up the mound.

By now, it was nearing dusk. The sky was a vibrant mix of purples and oranges and reds. Bucky hadn’t spoken again, and you hadn’t pressed him.

“It’s an undeveloped hot spring, Prince T’Challa and I found it together as children. No one will bother us here.”

You stalked through the heavy foliage with a clear head, muscle memory guiding the way to the cave. You were very aware of Bucky’s silent presence behind you. He navigated the vegetation with ease, carrying the food and water in a basket.

You huffed just taking the towels and blanket, and he looked unfazed. The both of you finally reached the mouth of the cave as soon as the last rays of sunlight faded. You watched as Bucky’s face darkened in the dim light.

“There are lights on the far end, vibranium powered so they will last.” You said. Bucky had far better sight than you, and he successfully found and turned them on.

He pointed the bright light toward the cave ceiling, setting off a series of shadows and patterns above you. You smiled softly, satisfied with your work. Bucky was still shook up from the market, but once he stepped into the hot spring he physically seemed more comfortable.

“Don’t stay in too long, it could be dangerous,” you warned him. A blast of warm air hit you, and you laid down on the blanket.

“Got it.” Bucky replied.

Occasionally, you heard the sound of water sloshing around, but you were too lazy to turn your head. There was no one around for miles to interrupt the calm, so you finally closed your eyes.

You heard water streaming to the cave floor as Bucky drew nearer. You thought nothing of it, until you felt warm, sopping wet hands wrap around you. You gasped the intrusion—if you hadn’t known who it was you would’ve screamed.

Bucky pulled you into him. Your face rested on his bare chest, catching the heat emanating from his warm skin. You didn’t have time to freak out.

What he did next wasn’t quite like a cry. The noise was so soft you thought you misheard it at first. It was a strangled, ghost of a sob.

“I-I can’t stop saying I don’t know.”

Bucky clung to you, letting all of his frustration and pain roll off him in waves. You took your cheek off his chest, the warm water leaving your face hotter than normal.

You stopped Bucky before he could recoil—gripping his shoulder.

“Horrific things happened to you Bucky, and I am sorry for that,” you started, staring off at the hot spring behind him. Steam rolled off its surface and wafted upwards and into nothing.

“You are rebuilding yourself and that is alright.”

Bucky peered down at you with a hardened kind of fascination. His eyes raked over you and he broke out in a grateful smile. A true smile.

“Thank you.”

He paused as he regarded you, dropping his shoulders.

“Doll? Can I kiss you?” The request sent you toppling over on the inside. You swallowed hard.

“Why?” Your voice was small. It was the cost to stare Bucky in the eyes while you asked. He needed to see how dead serious you were. You could be fragile, too. You blinked rapidly in anticipation, trying to concentrate over the roar of blood rushing through your veins.

“You never asked me to be someone, now I can be someone else.”

Your jaw dropped. You mustered all the courage you had and met his lips. The kiss was hesitant and soft. There were no expectations, just a sweet moment for two people that needed more of them.

#black!reader #poc!reader #marvel mcu #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes has a disability #slightly pre infinity war #idk how tfaws will characterize him and I wanted to post this beforehand #wakandan!reader #Bucky in wakanda #white wolf #tfaws already has my heart #wakanda brought calm #woc!reader #Sebastian Stan is a phenomenal actor #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

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Delicate

Steve has an important question to ask you

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 2.051

Warnings: Idiots in love, fluff

A/N: I couldn't let this month end without submitting something for 30 Days of Chris, a wonderful initiative by @jtargaryen18 to celebrate Chris Evans and his characters. This was proof-read by @xbuchananbarnes. The title and inspiration came from Taylor Swift's Delicate. I hope you like it ♡

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate (Delicate) Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? 'Cause I know that it's delicate Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't it?

Thunder clapped in deafening noise, briefly drowning out the relentless honking of cars stranded on 6th Avenue.

Storms weren't that unusual for New York City, but you always felt like they didn't belong - as if even Mother Nature's mood swings couldn't compare to the might of the concrete jungle, with it’s skyscrapers reaching as high as the sky itself. The city was a man-made wonder, cemented with defiance instead of concrete. It was the perfect place for a superhero to call home.

And his home was too far from yours, literally and figuratively. Still, Steve Rogers was nothing if not worth the effort of bracing the traffic from Brooklyn to Manhattan during rush hour on a rainy Friday evening.

You’d taken the day off work to get dolled up at your cousin's salon. Tried on different updos, changed your nail color twice and your lipstick shade thrice. Spent the savings you didn't really have on a dress you couldn't really afford and got blisters on your feet from practicing walking with stilettos. Going to a Stark Foundation gala was not a typical night in your life, even if you were maybe, sort of, dating Captain America.

It was a grey zone, the same shade as the heavy clouds that overcast the days you spent apart. Steve was spring; he was the early morning sun and fresh flowers blooming. A a week without him and the city - hostile and relentless and screaming his name at every corner - darkened.

You’d gone longer without seeing him, of course, but that was before he flooded your veins with golden infatuation. Steve Rogers was in your blood now and you didn’t even notice how he got there. Was it in late January, having coffee together after months of running the same trail? Or possibly in early March when you walked the Brooklyn bridge at night, just you, him and the specks of snow lazily trickling down from the heavens as Steve kissed you for the first time? Perhaps it was yesterday when his throathy, tired voice whispered through the phone: "I miss you".

You hadn't talked about it, whatever it was. You'd run together everyday, eat pizza at tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants and kiss - soft pecks and gentle brushes to his nose and cheeks that'd turn into a tug of your bottom lip and a swipe of his tongue - but you weren't his girlfriend. He hadn't asked you to be. And maybe if he was any other guy you wouldn't have such anxiety over not knowing, but Steve was old fashioned.

The fragility of you and him was haunting. If Steve was spring then you were autumn, falling apart for him little by little, like brown leaves disentangling from their trees. It was terrifying to now know if he would be there to catch you before you hit the ground.

And yet, hope lingered. It lived in the scratch on fingertips as you paid the taxi driver and in the stray raindrops that wet your skin ahead of the doorman coming to your rescue with an umbrella. It trickled from your words as you gave your name to the hostess and swooshed the air around the skirt of your dress as you entered the main part of the building.

Hope was a tall, blond-haired man waiting for you on the top floor, the first person you saw when the doors open and you exited the elevator. Steve's handsome face breaks into a relieved smile, tugging at every one of your heartstrings. With one, two, three strides he has in you in his arms.

"Hi," he breathes out in your hair. "Thank you for being here."

"Of course," you whisper back, because there's honestly nowhere else you'd rather be.

Steve is sure his bones have dissolved, and the only thing keeping him standing is the press of your body against his. He feels frail, weak as he was before Erskine's serum; he feels strong, stronger than science could ever make him. He dies a thousand deaths and comes alive a million times in the brief, yet infinite moments of your hug.

"I love you," he almost screamed to the crook of your neck, holding it back at the last second.

Tony’s warned rung in his mind:

"Things are more casual these days, Capsicle," he’d explained one morning over breakfast. "You don't really ask if she wants to be your girlfriend. It happens naturally."

But Steve wanted to ask. He wanted to meet your parents and stress over making a good impression. He wanted to court you. He wanted to introduce you to every single person in this lousy party as his girl.

A throat being cleared broke you apart. A pretty redhead woman stands a few feet away, hands clasped behind her back and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You must be Y/N,” she smirks. “I’m Natasha.”

She was quicker than Steve's protest, snatching you by the arm away from him and into the glittering crowd.

"Romanoff!" he exclaimed.

"Get over it, Rogers," she retorted, then, as if you two were old friends, whispered: "Everyone's been dying to meet you."

Natasha maneuvered your bodies between the guests, nodding politely to some and waving to others, while Steve followed like a lost puppy. Unlike her, Steve wasn't as good as excusing himself from the admirers and he swiftly lost you in the sea of adulation.

By the bar, two men watched the scene, failing miserably at hiding their laughs. You knew them, of course. Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, Steve's best friends and teammates. Avengers - just like the woman holding onto you.

Bucky was more reserved, offering you a handshake and a pleasant smile, but Sam was a hugger and a hell of a good one. He had a mischievous grin when he said:

"I can't believe I've finally met the famous Y/N!"

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I'm famous?!"

Bucky snickered.

"Damn right you are! Do you know how long we've been asking Cap to bring you over? I must say, there were times I thought you weren't real," he shrugged, still grinning, and Natasha playfully punched him in the arm.

"Ignore bird brain over here," she said. "Although he's right: it did take too long for Steve to introduce you."

"Only he didn't," Bucky quipped. "I'm sure I saw you interrupting their moment by the elevator."

"He was never gonna let her go if I didn't!" she justified. "Besides, it was his turn to interact with the mayor. I heard his monologue for the past two parties and I'm not doing it again."

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Steve a few yards away chatting - or rather, listening - to the mayor. He had his hands on his waist and a frown between his eyebrows, but, as if he felt you watching, his face relaxed and he smiled - bright and warm and Steve.

Sam whistled.

"Damn, he's smitten."

The mayor held Steve up for several more minutes - enough for you to decide to not vote for him if he tried reelection. And although it was a nerve-wracking to be in their presence at first, Natasha, Sam and Bucky engaged you in friendly conversation as if you'd know each other for ages, laced with easy going banter and funny anecdotes about Steve.

"So when we get to the first loop, Stevie's gone green," Bucky recounts "And lemme tell ya, I've never knew someone so skinny could throw up so much. The girl in the car in front of us started screaming because his guts went straight to her hair."

You laughed, a little louder than you would when talking to someone for the first time, but perhaps that was because Natasha made her drinks on the stronger side or because you could just picture Steve throwing up at Coney Island.

"Please tell me you're not telling her about that time at the Cyclone," someone groans behind you and a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist.

You'd failed to notice how beautiful he looked when you walked in, or rather, how beautiful his outfit was. Steve was always handsome, but seeing him in a suit brought butterflies to your stomach. Your gaze followed the sharp line of the jacket, perfectly fitted to his broad shoulders, until they met his lapels and tie. He was an art piece, a sculpture, and he was looking at you.

"I'm stealing her back, Romanoff," he announced, helping you out of the bar stool before your new friend could protest. Whisking you away to a makeshift dance floor, Steve twirled you before tucking you closer than what would be considered well-behaved. His chest was as hard as a rock under the smooth cotton of his shirt, which smelled heavenly.

"I'm sorry about Natasha," he whispered to the crown of your head.

"It's ok," and it really was. "Your friends are nice."

Steve scoffed.

"They like giving me shit."

"I think they love you," you said, and only after your words were out in the open you realized their double meaning.

He pulled back by an inch, just enough to tilt your head up.

"I love them too," he smiled, and every single piece of you broke down in passion.

Neither of you were good dancers, but for a while you swayed side to side to the smooth sounds of the live band. It could've been minutes or hours - time was irrelevant next to the magnitude of Steve Rogers - but when he spoke again the room was noticeably emptier.

"I need to ask you something."

You nodded, wordlessly telling him to carry on.

"I know things are different these days," he mumbled, and anyone less attuned than he was probably wouldn't have heard it clearly. "But I feel bad about possibly leading you on."

Oh, no.

Oh, God, no.

You stalled, dropping your arms down and away from him, mouth twisting in a perfectly shocked "O".

"You're joking,” you stuttered. "You brought me here to say you're leading me on?"

It made no sense. You'd been talking everyday, even while he was away for his mission. You'd met his freaking friends. You hated being the girl that freaked out over being dumped - were you being dumped? Or was Steve just not into you the way you were into him? - but disappointment rung loud in your ears and left a bitter taste in your tongue.

"What? No!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to!"

"You don't want to?"

"I don't want to lead you on but I feel like I am," he blurted out, cheeks getting pinker by the second.

"Oh, that is rich," the remaining guests were beginning to stare now, but you couldn't care less. "Are you even sure of anything at all?"

"I know that I don't want to keep doing this," he motioned for the space between you, “if we're not on the same page."

That was it then. The end. And you'd spend so much money on this dress!

"Well, I'm sorry for wasting your time," you whispered, tears threatening to spill at any moment. "I really thought you liked me."

You turned to leave, disappear down the elevator and forget this night ever existed, but Steve grabbed your arm as if you weighed nothing, infuriating you even more.

"What?" you seethed. "You'd fooled me for months. Can't you let me go now?"

"You think I don't like you?" he was flabbergasted.

"Clearly you don't since you feel oh so terrible about 'possibly leading me on'," you air quoted his previous statement.

"I don't want to lead you on into thinking I don't want anything serious," he said. "I want serious. I want you to be my girlfriend."

Yes.

Oh, God, yes.

"Really?" you gasped.

"Really," and nothing was more beautiful than his smile. You'd keep it in your mind's locket forever. "I'm in love with you, Y/N."

Outside, the rain was still pouring. It would go on throughout the weekend, washing away the last of winter, but inside spring had arrived in the soft, welcoming lips of Steve Rogers.

By the bar, Sam slid a hundred dollar bill to Bucky's metal hand.

"I told you he'd do it,” the Sergeant smirked.

"Yeah, yeah. I just hope he gets better by the time he proposes."

#30DaysofChris2020 #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #corneliabarnes #my writing

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 6 years

Note

Hey, I saw you were doing headcanon stuff! So, I have this like burgeoning headcanon that Josh x Donna's first daughter is wlw. I don't know if you build off of other people's headcanons, but this one has been with me for a long time, and you are such a talented writer and storyteller in general that I thought maybe you'd be interested in taking a crack out of this very specific headcanon?!? I've just been projecting a lot of brainpower towards it and I want to talk to someone else about it!

Okay, so first, all my future headcanons for TWW spring from this original post that’s gotten around a bit. I’ve written a tiny bit of kidfic using them as well so I decided to connect yours to mine because tbh I love this idea and heck yeah, at least one of their daughters should be queer :D that’s just way more fun than if they’re both straight.

So, given what I’d already sorted out for the future, here are my thoughts. There are oh so many ideas behind the cut because apparently I can’t sleep but I can create a bunch of people out of thin air.

Their eldest daughter, Brianna Joan, started insisting everyone call her ‘Jo’ when she was five. They were both surprised by her stubbornness on the matter, but Josh was secretly pleased since her middle name was a tribute to his sister. Donna assumed it was a phase she would grow out of, like a lot of kids when they’re young and establishing their independence. She didn’t–and Jo later believed it was the first hint that she was never meant to be the girly daughter they might have expected.

Charlotte inherited her mother’s grace under pressure, along with her dancer’s form and creative flexibility. While Jo had Donna’s sass and sense of humor, she shared her dad’s brown hair and eyes, constant need to be in motion, and impulsive streak. Josh liked to say Jo got his athletic prowess, too, but Donna always countered with ‘your what now?’ and made the girls laugh. Jo surpassed him in sports talent by junior high, thanks in no small part to coaching by Charlie’s not-so-little-anymore sister Deena.

Junior high and high school were rough, especially girl’s softball and basketball. The rumors and slurs about which girls were probably gay because they were a little too good on the court or the mound bothered her, especially when she got sick of her unruly hair and cut it off at fourteen and the kids started aiming them at her…but it was hard to do the right thing and stand up to them when she was starting to wonder if maybe they were right.

The first crush she developed on an older, female student that she actually admitted to herself was a crush happened a year later, when she was trying to survive her entrance into high school. She came out to her best friend at sixteen and felt bad that she didn’t tell her parents first, but her dad was still working with the White House occasionally during his “retirement,” and her mom was starting her campaign for Congress, and the last thing Jo wanted to do was make that harder.

It wasn’t like she thought they’d be upset, or disappointed in her, exactly. But a tiny part of her did have doubts, after a couple of her friends had come out to their liberal parents and hit a cruel wall of family double-standards. Surely Josh Lyman and Donna Moss, champions of progressive causes, wouldn’t be that way…she hoped.

Just to be safe, Jo told them the week after her mom won her Congressional campaign, when it would cause the least trouble if they did freak out. Donna wasn’t surprised, not even a little, and only shared her worries at night with Josh. She knew how hard it was to be a woman in the world, and it could only be more painful for their eldest facing additional discrimination on top of that. “We just have to love her even harder,” Donna whispered, “and hope it’ll be enough.”

Unlike his wife, Josh was–as always–oblivious. Jo coming out was big surprise, but one he was happy about. She trusted them enough to tell them, and include them in her confusing teenage life. Surely that meant they were on the right track. “And hey,” he offered up in the initial shock of her disclosure, “I can’t exactly blame her. Women…are great. I’m a big fan. Of them.”

Just like he did with all the girl’s activities over the years, from dance to soccer, Josh threw himself into being a parental ally until he annoyed Jo with his enthusiasm. PFLAG, marches, fundraisers, sponsoring local clubs…"which one of us is gay again?” she would mutter to her sister with an eyeroll sometimes, out of earshot of the DC dad with the rainbow t-shirt passing out mini flags.

She was grateful though, especially after she survived college, and law school, and volunteered at a nonprofit that exposed her to so many kids whose parents didn’t care if they lived or died, simply because of who they turned out to be. Josh started getting handmade cards for his birthday and Father’s Day every year, filled with Jo’s illegible handwriting–that, he knew, she definitely didn’t get from him–telling him how much she loved and appreciated him. He put them on the fridge next to the sketches her little sister sent, like they were both still in grade school. Donna teased him about that, but whenever their friends visited she was the first one to casually point them out.

In the family, Charlotte was the only one that ever gave Jo any grief about her sexuality. It was mostly sibling sniping, because Charlotte was quieter than her sister but even more competitive, and she was never quite able to catch up with the three year gap between them. Still, it made Jo uncomfortable in her late teens because she and her baby sister were always so close growing up, and she couldn’t tell if the snark was coming from someplace deeper. When Charlie was fifteen, she got a week’s suspension for breaking a boy’s nose after he called her valedictorian sister a slur she refused to repeat to anyone. Jo worried less after that, and the sarcastic comments never happened again.

Toby’s son Huck came out as bisexual in college, and Jo joined his twin sister in being his closest support system while he braced for his parents’ reactions. There was a lot of hugging, and some knowing looks between Toby and Josh when the kids weren’t paying attention, and Huck had to pay Jo twenty bucks because she promised it would go over fine and he was certain it would be a disaster. He never learned to love the Yankees but he shared his father’s temperament from an early age. He and Charlie dated briefly in their twenties, causing a minor scandal to ripple through the connected families.

CJ’s daughter Nora, who was like a distant cousin Jo never got to visit enough in sunny California, only allowed the family to use her full name. She got a lot of weird looks when strangers overheard, or friends found out how old-fashioned it was, but Jo liked to call her by it anyway when they chatted. She never got to meet her dad’s mentor, and she thought based on the stories she’d heard that he would be embarrassed but proud to learn that Claudia Jean named her firstborn Leonora after she left the White House.

Nora was the one who introduced Jo to her future wife, an architect based out of Sacramento with an independent streak and temper that secretly reminded Josh of one of his exes. Unlike him and Amy, Jo and her fiance were a happy fit, sharing similar political beliefs but no professional rivalry. They spent as much time at home swapping stories and advice about their demanding careers as they did on community activism. Jo mellowed out a little after they got married–”she’s so much like you,” Donna told Josh with a smile–and they moved five times in three years before buying a house and starting their attempts to have a family.

That was the first time Jo ever really surprised her mom, who cried when she found out they were expecting. “I thought…you never talked about wanting kids,” Donna said carefully, and Jo just grinned that bright grin that was so much like her father’s. “I needed some time,” she told her mom, “to figure out what I wanted. But I think that if I manage to be half as good at it as you were, I’ll be an amazing mom.”

Josh and Donna bantered anxiously in the waiting room while each of their eldest daughter’s three kids came into the world. Two she gave birth to, and one she didn’t. They spoiled them all the same.

And when Charlotte brought the Lyman-Moss legacy back to the White House, Jo’s youngest son got to hunt Easter Eggs on the lawn. He stood next to his aunt during the photo op, just one of a dozen kids surrounding the first female President of the United States.

#seriously #just so. many. thoughts #this got totally out of hand #josh x donna #headcanons #it's super fun to play with future fic i must say #tww #replies #theonewithwaytoomanyfandoms

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

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This man chapter 11

He narrows his eyes at me and places his jar of peanut butter, calmly and precisely, on the work surface. Those cogs are working hard again and his finger is tapping ferociously on the worktop as he stares me down.

‘You have three seconds.’ he declares, his voice dark, his face straight.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Three seconds for what?’

‘To get your arse over here.’ It’s that fierce tone. ‘Three,’

My eyes widen. Is he serious? ‘What happens if you make it to zero?’

‘Do you want to find out?’ He remains completely impassive. ‘Two,’

What? Do I want to find out? Fucking hell, he’s not given me much time to run this over.

‘One,’

Shit! I bolt towards his outstretched arms, colliding against his hard body. There was no mistaking the dark look of satisfaction I got a glimpse of before my head was buried in his neck. I don’t even know what happens on zero, but I do know how much I love his arms around me, so it’s a no brainer really. Oh, that feels good. As my face nuzzles between his pecs and I trace my fingers over his back, I can hear his heartbeats slow under my ear. He exhales and stands, placing me on the island, working his way between my thighs. He rests his palms on the tops of my legs.

‘I like your shirt.’ He skates his palms over my thighs.

‘Is it expensive?’ I ask on a pout.

‘Very,’ He smirks. He knows my game. ‘What do you remember about last night?’

Oh? Yes, I was ridiculously drunk, shockingly brazen on the dance floor, and I think I might have admitted to myself that I’m in love with him. He doesn’t need to know the last revelation. ‘You’re a good dancer.’ I say instead.

‘What can I say? I’m a sucker for JT,’ He shrugs it off swiftly. ‘What else do you remember?’

‘Why?’ I ask on a frown.

He sighs. ‘At what point do you draw a blank?’

Where is he going with this? ‘I don’t remember getting home, if that’s what you’re getting at. I do realise I was stupidly drunk and highly irresponsible.’

‘You don’t remember anything after the bar?’

‘No.’ I admit. That’s never happened to me before.

‘That’s a shame.’ His sludgy eyes search mine for something, I’ve no clue what.

‘What’s a shame?’

‘Nothing,’ He leans down, kissing me tenderly on the lips, smoothing his palms over my face.

‘How old are you?’ I ask as I look him straight in the eye.

He dips his lips to mine again, coaxing them open and slowly swirling his tongue around my mouth before biting my bottom lip and tugging gently. ‘Twenty six.’ he whispers, planting soft, skimming kisses all over my mouth.

‘You missed twenty five.’ I mumble, closing my eyes in complete contentment.

‘No, I didn’t. You just can’t remember asking me.’

‘Oh. After the bar?’

He rubs his nose against mine. ‘Yes, after the bar.’ He pulls back and runs his thumb across my bottom lip. ‘You feeling better?’

‘Yes, you need to feed me.’

He laughs, planting a chaste kiss on my lips. ‘Are you making demands?’

‘Yes,’ I say haughtily. ‘Get me my clothes.’

He narrows his eyes on me, making a play for my hip bone, squeezing it hard and sending me jolting across the worktop on a squeal. ‘Who has the power, Selena?’

‘What are you talking about?’ I laugh around his torturous squeezes.

‘I’m talking about how much easier we’ll get along if you accept who holds the power.’

Oh, I can’t bear it anymore. ‘You do!’

He releases me immediately. ‘Good girl.’ He grabs my hair and yanks me forward, landing me with a hard, forceful kiss. ‘Don’t forget it.’

I melt into him, absorbing his so called power on a long drawn out sigh. All too soon, he leaves me on the worktop and returns a few minutes later with my underwear, dress, shoes and bag. I scowl at him as I take them.

‘Don’t look at me like that, lady. You won’t be wearing that dress again, I can assure you. Put the shirt over it.’ He gives the dress a disapproving look before leaving the kitchen to take a call.

I laugh to myself. Who holds the power? Me, that’s who! Control freak! I throw my clothes on and rummage through my bag to try and find my contraceptive pills, but they’re nowhere to be seen. I tip out the entire contents of my clutch onto the worktop and rifle through the crap that I harbour in my bag, only to find I didn’t put them in.

‘You ready?’

I turn to see Justin in the archway to the kitchen with his hand held out. ‘Two seconds.’ I stuff my things back in my bag and walk over, taking his outstretched hand.

‘Lost something?’ he asks, leading me out of the penthouse.

‘No, I must have left them at home.’ He looks down at me with a questioning look. ‘My pills,’

His eyebrows rise. ‘It’s a good job Cathy isn’t here. You would give her a heart attack in that dress.’

‘Cathy?’

‘My housekeeper,’ He looks down at my dress disapprovingly and sets about fastening the buttons of his shirt. ‘Better.’ he concludes on a small satisfied smile.

We exit the elevator and I’m pulled through the foyer of Lusso, Clive doing a double take as we pass.

‘Morning, Mr Ward.’ he greets cheerfully. ‘You look better this morning, Selena.’

Justin nods at Clive but doesn’t slow his long strides. I blush profusely, smiling sweetly as I scuttle along, keeping up with Justin. How embarrassing. I seriously doubt I look better than last night. My hair is damp, I’ve not a scrap of make-up on and I’m wearing last night’s clothes with Justin’s shirt over the top.

I’m bundled into the Aston Martin and drove home at the usual hair raising speed, while Ian Brown soothes my ears.

Outside Kate’s, I let myself out of his car and meet him on the pavement. His eyes follow me until I’m stood before him and he’s looking down at me with those glorious, green eyes. I don’t want him to go. I want him to take me back to his tower in the sky and hide me there forever, in his bed – with him in it too. I’m a slave to this man. I’ve been completely and utterly taken.

I step forward, pushing my front into his chest, tilting my head up to him. He stands casually, with his hands resting lightly in his jean pockets, his twinkling eyes watching me as I reach up on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his. That’s all it takes for him to remove his hands from his pockets and heave me to his chest, plunging his tongue into my mouth, fiercely taking whatever he wants. It’s totally fine. He can have it. My arms find their way around his neck, and I absorb it all as he rolls and laps at my mouth, completely consuming me.

Trouble…so much bloody trouble.

Once he’s taken what he wants, he pulls away on a long exhale, leaving me breathless and wanting so much more. I turn on my unsteady legs, taking myself up the path to Kate’s front door. I should smile, I’m quite happy with myself and all the sex I’ve had, but the ache in my gut is a screaming indictor that I can’t ignore.

I turn to watch him drive off but find him close behind, looking down at me. My brow furrows. What’s he doing? If he’s come for another goodbye kiss, then I’m game.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘I’m coming in to wait for you.’

‘Where am I going?’

‘You’re coming to work with me,’ he replies, like I should know this.

He’s going to work? Of course, hotels don’t close on weekends, but what am I going to do while he’s working? Do I care as long as I’m with him?

‘You just kissed me goodbye.’

A smile plays at the corners of his mouth. ‘No, Selena. I just kissed you.’ He brushes a damp lock of hair from my face. ‘Get ready.’

Oh, okay. He orders me about all over the place and I comply, mostly without a second thought. I really am a slave to him.

I walk into the lounge, with Justin in tow, to find Kate and Sam sprawled across the sofa, a tangle of semi-naked arms and legs, eating cornflakes. Neither of them makes any urgent attempt to cover up.

‘Hey, my man,’ Sam exclaims when he looks up and sees Justin. Justin’s eyes travel over Sam’s half nakedness, a look of disapproval clear on his face. ‘How are you feeling, Selena?’ he asks.

I roll my eyes. Yes, I was steaming drunk, but as it happens, I feel fine now – Justin has f**ked me better. ‘Good.’ I answer, glancing at Kate with a get-in-my-room-NOW look. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I leave Justin in the lounge and retreat to my room, pacing while waiting for Kate. Victoria’s disclosure comes back into my mind, and now I don’t know what to do.

She swans in, looking all roughed up. ‘Someone looks thoroughly f**ked!’ she laughs.

I narrow my eyes on her. There’s one more thing I need to clear up first. ‘Why did you tell Sam where I was?’ I spit accusingly.

She recoils. ‘You’re mad at me?’

‘Yes…no…a little bit.’ Oh, I’m not mad in the slightest. I was a bit last night, but not now. She gives me a mischievous grin. ‘Don’t look at me like that Kate Matthews. What’s going on with you and Sam?’

‘Adorable, isn’t he?’ She winks. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’

Well, fun or not, she needs to know. ‘You should know that Victoria saw him being doused in a frappuccino by some irate woman in Starbucks.’ I pull Justin’s shirt and my dress over my head, flinging them both to the floor.

Kate rolls her eyes and scoops them up, placing them on my bed before flopping down on my duvet, her red hair fanning around her pale face. ‘I know. It’s the crazy bitch ex-girlfriend.’

‘He told you?’ I can’t keep the shock from my voice.

‘Yeah, it’s no big shakes.’

‘Oh,’ I can’t believe how laid back she is. Ever the calm and collective one, nothing fazes her.

She looks up at me. ‘You’re not the only one getting a good seeing to,’ she says seriously. I gape at her. ‘It’s written all over your face, Selena.’

‘I’m going to work with Justin.’ I grab my dryer to try and salvage the damp mess that is my hair.

‘Have fun.’ I hear her chant as she sashays out of my room. I flip my head upside down and rough dry my mass of brunette hair, ignoring the fact that I’m rushing to get back to Justin.

When I flick my head back up to the mirror, an image of Justin, propped up against my headboard, smacks me in the face. His arms are casually braced behind his head. He practically fills my double bed. I flick my dryer off, turning to face green eyes burning holes into me. I want to crawl up that bed and into him.

‘Hey, baby.’ He looks me up and down.

‘Hey, yourself,’ I grin. ‘Comfortable?’

He bounces himself lightly. ‘No, I’m only comfortable with one thing under me these days.’ His eyebrows raise suggestively.

That look and those words have my knees quivering and coils of craving springing into every crevice of my body. I watch as he pushes himself up from my bed and walks slowly over to me, turning me to face my wardrobe. Reaching over one of my shoulders, he flicks through the rails of clothes, pulling out my cream shirt dress.

‘Put this on,’ he breathes in my ear. ‘And make sure there’s lace underneath it.’

I clench my eyes shut. I was thinking more along the lines of jeans and a t-shirt, but I’m more than happy to go with that. I reach forward, taking the hanger from him, moaning when his hand falls down and brushes over my breast, his h*ps rolling forward into my lower back.

Oh, good Lord, STOP!

‘Be quick.’ He slaps my bum lightly and stalks out, leaving me a wobbly mess and holding onto my cream dress for support. I shake myself back to life, shiver on a little gasp and finish getting myself ready.

Pulling out every handbag I own, I proceed to search for my pills, but they’re nowhere to be found. I find Kate in the kitchen making tea, still in just a t-shirt.

‘Have you seen my pills?’ I rummage through the junk drawer in the kitchen, housing everything from batteries and phone chargers to lipsticks and nail polish.

‘Aren’t they in your bag?’

‘No,’ I slam the drawer on a frown.

‘Have you checked all your bags?’ Kate asks, walking out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

‘Yes,’ I proceed to delve through every other drawer in the kitchen, even though I know they can’t possibly be in among the cutlery or utensils.

‘Problem?’

I look up, finding Justin filling the doorway. ‘I can’t find my pills.’ I try, in complete vain, searching through my bag again, but they’re definitely not there.

‘Find them later, come on.’ He puts his hand out. ‘I like your dress.’ he says softly, running his gaze up and down me as I walk towards him. Of course he does; he picked it.

He reaches under the hem to run his forefinger up the inside of my thigh, watching me as my lips clamp together and my hands fly up to his chest. He smirks dirtily and sweeps his finger under my knickers seam, brushing my sex softly. I sigh.

‘Wet.’ he whispers, circling me slowly. I could weep with pleasure. ‘Later.’ He withdraws his finger and licks it clean.

I scowl at him. ‘You have to stop doing that.’

‘Never,’ He grins, yanking me out of the kitchen. ‘Say goodbye to your friend.’

‘Bye!’ I shout. ‘She’s your friend too, isn’t she?’ I haven’t hit him with the little exchange he and Kate had in the bar last night. He looks at me, his frown line skipping across his forehead. ‘At the bar, whispering in her ear.’ I add casually.

He opens the front door, ushering me out. ‘She gave me a dig for f**king off, and I apologised. I don’t offer apologies very often, so don’t push it.’

I laugh. I don’t expect he does. But he did – for me. He still hasn’t explained where he disappeared to, though.

Chapter 21

We drive out of the city, towards the Surrey Hills. I catch a glimpse of him, every now and then, watching me instead of the road. Each time, he smiles and squeezes my knee, which has had his palm spread on it for most of the journey. I start thinking about how little I know about him. He’s intense, quite volatile, incredibly self-assured and extremely rich. Oh, and he’s wild in the sex department. But that’s all I know. I don’t even know how old he is.

‘How long have you owned The Manor?’ I ask.

He throws me a curious, arched eyebrow and turns down the music via the controls on his steering wheel. ‘Since I was twenty one,’

‘That young?’ I blurt, my tone clearly displaying my shock at his answer.

He smiles brightly at me. ‘I inherited The Manor from my Uncle Carmichael.’

‘He died?’

His smile disappears. ‘Yes.’

Okay, now I really want to know more. ‘How old are you, Justin?’

‘Twenty seven.’ he says, completely impassive.

I sigh. ‘Why won’t you tell me how old you are?’

He looks over at me, grinning. ‘Because, you might think I’m too old for you and run a mile.’

I eye him suspiciously across the car. He can’t be that old. I want to scream at him that I won’t be running anywhere. ‘Okay, how many times have I got to ask you before we get to your real age?’ I’ve tried this before and got nowhere.

He grins. ‘A few,’

‘I’m twenty six.’ I try for a bit of give and take as I watch him closely.

He glances at me. ‘I know.’

‘How?’

‘Your licence,’

‘You went through my bag as well as my phone?’ I cry incredulously, but he just shrugs. I shake my head in dismay. It’s an unwritten rule. This man really doesn’t have any manners. ‘Do you think you’re too old for me?’ Given what he has done to me, I’m guessing the answer is no, but as it seems like such an issue, it’s worth an ask.

‘No, I don’t.’ He keeps his eyes on the road. ‘My issue is your issue.’

I frown. ‘I don’t have an issue.’

He turns his handsome face towards me, all smoky eyed and glorious. ‘Then stop asking me.’

I rest my head back against the seat on a huff, watching the countryside pass us by. His age doesn’t bother me in the slightest – not now, anyway. I don’t think there’s anything that could change my mind on this.

I turn towards him. ‘What about your parents?’

The straight line his lips form has me immediately regretting the question. ‘I don’t see them.’ His tone is dismissive.

I sit back and say no more. His contemptuous approach makes me all the more curious, but it also makes me shut my trap.

We pull up at The Manor and Justin flips a switch on the dash, opening the gates. As we approach the courtyard, I see Big John getting out of his Range Rover, in his usual black suit and wraparound sunglasses. He nods in greeting as I get out of the car and walk around to Justin’s side.

‘What’s happening, John?’ Justin asks, taking my hand and leading me up the steps to The Manor’s entrance. I shiver, thinking about the last time I was here. I did a runner, and I never thought I would be back. But here I am. I look up at Justin as he claps hands with Big John. He’s turned all business like.

‘S’all good,’ John rumbles, allowing Justin and me to pass before following us through to the restaurant. I’m surprised how quiet it is for ten o’clock on a Sunday morning in a hotel. Isn’t it breakfast time?

Justin stops, turning to face me. ‘What would you like to eat?’ He’s even talking to me all business like.

‘I’m not fussed.’ I shrug. I’m feeling uncomfortable and beginning to wish I stayed on the sofa with a huge mug of coffee and a duvet. What am I going to do while he works, anyway?

His expression softens. ‘What do you really fancy?’

Oh, well, that’s really easy. ‘Smoked salmon,’

‘Bagel?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Coffee?’

‘Please,’

‘How do you take your coffee?’

‘Cappuccino, extra shot. No chocolate or sugar.’

‘You’ll eat in my office,’

I shrug. ‘I’m easy.’ As soon as the words fall from my mouth, I snap my eyes up, discovering twinkling, green pools of delight and a very dirty smirk. ‘Not a word.’ I warn.

‘It wasn’t a question, Selena. John, give me twenty. Pete, did you get that?’

‘I certainly did, Sir.’

‘Good. Bring Selena’s breakfast to my office.’ He gives his orders out while staring at me with blazing green eyes.

My hand is grabbed, and I’m hauled through The Manor to his office. I jog to keep up with him, and no sooner has the door to his office shut, my bag is tossed to the floor and I’m thrust up against the back of it, my dress around my waist.

Fucking hell! Isn’t he here to work? He buries his face straight in my neck, my arms flying up to grip his t-shirt. I knew what was coming. When he focused those blazing eyes on me, I knew what he was thinking. But I’m still caught off guard by his ferociousness. Slow, prepared build up, or hard, fast pounce – the affect is still the same. I’m sucking in short, sharp breaths and ready to beg.

‘I knew it was a bad idea bringing you here. I’m going to get nothing done.’ His husky voice drums against my throat as he sucks greedily, his palms stroking up either side of my body, resting on my br**sts and kneading through the material of my dress.

‘I’ll go then.’ I breathe. ‘Shit!’ The sharp thrust of his h*ps tells me that was the wrong thing to say.

The pressure of his body pushing me up against the door increases and his mouth crashes to mine. ‘Watch your f**king mouth.’ he grates between strong, swift strokes of his tongue. ‘You’re going nowhere, lady,’ He bites my lip. ‘Ever. Are you wet?’

‘Yes,’ I pant, grappling at his t-shirt. I only have to look at him and I’m turned on.

His hands leave my br**sts, disappearing south, and I hear the sound of his fly zipper being undone, his no obstruction comment now perfectly clear. My knickers are yanked to the side.

I have no time to brace myself for the hard and fast that’s coming. He tugs one of my legs up to his waist, positions himself and slams into me, thrusting me up the door on a loud shout. I scream.

‘Quiet.’ he barks.

He gives me no time to adjust. He pounds into me repeatedly, punishingly, over and over, sending me skyward in pleasure. I press my lips together to refrain from shouting out, dropping my head onto his shoulder in delirious despair.

‘Do you feel me, Selena?’ he grinds through gritted teeth.

Lord give me strength, I think I’m going to pass out. He’s working into me like a mad man, urgently thrusting and gasping.

‘Answer the question!’ he’s shouts. How come he can shout?

‘Yes! I feel you.’

He hammers on, pushing me further and further into a mind spinning despair. I’m a second from bursting, the one leg I was stood on now off the floor from being pushed up the door.

‘Does it feel good?’

‘Oh God, yes!’ I scream as all breath leaves my lungs and I’m assaulted by his greedy mouth.

‘I said, quiet.’ He bites at my lip, the pressure bordering on painful.

The blazing fire attacking my core cracks, fizzles and ruptures, pushing me into a fevered bliss as I cl**ax on a loud cry, his mouth capturing my screams as my mind goes blank.

I shake uncontrollably against him, but he drives on, shouting on his own explosion, his erection pulsing and jerking as he spills himself deep inside me.

Oh, good Lord, that was way hard and way fast. My head is spinning wildly. I’m in complete awe of what this man does to me. He’s a bloody genius. And in his office?

‘I might bring you to work every day.’ he breathes against my neck as he slowly pulls out of me, letting me slide down the door. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Don’t let go of me.’ I mumble into his shoulder. I can’t find my balance.

He laughs lightly, wrapping his arm around my waist to steady me. I blow my hair out of my face and find his stunning eyes in my field of vision.

I smile. ‘Hi.’

‘She’s back.’ He presses his lips to mine and picks me up, carrying me to the sofa and placing me down before he sets about tucking himself in and refastening his flies.

While he collects my bag from the floor, I rearrange my dress and flop back on the sofa, a smile tickling the corners of my lips. The contrast of his persona, from wild and demanding to tender and attentive, is a real brain burner. But I love both sides. He’s just way too good.

He comes and sits next to me, pulling me in under his arm. ‘I thought you could go up to the extension and start drafting some ideas.’

‘You still want me to design?’ I sound confused. That’s okay, because I am. I thought it was all a ploy to get me into bed.

‘Of course I do.’

‘I thought you just wanted me for my body.’ I tease, earning myself a flicked nipple.

‘I want you for a lot more than your body, lady.’

He does? Like what? ‘It’s Sunday,’ I pull away from his embrace. ‘I don’t work on Sundays. Anyway, I don’t have any of my kit with me.’

His frown line jumps onto his forehead as he reaches over and yanks me onto his lap on a slight scowl. ‘A pencil and a piece of paper?’ He nips my ear playfully. ‘I’m sure I can provide you with those, but I’ll be deducting it from your final bill.’

Essentially, yes, a few pieces of paper and a pencil is all I need at the moment, but its Sunday. I can think of a million other things I could be doing and would prefer to do. Besides, I don’t need to be sitting in the extension to start pulling ideas together.

But then I consider the possibility that he wants me out of his office. He’s got his rocks off and now I’m in the way. I can’t even get in my car and go. I remove myself from his lap as the door knocks.

‘Come in.’ he instructs, his questioning eyes resting on me.

I ignore them. The grey haired chap from the restaurant walks in with a tray and places it on the coffee table.

‘Thanks, Pete.’ His probing eyes stay on me.

‘Sir,’ He nods at Justin and flicks a friendly smile in my direction before leaving.

‘Can I have some paper?’ I ask, picking the tray up and throwing my bag over my shoulder.

‘Are you going to eat your breakfast?’ He stands, his brow still furrowed.

‘I’ll take it upstairs.’ I don’t want to get under your feet!

‘Oh, okay.’ He walks over to his desk.

I try my hardest to ignore his perfect, jean clad arse as he bends and opens a drawer, pulling out an art pad and a tin of drawing pencils. What’s he got those for? They’re not your average stationary essentials. He walks back over, handing them to me. I accept, tucking them under the tray and making my way to the door.

‘Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?’

I turn, finding his questioning look has morphed into more of a glare. ‘What?’ I ask. I know what, but I’m not in the mood to stroke his ego.

‘Get your arse over here.’ He flicks his head.

My shoulders drop slightly. It’s just easier, all round, if I give him what he wants and get out of his hair. I reach him, trying my hardest to put on a cheerful face. I know I’m failing miserably.

‘Kiss me.’ he orders, his hands draped casually in his jean pockets. I reach up on tiptoes and push my lips against his, ensuring I make it more than a peck. He doesn’t respond. ‘Kiss me like you mean it, Selena.’

He’s not buying my half-hearted attempt to satisfy him. I sigh. I’ve got a tray in my hands, my bag over my shoulder and a pad and pencil buried under the tray. This is proving to be tricky, especially when he’s not assisting. I place the tray and drawing equipment on his desk and delve my hands into his hair, pulling his face down to mine. It takes a nanosecond for him to respond. Once our lips meet, he takes me completely, his arms snaking around my waist as he bends slightly to accommodate our height difference. I don’t want to enjoy it, but I do – way too much.

‘Better,’ he says against my lips. ‘Never hold out on me, Selena.’ He releases me, leaving me feeling slightly dizzy and disorientated. Someone knocks on the door. ‘Go.’ He nods at the door.

I collect my things and leave without a word. I’ve got a proper sulk on. I’m on stupidly dangerous ground here, and I know it. This man has broken heart written all over him.

I open the office door and find Big John waiting for me. He nods, taking up position beside me to escort me upstairs.

‘I know where I’m going, John.’ I offer. He doesn’t have to flank me all of the way.

‘S’all good, girl.’ he rumbles, continuing his long strides besides me to the stairs.

When we reach the stained glass window at the bottom of the stairs to the third floor, I glance up the wide staircase. At the top, there’s a set of wooden doors with pretty circle symbols calved into the wood. They’re closed and quite intimidating.

What’s up there? It could be a function room. I’m distracted from the imposing vastness of wood when I hear a door open. I look over the landing, seeing a man walking out of a guest suite doing his flies up. He looks up, catching me staring. My face flames as I look at John, who’s eyeing up the guy, shaking his head menacingly. A wave of worry washes over the guests face, and I scuttle off through the archway that leads to the extension to try and escape the embarrassing situation. John did not look impressed. Why men think it’s acceptable to exit toilets and hotel rooms still arranging themselves is beyond me.

I let myself into the furthest room. With the lack of furniture, I slide down the wall to my bum.

John pokes his head around the door. ‘Ring Justin if you need anything.’ he grunts.

‘I can go find him.’

‘No, ring Justin.’ he affirms, closing the door.

So, if I need the toilet, have I got to ring Justin then? I should have stayed at home.

Gazing around the shell of a room, I start nibbling at the salmon bagel, which I reluctantly admit is lovely. I try to recall my specification. What did he say? Oh, yes – sensual, stimulating and invigorating. It’s not my normal brief, but I can work with it. I pick up the pad, slide a pencil out of the tin and begin sketching large, lavish beds and sumptuous window dressings. Losing myself in some sketching is the perfect way to divert my mind from the more troubling thoughts that are currently swamping my poor brain.

A few hours later, my arse is dead and I have a rough draft of an amazing bedroom. I flick the pencil over the paper, shading and blending here and there. Okay, now that’s sensual. He said a big bed was essential, and the huge four-poster, positioned in the middle of the room, screams luxury and sensuality. I study the picture, blushing at my own work. Jesus, it’s almost erotic. Where has that come from? Maybe it’s all the incredible sex I’ve been having. The bed dominating the room is a replica of one that I spotted at a reclamation yard a few months ago. With massive, chunky, wooden posts and a lattice style canopy, it’ll look amazing with gold silk dressing it. I don’t know what to put on the walls because Justin didn’t elaborate further than large, wooden wall hangings – probably something resembling what I saw in the other suite when Justin cornered me.

My line of thought is interrupted when the door opens and I’m presented with Sarah’s pouty face. I inwardly groan. The woman is everywhere – everywhere Justin is.

‘Selena, what a pleasant surprise,’

Liar!

She shuts the door softly behind her and walks into the middle of the room. My unkind thoughts have me wishing she would take a tumble in those ridiculous heels. I really don’t like this woman. She brings out my inner bitch better than anyone I’ve ever known before.

‘Sarah. It’s nice to see you.’ I clasp a lock of my hair and start fiddling with it, as I consider her motives for paying me a visit. She looks down at me sat on the floor. I notice her pouty, red lips look super inflated today. She’s definitely had work there. My sitting position, in relation to her standing position, has me feeling inferior to her. I’d get up, if my backside wasn’t numb and I could be sure I wouldn’t crumble back down to the floor in a heap.

‘Working on a Sunday,’ she muses as she gazes around the empty room. ‘Do all of your clients get the same special treatment you offer Justin?’

Oh, what a bitch! Her motive is suddenly very clear. ‘No,’ I smile, ‘Just Justin.’ My unkind thoughts are justified. She really dislikes me, as opposed to just disliking me. She could possibly even hate me. Why?

‘He’s a bit mature for you, isn’t he?’ She folds her arms under her ample chest, and I conclude that she’s probably had those done too.

I don’t want her to know that I’m unaware of Justin’s age. She undoubtedly knows. And the fact that she does and I don’t, really bristles me.

‘I don’t think so.’ I retort sweetly. I really want to get up from the floor so the nasty bit of work isn’t looking down at me. What’s it got to do with her?

Her pouty face displays an abundance of displeasure at me being here and that, strangely, has me feeling displeased about being here too. I should have stayed at home. I don’t need this

‘So, what is it about my Justin that has you giving up your free time to work?’

My Justin?

‘I’m not sure what business that is of yours.’

‘Maybe, it’s his money?’ She raises her already stupidly arched eyebrow. Botox!

‘I’m not interested in Justin’s wealth.’ I retaliate shortly. I’m in love with him!

‘Of course, you’re not.’ She wanders over to the window, casually and cockily, before turning back to face me, her face as cold as her voice. ‘Be warned, Selena. Justin is not the sort of man you build your dreams on.’

I stare her straight in the eye, trying to mimic her cold face and tone. It’s not hard – it comes naturally with this horrible woman. ‘Thank you for the warning, but I think I’m grown up enough to decide who I build my dreams on.’ My heart has taken a nose dive into my stomach.

She scoffs mildly. It’s in pity. It makes me feel crap. ‘Little girl, jump out of your fairy tale and open your e…’

The door opens and Justin strides in. He looks at me slumped on the floor and at Sarah stood at the window. ‘All right?’ he asks Sarah.

I recoil on the inside. Why the hell is he asking her for? She’s fine, stood over there throwing her warnings out. It’s me, sat here with a dead arse, he ought to be asking. I’m even more stunned when she plasters on a ridiculously fake smile and walks over to him – all straight backed with her chest thrust forward.

‘Yes, sweetie. Selena and I were just discussing the new rooms. She has some fabulous ideas.’ She rubs his shoulder.

I want to prize her fake nails off of her fingers. The bloody lying bitch! He’s not going to fall for that, surely? The satisfied smile he gives her, before turning it on me, tells me he has. The blind twat!

‘She’s good.’ he says proudly. He’s making me feel like a f**king kid.

‘Yes, very talented.’ Sarah purrs, smiling slyly at me. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She leans up and kisses his cheek. I burn with rage. ‘Selena, it was lovely to see you again.’

I muster up the decency to smile at the beast. ‘And you, Sarah.’

I hope she detects the insincerity in my tone; I’ve never been more insincere in my life. She leaves the room and me alone with Justin. Why did I come here, and what role does that woman play in Justin’s life? She’s been here every time I have. And she was at the Lusso launch too. Will I ever escape the wily cow? She wants me gone, and there is only one reason she would want that…she wants Justin. The thought of him being with anyone else makes my heart constrict in pain, makes me want to hurt someone. I’ve never been the jealous type, nor clingy or needy. But I can feel all of these new feelings racing to the surface, swamping my entire being. I’m not comfortable with it. I’m in big trouble here – big, f**king, shitting trouble. She said Justin isn’t the sort of man you build your dreams on. I think I already know that.

‘Let’s have a look then, lady.’ He slides down the wall next to me, reaching over for the pad. ‘Wow! I love that bed.’

‘So do I.’ I admit sullenly. The enthusiasm for my idea has been sucked right out of me.

‘What’s all this?’ He points to the canopy on the bed.

‘It’s a lattice design. All the wooden beams overlap to form a grind like affect.’

‘So you can hang things from them?’ He looks at me inquisitively.

‘Yes, like material, or lights, maybe.’ I shrug.

His mouth forms an O as he grasps my concept. ‘What colours did you have in mind?’

‘Black and gold,’

‘I love it,’ He brushes his hand over the drawing. ‘When can we start?’

Huh? ‘It’s only a draft. I have to do some mood boards, scale drawings, lighting plans, that sort of thing.’ I don’t know if I’ll be doing any of those things. I’ve fallen into a deep state of depression after being ejected from his office and warned off by Sarah. I’ve got to seriously re-think what I’m doing here. ‘Will you take me home?’

His head shoots up, his green eyes laced with concern. ‘Are you okay?’

I push my numb backside up from the floor, using every ounce of strength I have to plaster a smile – as fake as Sarah’s – onto my face. ‘I’m fine. I’ve got some work stuff to sort out for tomorrow.’ I smooth my dress down.

‘I thought you didn’t work on weekends?’

‘It’s only work-ish.’

‘-ish?’ He looks up at me with a small smile. I could cry.

‘Yes, ish,’ I shrug.

Take me home so I can think without you there to distract me with your beautiful face and body.

‘Okay,’ He gets up from the floor with ease and hands me back the pad. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he presses.

I maintain my fake smile. ‘I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?’ I fight my hand back to my side when it reaches up to grab a piece of hair.

He eyes me suspiciously. ‘Come on then.’ He takes my bag and fills my empty hand with his.

‘The tray,’

‘Pete will get it.’ He dismisses my concern and leads me out of the room, back downstairs.

I want to release my hand from his, but I don’t want to give him any reason to suspect I’m anything other than fine. It’s hard, especially when I’m the furthest away from fine that I could possibly be. The more I touch him, the more attached to him I’m becoming.

As we land in the entrance hall, Justin glances around nervously. ‘Wait here, I need to get my phone and keys. Actually, go and get in the car. It’s open.’ I frown as he ushers me out of the door before he jogs off towards his office.

I take myself down the steps of The Manor, across the gravel to the DBS. Before I make it to the car, I hear the laughing of a certain acid tongued, pouty faced beast. I tense from top to toe and swivel on the gravel, only to find her stood at the top of the steps with Justin.

‘Okay, sweetie. See you later.’ She reaches up and kisses his cheek. I heave. ‘Hope to see you again, Selena.’ she calls.

Her icy stare penetrates me as Justin approaches and gives me my bag before taking my hand again. I’m put in the car, and as soon as the engine is started, my ears are invaded with Radiohead’s Creep. I smile to myself. Yes, why I’m here, is a damn good question.

Chapter 22

I leave Justin with a chaste kiss and a look of trepidation all over his stunning face. ‘I’ll call you.’ I say casually, jumping out of his car. I can’t get away quick enough. I shut the car door and hurry up the path to Kate’s house. I don’t look back, shutting the door swiftly behind me and sagging against it.

‘Hey!’ Kate appears at the top of the stairs with a towel wrapped around her. ‘You okay?’

I can’t plaster the fake smile on anymore. ‘No,’ I admit. I’m way past being okay.

She looks at me with a mixture of confusion and sympathy. ‘Tea?’

I nod, peeling myself from the door. ‘Please don’t be too nice to me.’ I warn. Tears are threatening, and I’m willing myself to keep them under control.

I knew this would happen. Not this soon, but this nasty aching heart business was inevitable. She smiles, knowingly, and jerks her head. I drag myself up the stairs, finding her in the kitchen making tea.

I collapse in one of the mismatching chairs. ‘Has Sam gone?’

She spoons three sugars into her mug, and even though her back is turned away from me, I know she’s grinning. ‘Yeah.’ she says, way too casually.

‘Good night?’

She turns, narrowing her bright blues on me before she grins. ‘The man’s an animal!’

I scoff at her description of Sam. There’s a certain someone else I could nail that descriptor to. ‘Good?’

She pours boiling water into the mugs and adds milk. ‘He’s all right.’ She shrugs. ‘That’s enough about me. Why did you leave this morning looking like you’d had a similar night to me, and return a few hours later looking like you’ve been slapped?’ She takes a seat, handing me my tea.

I sigh. ‘I’m not going to see him again.’

‘Why?’ she cries.

I look up at a shocked, pale face. Why is she so stunned by my declaration? ‘Because Kate, without a shadow of a doubt, I’m going to get stung really nastily. He’s hazardous.’

‘How do you know that?’ she asks incredulously.

Well, that’s easy. ‘He’s a mature business man, way beyond rich and confident. I’m just a little play thing to him. He’ll get bored, toss me away and move onto someone else.’ I huff sarcastically. ‘Trust me…there will not be a shortage of women throwing themselves at his feet. I’ve seen the reaction he draws, I’ve experienced it. He’s incredibly fierce in the bedroom – and bloody good with it – and that tells me he’s not short of sexual conquests.’ I draw breath, while Kate looks at me agape. ‘He’s a woman magnet, possibly a womaniser. I’m already getting a reaction from Sarah.’ I slump back in my chair, grabbing my mug of tea.

‘Who’s Sarah?’

‘A friend, the one who I thought was the girlfriend. She doesn’t like me, and she’s made it perfectly clear.’

‘You’re not seriously jumping ship because of a few bitchy words from a woman scorned? Tell her to f**k off!’

‘No, it’s not just that, although I really don’t need claws digging in my back.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘My friend, you’re blind!’

‘No I’m not. I’m sensible,’ I defend myself. ‘And you’re bias.’ I spit. She’s made it perfectly obvious she likes Justin, but why oh why, I don’t know. ‘Why do you like him so much?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs. ‘There’s just something about him, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, and it’s dangerous.’

‘No, it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the centre of his universe of something.’

‘Don’t be stupid! I’m the centre of his sex life.’ I correct her, suddenly considering the fact that I could, quite possibly, be one of many women he’s showing a good time to. The thought is painful and another reason to walk away while I’m still partly intact. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already in pieces, but it’s only going to get worse the longer I let this go on.

‘Selena, you’re the master of denial.’ she scorns me lightly.

‘I’m not in denial.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Kate states firmly. ‘You’ve fallen in love with him. It’s easy to see why.’

‘I’m not in denial.’ I affirm, because I don’t know what else to say to that. Is it that obvious? I’m denying it all the way. It should make this painful process easier to bear. ‘I’m going to lie down.’ I push my chair away from behind my legs and it scraps along the wooden floor. I wince at the piercing sound. The hangover’s back with a vengeance.

‘Okay.’ Kate sighs.

I leave her in the kitchen to retreat to the sanctuary of my room, flopping on the bed and pulling a pillow over my head. I hate to admit it, but that pouty bitch is right. I can’t build my dreams of Justin Ward. The thought is like a knife through my splitting heart.

***

I walk into the office for a fresh week, feeling anything but fresh. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I’m under no illusion as to why that is.

‘Morning, flower,’ Patrick calls from his office. He sounds better.

‘Hi.’ I try to sound chirpy but fail miserably. I can’t even muster up the strength to feign cheerfulness. I throw my bag by my desk and sit down to fire up my computer.

Within five seconds, my desk is screaming in protest as Patrick takes his usual pew. He looks much better as well.

‘What’s the state of play with Van Der Haus?’ he asks. This will be a project that Patrick will keep a keen interest in.

I reach under my desk to retrieve the small box of material samples that I abandoned on Friday. ‘These came on Friday,’ I say, laying some on my desk. ‘He’s emailed me the specifics and sent the drawings over.’

Patrick flicks through the pile of swatches – all in neutral tones of beige and creams, some patterned, some not. ‘They’re a bit boring, aren’t they?’ he grunts disapprovingly.

‘I don’t think so,’ I pull out a lovely, thick striped piece. ‘Look.’

He turns his nose up. ‘Not my cup of tea.’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’ I remind him. He’s not going to be buying a posh apartment in The Life Building. ‘Mr Van Der Haus is back from Denmark today. He said he would call about a site visit. I’m going to crack on, if you don’t mind.’

Patrick stands, and I perform my usual wince as the desk creaks. ‘Yes, you carry on,’ He eyes me suspiciously. ‘Tell me to mind my own if you like, but you don’t seem yourself. Is there anything the matter?’

‘No, I’m fine, honestly.’ I lie.

‘Are you sure?’

No!

‘Yes, Patrick.’ I try, and fail terribly, to sound sure. My phone starts jumping around my desk and Sam Sparro’s Black and Gold blares around the office. I frown, picking it up to see Justin’s name flashing on the screen. He’s been messing with my phone again. My heart flutters and not in a good way. I can’t speak to him.

‘I’ll let you get that, flower. Keep that pretty little chin up. That’s an order!’

Patrick leaves me as I silence my phone, but no sooner has it stopped, it starts replaying again. I push the button to shut it up, placing it on my desk and throwing myself into some work. I find the email from Mikael. It’s brief, but there’s enough information for me to start compiling my designs.

Fifteen minutes later, my phone is still ringing and I’m getting sick of the track and sick of reaching over to shut the damn thing up. I was delusional if I thought he was going to make this simple for me. My text alert starts chiming, but instead of deleting it – which would be the sensible option – I open it.

ANSWER YOUR PHONE!

Oh, here we go. Sam Sparro starts playing up again, and I silence my phone…again. I’m never going to get any work done at this rate. Then there’s another text.

Selena, speak to me, please. What have I done?

I pop it in my top draw and try to forget about him. What has he done? Nothing really, but I’m sure, if I give him the opportunity, he will. Or will he? Oh, I don’t know. But instinct tells me to walk away.

‘Sal, if anyone calls the office I’m on my mobile, okay?’ I know that will probably be his next move.

‘Okay, Selena.’

I start cracking on with my mood boards and drawings for Mikael. I’ve not even seen the apartments yet, but I have a good idea of where I’m going with this and, surprisingly to me, I’m quite excited.

I pop to the deli at lunch time to grab a sandwich, returning to the office to eat it. I’m informed by Sally that a man called while I was out, but he didn’t leave a message. Of course, I know who it is, but I’m on a roll and I don’t want to interrupt my momentum, so I disregard his persistence. With Victoria and Tom out of the office all day on various appointments, I’m not being side tracked with drama from Victoria and seedy stories from Tom. I can’t let Justin distract me either.

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