#winds of the far east | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lixiesfreckless · 3 months

Text

Into It | b. c.

➸ synopsis: the california sunset looks pretty damn good when you're on the hood of Chan's car.

➸ starring: bang chan x female reader

➸ word count: 3k

➸ general content: best friend!chan, car sex, drunk sex, chan is lowkey obsessed with you, mutual pining, dirty talk

➸ warnings: lots of swearing, sexual content, alcohol consumption, mentions of california(LMAO east coast on top)

➸ rating: 18+ MA

➸ author’s note: another oldie but goodie! also I don't even bias chan but I literally went insane writing this so what does that mean-

♫ into it- chase atlantic

Far away.

You feel like your mind is so far away.

The engine roars in your ears as you and Chan zip around the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, convertible top down to let the wind whip through the vehicle.

Your hand dangles outside the car door, lazily twirling a half empty bottle of beer in your fingertips as you fully sink into the car seat. Your thoughts are fuzzy, his music is loud, and the breeze is enough to keep you from getting too hot.

This is as close as you can get to bliss.

Palm trees lining the road, orange and magenta in the sky, hell— if heaven didn’t look like this, did you even want to go?

The car slows down enough for Chan to make a right turn, angling the two of you to a desert close to where they host raves and concerts every summer. By the time the current song stops playing, Chan is pulling the convertible off the road, driving over hardened clay and rocks until he’s about 50 yards away from the asphalt.

“Pass me one of those,” he says, putting the car in park and slumping into the seat. You reach down to the six pack of beer near your feet and pass one to him, bringing your own bottle up to your lips as he takes it.

The guy sticks the cap between his teeth, cracking it open with a sharp twist of his arm, and flicks the cap into the cup holder.

“That’s one way to crack open a cold one,” you chuckle, taking another swig.

“Too bad I’m not with the boys…” he sighs, narrowly dodging a swat from your hand as he laughs.

“Hush, I’m better than the boys.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, letting the troubles of the week dissolve under the tangy taste of the alcohol and the bass from the speakers.

You can’t remember exactly when you started spending your Friday nights like this, driving to random places in the passenger seat of Chan’s car. Usually you’d prefer to spend your nights indoors, but with him, it was never overwhelming. He was your weekly dose of adventure, and you became addicted easily.

But how could you not when he was so…Chan?

He always knew what songs to play, what you felt like talking about, what kind of view would cheer you up— he became someone that knew you better than your best friend, even.

And there was something so disarming about his vintage band tees, beat up converse, blond curls and dimples— especially his dimples. They were a weapon and he used them.

And they reappear right as you notice you’re staring at him. Serves you right for zoning out in his general direction.

“Something on your mind?” He chuckles, and you pop the passenger door open, shaking your head.

“Nope. Just need to stretch.”

You walk around to the front of the car, and the shell dips slightly once you perch on the hood.

This beer is defective, you decide. Alcohol is supposed to blur your thoughts, not sharpen them.

And yet all you can think about is the man moving to lean against the front of the car, standing just a foot away from you.

Your mind pretends not to notice the way Chan’s gaze lingers on your lips, almost glazing over every time you take a swig from the bottle in your hand. Your body however, burns. Reacts like water on hot oil. It feels like every cell is dancing in the remnants of the sunset when he looks at you.

It might just be the alcohol though.

You lean back and lie on the hood of the car, using your hands as a makeshift pillow behind your head as you watch the sky turn an even deeper shade of pink. Chan takes one glance at you and takes a long sip of beer as he quickly looks away, pushing the sight of your shirt riding up your torso far back into his mind. The…things he could do there-

“Shit, how many of those have we gone through,” you mumble, lazily shifting your eyes up to the sky.

“Uh, four?” Chan glances back at you, mentally cursing at the way your face matches the sky above, dusted with pink. He doesn’t know it’s from you staring at his arm veins. “We have water in the back if you want some-”

“No, no I’m good.” Your voice sounds like honey to him; maybe he should pass the bottle back to you, just so you’ll stay quiet. “Just feeling more than a little buzzed.”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and the huskiness in his voice practically pokes you in the side. “Now would be the best time to do something crazy then.”

“Something crazy?” You laugh out loud, then sit up slightly on the hood, leaning back on your elbows. “There’s nothing but desert for miles. What are we supposed to do-”

Your sentence stops dead in its tracks as your eyes meet with Chan’s, the heat rushing to your gut all at once as the wind blows his blond curls into his eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate this time; his eyes wander lower and lower on your face until they land on your bottom lip, trapped between your teeth.

“God, why do you always do that…” he whispers, shifting his gaze back to the road.

…What?

The wind whistles in your ears as you feel them growing hotter, unsure what to make of his sudden statement.

“Do…do what?” He looks back at you with tortured eyes, as if you’re the only water in the California desert.

“Bite your lip like that; it makes me think-” he stops and drains the rest of the bottle in his hand, then leaves it on the hood and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m gonna turn the music up.”

Your eyes follow him as he trails along the side of the car, and you feel a certain window of opportunity beginning to close. Summoning most of your courage, you jump off the hood and walk up behind Chan, waiting for him to finish messing with the stereo before tapping him on the back.

“Yeah?” He turns around and barely has any time to think before you’re pressing on his shoulders, pulling him down slightly as you crash your lips onto his. He immediately catches your waist, letting out a surprised muffle that dissolves into a sigh as he pulls you against him.

You break apart after a moment, lips still tingly and buzzing with excitement, but you wonder if you’ve made the right decision as you look up at Chan, who still has his eyes closed.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, finally looking down at you with a flushed face.

“Not drunk enough.” You twist the shoulder seams of his shirt between your fingers in consideration. “I’m sober enough to know that look. And if you don’t do something about it, then I-”

“You want me to do something about it?” He pulls your hips tight against his, and now that you’re leaning on him, you can feel the bass from the car reverberating through both of you. That combined with the buzz of the alcohol and his hands on your bare midriff nearly sends you over the edge, but you keep your composure.

And by that you mean you pounce on him— you love his voice, but you’re tired of talking about something you could be doing.

If you both were a little less tipsy, the kisses would probably be less frantic. But neither of you seem to care, hands grabbing at each other desperately as you search for better ways to pull each other closer.

“You have no idea,” he pants between kisses, “you have no fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted this.” You shudder into his lips, raking through his blond locks and tugging at the ends as Chan’s grip tightens on your hips. He takes a sharp inhale before picking you up, waiting for you to latch your legs around his torso before he slides his arms under your legs. As he walks around the car, you both never separate; you’re actually surprised when you feel the cool metal of the hood come into contact with the backs of your thighs.

He nestles himself between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs and tracing the distressed hem of your denim skirt as the bass of the song picks up. You’re lucky you’re on the hood and not the trunk; the subwoofers vibrating against you would have been too much for sure.

He pulls away from your lips, dipping his head to catch his breath as he pants into the crook of your neck. To him, this is insane. He has you on the hood of his car. He has you on the hood of his car.

How is a man supposed to think straight in this situation?

Meanwhile, his hot breath on your neck is driving you to the brink of insanity. Just a raise of your shoulder and he’d be kissing it. Shoot, he could make you crazy with his fingers just an inch higher too.

“Chan,” you whisper, not realizing how close your breathy voice was to his ear, and the last of his resolve practically evaporates off of him.

“Y/n…” his nose follows the curve of your neck as he makes his way up to your face, “tell me if I need to stop, I just…”

He hooks his hands around your knees and pulls, effectively pinning your hips together in a casual display of strength, and you gasp before he seizes your bottom lip between his, sucking and biting until a soft moan slips from your lips.

“Fuck, make that sound again,” he groans, hands sliding back up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. You relent, no longer keeping your sighs and sounds of pleasure to yourself as his hands slide under your crop top, around to your back.

He makes quick work of your bra, releasing the tension around your ribcage before sliding his thumbs along the underside of your breasts. Just thinking about all of the things he could do to you has both of you buzzing with anticipation, panting against each other’s mouths.

His thumb just barely grazes your nipple and you swear you see the world begin to tilt.

You don’t know what it is; normally a gesture that small wouldn’t elicit such a reaction out of you, but the alcohol in your veins and the bass under your thighs seem to bring every motion of his straight to your core. And usually you’d be embarrassed at how loud you are, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he continues just like that, both thumbs barely putting any pressure on the peaks under your shirt.

Your head lolls back slightly, and Chan wastes no time in licking a thin stripe up the column of your neck, stopping right at the shell of your ear.

“Ideally, I’d want to take my time with you, but right now…” his voice is thick with lust as he flicks both of your nipples, and you jolt forward. “I don’t think you’d want me to.”

“Chan, please,” you gasp out, wanting to press your thighs together, “get on with it already.”

He obliges you, hands sliding down to your skirt and then back up under it, looking for the edge of your panties. Once he has them, he pulls them down and over your Nike blazers, tossing them into the convertible onto the passenger seat.

He then reaches behind you, pushing two empty bottles off the car as he presses you flat against the hood. The sound of the bottles breaking against the rocky terrain is barely registered by you though, you’re more focused on Chan’s free hand snaking back up your skirt.

Curses slip out of his mouth once his thumb brushes across your clit; he’s more than shocked to feel just how soaked you are, but you shake your head vigorously, catching his attention.

“Skip it,” you say breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. He understands instantly, coffee colored eyes practically turning coal black seeing your desperation.

The sky seems to swirl different shades of purple and pink as the wind feathers over your body, and just past the contrails in the sky, you can see the stars beginning to poke their faces into the rosy backdrop.

There is a very real possibility that you are dreaming all of this.

But the sound of his zipper being pulled down snaps your senses into focus, and the possibility of Chan fucking you under a sky like this seems more urgent.

The next minute flies by, and before you know it Chan is lining himself up at your entrance, checking that the condom is on properly before lifting your skirt to your hips.

His eyes flicker to yours momentarily, and you nod before relaxing fully, letting your head rest against the hood as he holds onto your hips tightly.

And then you instantly tense up once he starts pushing into you.

It’s almost embarrassing how easy it is for him to slide in without really touching you, but the hiss he draws between his teeth tells you he’s not really focusing on that.

You’re focusing on how you didn’t catch a glimpse of him before he put it in, and now your entire lower abdomen is tingling in excitement over just how much of him there is. Silly how you were trying to sober up for this moment, only for you to feel high all over again with him fully inside you.

“I- shit, okay wow,” he hisses, dragging himself out and back in slowly. “You’re so warm, god-”

You can’t even respond, you’re so occupied by the feeling of his ridges along your walls that your fingers are already looking for something to grab onto.

Somehow in the haze of it all, you still want to urge him deeper, so you wrap your legs around his waist and watch as he tilts his head back, eyes fluttering closed mid-thrust.

“Oh fuck,” he moans, picking up the pace and holding your hips tighter as you whine, feeling him finally start to brush one of your sensitive spots.

Chan cannot process the scene playing out in front of him. You’re draped over the hood of his car, taking what he’s giving you so easily, face flushed and hair falling over your face from the wind. Your shirt is halfway up your torso, but your skirt is up six inches too high, high enough to see where he's sheathing himself inside of you. He couldn’t make this up if he tried.

The pressure building inside of you jumps to the next level once his hand slides up your shirt again, gently rubbing circles over your nipple as opposed to the faster thrusts down below. Your back arches into his hand as you gasp, squeezing your thighs around him tighter as you do so.

“Chan,” you whine, scratching your nails against the car, and a few more curses tumble out of his mouth as he stares down at you.

“You’re so good y/n,” he pants, snapping his hips against you now, “better than I- ah, I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about this before?” You’re cut off by another moan; it’s a miracle how you can even speak.

Chan doesn’t reply; instead, he hooks his hands under your knees and drops them on his shoulders, then scoops his hands back under your hips and pulls them to his with a quick snap.

“I’ve thought about this before,” he says with a wicked grin, hitting you at just the right angle to pull a sharp gasp out from your lips.

“Oh my god, there-” you moan breathlessly, pressing your hands flat onto the hood of the car as he pounds into you relentlessly.

The sky is spinning. Your heart is pounding. You wish you could focus on something, anything other than the spongy part of you that Chan is hitting to the beat of the song under you, just so you could last a little bit longer.

But the sight of him with your legs around his neck, eyes closed with strands of gold wisping across his face, the look of pure ecstasy painted across his cheeks, ensures that you have close to three seconds before the knot in your stomach unravels.

“Shit, don’t stop,” you say as you feel yourself coming undone, back arching into your release which only makes Chan pound deeper, heightening the intensity tenfold.

He cries out once you clamp down around him, spitting out random strings of curses until he’s emptying his restraint into the condom, slowing down his thrusts as he finally opens his eyes again, locking gazes with you.

He looks nothing short of ethereal with the now purple backdrop of the sky, framing his blond locks with lilac clouds as he slowly pulls out of you, doing his best not to overstimulate you. You almost tell him not to; being that full was nice, something you’d probably never admit unless you were actually drunk.

“Wow,” you breathe out, watching him lower your legs down to the hood. “That was…”

“Crazy, I know,” he laughs, still trying to calm his breathing as he looks at you. “But you were amazing, holy shit-”

“…better than the boys?” You tease, smirking up at him.

He gives you a knowing look, picking up on the funny way you worded the question. But instead of getting flustered, he leans over the hood, caging you against it with his arms.

“Hmm…I don’t know. I think I’d have to try this a couple of times before I can give you a definite answer.”

766 notes · View notes

aeshnacyanea2000 · 2 months

Text

There used to be such simple directions, back in the days before they invented parallel universes – Up and Down, Right and Left, Backward and Forward, Past and Future … But normal directions don’t work in the multiverse, which has far too many dimensions for anyone to find their way. So new ones have to be invented so that the way can be found. Like: East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Or: Behind the North Wind. Or: At the Back of Beyond. Or: There and Back Again. Or: Beyond the Fields We Know. And sometimes there’s a short cut. A door or a gate. Some standing stones, a tree cleft by lightning, a filing cabinet. Maybe just a spot on some moorland somewhere … A place where there is very nearly here.

-- Terry Pratchett - Lords And Ladies

#Terry Pratchett #discworld quotes #GNU Terry Pratchett #quotes #Lords And Ladies #directions #multiverse #parallel universes

609 notes · View notes

radioactiveparker · 1 year

Text

Ride It Hard - Mechanic!Eddie Munson X Fem!Reader (Smut)

Summary - Your car breaks down and an old friend helps you out

Warnings - Strong language / Use of Y/N / Unprotected sex (PiV) / Fingering / Pain kink

Word Count - 6.1K

-----

"Piece of shit!"

Your car sputtered to a stop, smoke starting to plume from the hood. You had ran out of gas about 8 miles back, having made the decision to skip the last gas station just to get home a bit quicker. A decision you now regretted. You had gone to visit your parents in Georgia for a few days and was now making your way back home to Hawkins, Indiana. But alas, here you were, on a long winding road somewhere near Weathertop Hill with no phone to call for help. Truthfully, you weren't too far from home, much too far to walk of course, but if you were lucky, you could wait for someone to drive by and drop you off. Someone nice, you hoped.

With a huff, you shut off your engine and stepped out of the car, trying your best to ignore the chill. It wasn't an ideal time for your car to break down. It was the transition period from summer to autumn. The leaves were falling, the days were starting to get shorter and the air was getting colder. Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening a heavy downpour, and distant thunder rolled nearer. You prayed that someone would drive by before nightfall, or at least before it rained. You slammed the door shut, but not before grabbing your cardigan from the passenger seat. You opened the hood, coughing as you wafted the smoke away with your hands so you could see what you were dealing with. The smoke finally cleared, but it had made no difference. Your knowledge of cars, or rather lack there of, kept your brain fogged as you stared blankly at the car's engine.

With a sigh of discouragement, you slammed the hood shut and tried your best to remember how far of a walk it was to Hess Farm. If you remembered correctly, it was about three and a half miles East. You could walk it, it would only take about an hour, maybe 45 minutes at a push. You could get there quickly, have Farmer Hess call for a tow-truck, and get a ride back home with enough time to have a shower before The Golden Girls started. Yeah, that sounded like a better idea. Who knows how long it would take for another car to drive by.

Clunk.

A single droplet of rain landed right on the hood of your car. You looked to the sky and another landed on your chin. It was cold, you would describe it a refreshing after almost being suffocated by hot car fumes, only it looked like you weren't walking anywhere anytime soon, not unless you wanted to be sick in bed for a week.

All at once, the clouds spat out their droplets, soaking you to the skin almost instantaneously. With a gasp, you quickly rushed to get back into your car and out of the rain. You pulled on the handle, then pulled again, and once more. But it was no use. The door was firmly shut.

With your car keys inside.

"You fucking idiot." You grumbled at yourself, crossing your arms and letting the rain pour over you in defeat.

You guessed you had no choice now but to walk to Hess Farm. You shivered when a strong gust blew over you, washing you in more rain and practically blinding you. Pulling your cardigan closer, although it didn't help much, you started to make your way to the farm. The rain beat down on you in cartoonishly large drops, so strongly it felt more like the flow of a river than a rain shower. It hissed along the road and filled pot holes into miniature rockpools. You took no less than ten paces from your car when you heard it, even over the rain.

Drumming - loud drumming, and then a guitar. It was muffled, barely distinguishable, but you could hear it coming closer and closer. You turned to where it was coming from, just in time to see a van swerve around the corner, much to wild for the weather conditions. But that didn't matter to you right now, there was someone who could help you. You stepped into the middle of the road, waving your arms above your head to get the drivers attention. You breathed a sigh of relief when the van slowed down and pulled up beside you.

The window rolled down and the music lowered. "Long time, no see Stranger."

"Eddie?!"

You knew Eddie from high school. You were friendly to each other and you had even joined his Hellfire Club whenever they needed a sub. But you wouldn't consider yourselves friends, in fact, you didn't know what you were. Or rather, had been. There had been times where you were more than friendly with each other; making out in the back of his van as a thank you when he dropped you off home after Hellfire, or running a hand up your thigh in the school library instead of studying like he had asked in the first place. But that was it, no matter how much you wanted him, it never went further than that. You wished he would've made a move, but maybe he just wasn't interested in you the way you were in him. It felt like it was a whole lot of erotic build up for nothing. You hadn't even exchanged numbers, which is probably why you hadn't seen or spoken to him in the year since leaving school. In all truthfulness you hadn't thought of Eddie much since leaving school, despite the minor crush that you had had on him.

Eddie leaned over to open the passenger door, "Hop in."

"But, my car..."

"I've gotta tow in the back, don't worry. Just get in, I'll sort it."

You gratefully jumped in, cringing when your soaked clothes started seeping into the material of his car seat. You looked at him apologetically, but he just smirked at you before opening his door and jumping out.

"Eddie!"

You could hear him laughing as he moved to open the back of the van. You looked behind you to see him foraging through the jumble to find his tow, positively drenched. There was a quiet "Got'cha" and he pulled out the rope. He made quick work tying it to the towing hitch on his van and then jogging to attach it to your car. He ran back quickly, jumping back into the drivers seat. He made an uncomfortable squish sound as he plopped into his seat, rain dripping from his tight-ringed curls, and running down his leather jacket. You stared at him speechlessly.

"What?" Eddie breathed as he started his van.

"You're crazy." You laughed, shaking your head to yourself and putting your seat belt on, remembering how crazy he could drive.

You thought for sure he would have waited for the rain to die down a bit before going out there. If you remembered what he was like in high school correctly, there was no way he would have ruined his hair like that. Perhaps he had gotten his priorities straight after school? If you were being completely honest, his hair didn't look that bad. Sure, it was lacking in volume and lay flat on his head, but his chocolate coils hung so delicately and product free thanks to the rain - they were naturally beautiful. You watched a drip fall from his fringe. It landed softly on the tip of his nose, steadily running down to his philtrum and pooling on his cupids bow. You watched as he licked it from his lips.

Eddie had felt you staring, but kept his eyes on the road. "So what happened to your car?"

"Ran out of gas." You groaned, sitting back and diverting your eyes to the road too. "I think I might have broken something. My car started smoking when it stopped."

"You drive on an empty tank?"

"Yeah, is that bad?"

"Yeah, you probably damaged your fuel tank."

You turned to him, impressed. Although he could be talking out of his ass and you wouldn't know the difference. "You know about cars?"

"You know the Motorbay Auto Repair shop by Motel 6?"

"Yeah, you work there?"

"Ever since I graduated." He smiled at you, but it was more like a smile of pride for himself.

The majority of Eddie's life he had been told he wasn't going to make it. He would never graduate and he'd be stuck in a dead-end job, and that was if he didn't end up becoming a drifter. You could remember graduation like it was yesterday, maybe because Eddie had made it more memorable for you. You remember how he had almost stumbled up the steps to receive his diploma, the way he had snatched it from Principle Higgins' hands while giving him the middle finger, and how he grabbed your hand after you had both gotten your diplomas and had a celebratory make out in the empty school hallway. You wondered where those days had gone. You hadn't realised how much you had actually missed Eddie until now. It was like how the desert gets used to a rainless sky, but then when it showers over the sand, it craves to thwart the draught.

"I could take a look at it for you, if you'd like?" Eddie continued. "My Uncle Wayne might have some spare parts lying around."

"I don't have any money with me."

"Y/N, do you seriously think I would charge you? Besides, who would I be to take money from a damsel in distress?"

You smiled at him and thanked him for the offer, which you had appreciatively took. Eddie took a left, going the opposite direction to your house and made his way to his. Without thinking, Eddie placed a hand on your thigh, stroking his thumb gently along the fabric of your jeans. You tried not to clench them together, you didn't think he realised how high he had placed his hand. But at the same time, you didn't object. The heat of his palm was nice on your cold and wet thigh in a way that felt familiar. All of those times Eddie had picked you up, or took you back home, he always drove with a hand on your thigh. You used to call him out for it, telling him he had to keep both hands on the wheel, but you didn't this time. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence the rest of the way, with you looking behind every now and then to make sure your car was still attached. The rain had started to soften, not hanging around for long - just enough for the duration of your drive. You could feel the mud mush under the vans wheels as Eddie parked in front of his trailer. He was still living with his uncle, but assessing the missing car out front, he wasn't home. In all fairness, you couldn't judge. If your parents hadn't decided to move out of Hawkins, you would probably still be living with them to. After all, you were still living in your childhood home to this day.

The clouds were spitting out pathetic drops every now and then, but nothing for you to worry about. Not that it mattered, you and Eddie were still soaked. The two of you jumped out of his van, Eddie jogging around to your side to open the door for you like the gentleman he was. You followed him into his trailer, trying not to wince at the feeling of wet clothes stuck to your skin. Eddie quickly ran off, cleaning up bits of clutter along the way, and you took the time to look around. Despite your history, this was the first time you had stepped foot in his trailer. You took your shoes off by the front door, noticing that you were standing on carpet. The trailer was a mess, to put it nicely. You could tell his Uncle had been away for the day; clothes randomly strewn about the place, couch cushions had fallen onto the floor, ripped envelopes and pieces of mail thrown onto the coffee and dining table. But that didn't take away from the cosiness of it all. There was nothing worse to you than going to someone's house and it looking completely lifeless - like no one even lived there. Where you're too scared to touch anything in case it might break, or when everything is perfectly polished and it made you feel grubby. Besides, it felt very ... Eddie. You didn't have much more time to look around when Eddie came back from (what you assumed was) the bathroom with a towel bunched in his hands. He handed it to you and you immediately got to drying the hair that was uncomfortably sticking to your forehead and the nape of your neck. Your eyes followed him as he walked to the washing machine by the hallway. You ignored the water stain on the carpet and watched him reach into the laundry basket and pull out another towel, giving a sniff to make sure it was clean before drying his own hair.

"I'm gonna get changed and then I'll take a look at your car." Eddie said, walking backwards into the hallway.

"Do you maybe have something I can change into?"

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you like he was thinking hard. His eyes lit up, "I'll be right back."

He didn't take long. He came back wearing an oversized tank top that was cut low under the armpits, showing off the delicious shape of his ribcage. He had paired it with an old pair of ripped, oil stained jeans , of which the front of his tank top had been tucked into. These were obviously clothes he didn't mind getting dirty, but you worried that they would be much too cold. Although, you wouldn't object if kept them on. This was the most of Eddie you had ever seen. You guessed working at an Auto Repair shop was a work out, because his arm muscles looked much more defined than you remembered them being, and the shape of his pecks peeked out from the neck of his tank.

"Here." He smirked at you.

You hadn't even noticed that he had been holding out a bundle of clothes for you. Heat rose to your cheeks as you took the clothes from him. Yeah, he had definitely seen you checking him out.

"Give me your car keys, and I'll make a start." He kept his hand held out.

"Umm, that might be a problem."

"What do you mean?"

"The keys are in the car."

"You mean you locked your keys in your car!?" He rubbed his forehead in disbelief.

"Maybe..." You dragged out, rocking from side to side innocently.

He sighed. "Alright, I'll sort it, you get changed. Bathroom's the first door on the right."

He made his way outside, leaving his trailer door open, causing a chill to run along your body. You quickly moved to the bathroom, peeling your clothes from your skin and drying your body off with the towel. Reaching for the shirt, you unfolded it and held it in front of you. It was a 3/4 length black sleeve on a white tee, with the large head of a horned devil dead centre. Above it in thick letters read the iconic: Hellfire Club. You laughed to yourself as you put it on - of all the shirts he had, he had to give you this one. You had secretly wanted one, but you had never played frequent enough to be considered part of the club, despite how much Dustin, Lucas and Mike would say you were. It fell just below your backside, definitely too short not to wear something underneath. You picked up the bottoms he gave you and rolled your eyes. Of course he had given you a pair of his boxers to wear. You put them on anyways and walked back out into the kitchen area. You stopped to watch Eddie from the window as he bent over the engine of your car. Those jeans may be old, but they did wonders for his ass.

A cold breeze whipped around your bare legs and snapped you out of it. You remembered Eddie had left the door open. There was no way he wasn't freezing out there. You hoped he wouldn't mind when you started to search through his cupboards for some mugs, deciding it was probably best not to use the ones hanging on display in the living room. You picked two random ones you could find; one in the shape of He-man, and another with Big Bird on the front. You started boiling some water on the stove to make some coffee for you and Eddie, getting distracted every now and then when you watched him from the kitchen window. You filled the mugs, poured a little milk in each, and then tidied and washed your mess. Finding an old pair of sandals by the door, you slipped them on and carried the two cups of coffee outside. You were careful not to trip over the oversized footwear as you walked down the steps. Eddie stuck his head out from under the hood and straightened himself as you approached.

"Hey, how did you get the hood up?" You questioned, handing him the He-man shaped cup. He pulled your car keys from his back pocket and dangled them in front of you. "How did you get in?"

"My dad may have taught me a few tricks." He picked up a duct tape covered sick off the ground. "You see, you tape it to the window and then use it as a lever to pull the window down. It's pretty neat, but I wouldn't recommend leaving your keys in the car again. I could damage the door mechanism if I had to do it again."

"Noted." You took a sip of your coffee and then placed it down, balancing it on the side of your car.

"Hey, be careful with that."

"Calm down, it's just a car."

"Just a car?" He looked at you like you were a mad woman. "This is a mechanical work of art, not a cup holder."

He plucked up your mug and moved it, as well as his after taking a sip, to the floor of his van. He had left the door open from when he was scrounging around for duct tape.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from giggling, but it didn't stop the smile stretching on your face. You saw him looking at your lips when he approached you again. "I didn't realise you felt so strongly about cars."

"I just think you gotta treat them right, you know." He leaned against your car, crossing his arms over his chest. You didn't miss the way his eyes travelled up the length of your legs before they met yours. He licked his lips. "Cars are like people; you look after them and they'll look after you. But you can't just treat a car like it's anybody, you gotta treat it like it's the most beautiful woman that you wanna keep around forever."

"Oh really?" You moved to stand next to him, also leaning against the car. The denim of his jeans scratched against your thigh. You hadn't realised you stood that close, but neither of you moved. "Please explain."

"Well, you gotta look after it, treat it well and it'll satisfy you." Your eyes widened slightly and you gulped when he stepped closer to you, your breath mingling. "You gotta be gentle with it," he stroked a finger down your cheek to the softness of your bottom lip, "and then when you ride it, you ride it hard."

Those cliché sparks had ignited a blazing passion deep inside of you. You cleared your throat to snuff it out. "Not all women like it hard."

"Oh yeah? What about you, Princess? How do you like it?" He placed a finger under your chin and forced your eyes to his. "You like it soft and slow?"

Your desire was concealed behind a see through disguise. He could see the fire burning in your irises. He dipped his head to the junction of your neck, stopping before he could press his lips there. The soft fan of his breath gave you chills. "Is this okay?"

"Yes." You breathed. It had been so long since you had felt like this.

He replaced his finger with his lips, placing a tender kiss to the underside of your chin. He continued to trail them down your neck, so light and feather-soft that your eyes fluttered shut. "You like it when I touch you like this?"

You nodded wordlessly, whining that he had stopped. His hands moved to your hips, pulling you closer so your bodies pressed together. "I love how desperate you always are for me." And he continued to kiss your neck. He went straight to your sweet spot, clearly he had remembered, and pressed a silky kiss there.

But you wanted more.

And he could tell.

"Is this pace good enough for you?"

"More." It was a breathless whisper. "Please." You added.

He began suckling and licking at your flesh, eating you alive like a god damn vampire. You moaned aloud at the feeling and threaded your fingers through his hair. His fingers wiggled their way under your shirt, surprisingly warm despite working in the colder weather. His hands rested there, thumbs stroking your ribs just under your boobs. You wanted nothing more than for him to grab them and play with them, but maybe not so out in the open.

He seemed to have read your mind when he pulled away and opened the back door of your car.

"Get inside." He ordered.

You complied immediately, your sandals falling off as you clambered in and laid down across the back seats. He followed you in, climbing on top of you and shutting the door behind him. Desperate to feel his lips on you again, you pulled him in, only this time you smashed your lips together. His lips were just as soft as you had remembered them, sliding over your own effortlessly. His tongue prodded at your lips as an indication for you to invite him in. And you did so welcomingly, the pair of you enjoying the coffee taste of saliva. His hands went back under your shirt, trailing higher and higher before stopping where the band of your bra should be. Only, you hadn't put it on after getting changed.

He groaned against your lips, "You're such a tease, you know that?"

"Am not" You pouted.

He kissed the pout right off your lips and moved his hands higher. His rough hands grasped your tits, kneading them deliciously and making you gasp into his mouth. The texture of his palms rubbed against your nipples and you arched your back into him, moaning.

"You make such pretty sounds, Sweetheart."

Taking full advantage of your arched back, he made quick work of taking his your shirt off. Goose bumps broke out across your skin and your nipples pebbled at the cold. He stared at you in awe, asking himself why he had never gone this far before.

He noticed your goose bumps. "Don't worry, Princess, I'll get you warmed up real soon." His voice was deep and gravely, and it went straight to your core.

You moaned again when his lips attached themselves to your chest, suckling love bites all over and using his tongue to flick around your nipples. Your hands combed through his hair again, pulling slightly at the damp tangles, but he didn't seem to mind. His mess of curls tickled against your skin and you collected it in your hands. Using the hair tie around your wrist, you pulled his hair back into a low bun. He allowed you to play with his hair, actually preferring it out of his way as he continued to kiss at your chest. Your hips impulsively thrusted upwards, trying to feel him against you, but you were met with nothing as he pulled away from you. You had no complaints though when he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing the pale expanse of his torso. He didn't give you enough time to admire it when he brought his lips to yours again, forcing his tongue between them to play with your own. He shivered when your blunt nails raked down his chest. You could feel his stomach tense when they trailed below his belly button and through his happy trail. You carried on down to his jeans and fiddled with his buttons before pulling down his zipper. He pulled away from you again, clumsily pulling his jeans off and sticking his tongue out in concentration, being careful not to squish you.

After successfully removing them, he pulled your bodies together, flesh to flesh and hips to hips. He grinded himself against you, the bulge of his erection gently prodding at your clit causing you to moan. You could feel your slick dampening your panties, allowing them to glide over your clit as he moved his hips against yours. You moulded your lips back with his, whining against them as your way of telling him you were getting impatient.

"What's the matter, Sweetheart?" He teased, stopping his hips altogether.

"Please Eddie, I need more."

"But you sound so pretty when you beg." He rasped in your ear before nibbling on the lobe.

"Please don't tease me Eddie. I've been waiting for you to do this since high school."

"Oh yeah?" He pulled back, looking into your eyes with a smirk on his lips. "Then it wont hurt to wait a little longer."

"Eddie!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking, Baby." He laughed. "Now, tell me what you want."

"Touch me, please."

"And where would you like me to touch you m'lady?"

"You know where, Eddie."

He laughed at your bluntness, smiling against your lips when he kissed you again. He placed his palm flat on your stomach before going down slowly. Finally his finger tips slipped under the band of his boxers and into your panties. The two of you groaned at the feeling, your hole dripping wet and begging to be filled. He started at your clit, spreading your slick by rubbing soft circles. You sighed with relief that he was finally touching you. Using his middle and ring finger, he started gliding downward to play with your hole before sinking inside. You moaned at the feeling of him stuffing your emptiness. His fingers were sweet torture as they moved inside of you ever so slowly.

"One more Eddie, please." You begged for him to stretch you open with a third finger.

"You think you can handle that?"

You nodded frantically, your noses bumping together. He obliged without more torment and opened you wide with a third finger. Tears sprung to your eyes. In the beginning you thought that maybe he was right, you couldn't handle it like you thought. But when he curled his fingers enticingly inside of you and collected more of your wetness, the line between pleasure and pain became blurred. The heel of his calloused palm stroked against your clit with every thrust, making your insides burn. You moaned openly into his mouth, mutterings of "just like that" and "right there" breathed onto his lips. You could feel him grinding on your leg like a dog - he was getting off on your pleasure. Your moans of his name went straight to his cock and he just couldn't help himself. He was starting to get desperate. He wanted nothing more than to find out how you would moan with his cock inside of you.

The deliberate actions of his fingers paused and he removed them from you. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, giving Eddie a frown - you were getting so close. He released a breathy laugh at your expression, placing a kiss to your lips.

"Open wide, princess."

You did so willingly, opening wide and sticking out your tongue ever to slightly to welcome his fingers. He groaned when the warmth of your tongue slid along his fingers and your cheeks hollowed to take their full length. He could just imagine how beautiful you would look with your lips wrapped around his cock.

But that would just have to wait for another time.

He pulled his fingers away from your greedy mouth, replacing them with his tongue so he could taste your sweetness. He wanted nothing more than to eat you out, to taste your sweetness from the source, but with his cock painfully straining against his boxers, he knew he had to hurry things along. He made quick work at pulling down your bottoms, and then echoing his actions with his boxers. He tried his best to withstand the hiss that was on the tip of his tongue as his cock met with the cold air.

"Ah shit, I don't have any condoms on me."

"It's fine Eddie, just pull out. I need you."

He didn't need much more convincing. "As you wish."

He rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, teasingly bumping into your clit every now and them as he lubed himself up with your juices. Your eyes rolled back when he gently pushed himself inside of you. You secretly thanked him for stretching you with his fingers before, otherwise this would be 10 times worse. But still, you moaned at the pain, a sadistic part of you enjoying it more than you probably should have. You gasped and whimpered when the head of his cock finally sank in.

"What's the matter sweetheart? Too much?"

"Not enough." You teased.

He was more than enough, there was no denying it, and Eddie knew that. There was nothing you could say that would bruise that ego of his, especially when it came to the size of his cock. You could feel him laugh against your shoulder, muttering a quiet "Alright then" before his hips snapped flush to yours.

You cried out, digging your nails into his back as he sheathed himself completely inside of you. He gave you time to adjust, trying his best not to laugh at the expression on your face. He could tell you were enjoying it, but your face was contorted into a mixture of pleasure and pain - eyes rolling back before squeezing shut and your bottom lip caged between your teeth. You were certainly a sight to behold.

"Let me see those eyes, beautiful."

You pried them open, trying your hardest not to squeeze them closed again at the slow drag of his hips. He filled you up so good it was like you could feel him everywhere. Not one part of you was left untouched and you were practically sobbing. His mouth was on yours again when he rolled his hips, causing you both to gasp against each other. He was so deep inside of you, you thought for sure that he was in your stomach. His dick barely moved from inside of you as he grinded against you, the soft hair on his pubic bone tickling at your clit. You wanted more, Eddie knew this, but he was too much of a tease to let you get your own way.

"Please" You begged.

"Please what sweetheart? Go on, don't be shy. Tell me."

"Harder, please."

"But baby, I thought you liked it soft and slow?"

"C'mon Eddie, please."

"Alright, since you asked so nicely."

He pulled out, almost completely, before pounding into you. The two of you moaned at the feeling. He continued to ram into you relentlessly, finally giving you what you wanted. He tongued and kissed at your clavicle, becoming hooked on the taste of your sweat. Your heavy breaths mingled and the windows began to fog. He was becoming harder to see as the night time drew in, but the yellow glow of the street light rolled along his structures. He glowed like a radiant god, hearing your prayers and relishing in your faith to him. You gave yourself to him completely, allowing him to create an entirely new universe of pleasure for you to get lost in. You clenched around his length, sucking him in deeper and causing his breath to stutter. You did it again, loving the effect it had on him when he pulled his lip between his teeth. You tucked the loose strands that had fallen out of his bun behind his ears to see his face a bit more clearly. The soft glaze of sweat across his forehead had matted his fringe, sticking it above his eyebrows. The sweet dews trickled down his face, much like the rain had earlier, although now it was from his unabating exertion.

"Fuck, I'm so close Sweetheart." He shamelessly moaned.

You nodded in agreement, your climax was fomenting deep within you. You were constantly being pulled closer to the edge, just waiting for Eddie to make one final push to take you over. His ceaseless thrusts kept his cock shoved gloriously against all of the right places, not once did he hold back. His eyes squeezed shut and his breathing became laboured.

"Let me see those eyes, beautiful."

His eyes snapped open at your words - the exact words he had spoken to you just moments earlier. He almost stopped his movements entirely in surprise, but he was so busy trying to chase his high, that instead he wiped the smirk off of your lips by bringing a hand to your clit.

"Be careful Princess, or I might just change my mind about letting you cum." He warned, slowing his hips, but still pressing his thumb harder to your clit, just to prove how hard he would make it for you to hold off your orgasm.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trapping him inside of you just in case he decided to stop completely. "No! Please Eddie, I'm sorry. I'll be a good girl, I promise." You sobbed, not even caring how pathetic you sounded.

"I know you will, Baby." He cooed softly against your lips. While the offer to torment you was appetising, he was so close to exploding that he had no patience left in him.

His hips started up again, ploughing into you, your walls constricting around him as you drew closer and closer. Your body became tingly and your toes curled. It was like all of your nerve endings had been set alight and were now firing a sudden release of energy, sending you into euphoria. Wave after wave crashing into you and drowning you in pleasure as you finally came.

"I can't pull out when you wrap your legs around me like that, baby."

You had hardly heard what he had said, your heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears. It was only when he started pulling away, did you catch on and release him from your hold. He felt his balls tighten and pleasure steadily increasing until it was unbearable, almost painful, but he never wanted it to stop. It was a close call, but he finally pulled out of you, rubbing his length along your folds as hot cum spurted from his cock, landing on your stomach and pooling in your belly button. The moans he released had made you want him all over again, but you were far too sensitive for that. Even as he stroked the side of his length up and down your slit, he prolonged your orgasm until it was almost agonising.

He eventually collapsed on top of you, chests pushing together with each desperate lungful of air. And in this fulfilled silence, your breathing blended with the gentle pattering of rain that rattled against the metallic body of your car. You hadn't even realised it had started raining again. It wasn't as heavy as before, but was still enough to get you wet if you tried to run back to the trailer.

Eddie had noticed it to. "Looks like were gonna be here for a while."

You nodded in agreement, fidgeting to unlodge the belt buckle that was digging into your back. Eddie's breath was cool on your skin as the two of you calmed down, shivering as the adrenaline dwindled away from you. It was truly dark now, and you had most certainly missed the episode of The Golden Girls.

You felt the cold even more when Eddie propped himself up on his elbows, the loss of contact with your bare skin brought you a chill. Your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting to pull him back into you, but you halted at the look on his face. His dreamy eyes conveyed a message of appreciation and sparkled with unmistakable desire.

"So," Eddie broke the silence, "you up for round two?"

A part of you for sure thought that he was going to tell you those three little words. It was naïve of you to think that he would after such a short amount of time together, but you could feel the electricity between you. Not unless a brewing lightning storm had disorientated your feelings.

"Only on one condition." You prompted, feeling ballsy.

"And what's that?"

"You take me on a date."

"Sweetheart, you read my mind."

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #eddie x reader #joseph quinn

5K notes · View notes

gorgeys · 10 months

Text

Come to get your fix? - (Margot Robbie x Reader)

At an afterparty, you see Margot for the first time in a long time…

Margot Robbie x femsinger!reader

Warnings: slight age gap (Margot is 30ish, reader is 25ish), mentions of sex, just sexy vibes

A/N: this got a lot longer than it was supposed to be cuz I kinda got carried away with the beginning and the backstory but I hope you enjoy!

2.6k words

There were seven different Met Gala after parties, all of which you had been invited to, but of course you chose the only one that she would be attending.

Well, you really had no other choice. You had to go to Dua Lipa’s party at Virgo on the Lower East Side. You and Dua were close friends and all the biggest celebrities were going to be there.

And you were excited for the most part. It was one of the few nights where you got to hang out with your most famous friends as you danced and drank the night away.

When you arrived, ditching your Chanel gown for a sheer, golden chain dress that resembled royalty, you dove right into the many greetings you’d have to make throughout the night. Of course you got many congratulations on your new album which had easily risen to the top of the charts with several hit singles. And, since you had released new tour dates only last night, several celebrities were already expressing their excitement over attending your LA shows. You thanked them like always, being sure to compliment Zendaya on her new movie and thanking Rihanna for sending you a new package of Fenty Beauty products.

Only after at least an hour did you even find the bar. You ordered your go-to cocktail and paid for whatever your team wanted to drink, exhaling a long sigh. Your voice had already gotten scratchy and hoarse from the day’s events plus the long press tour you had endured the past few weeks. You craved a moment to relax.

But not even a few seconds later did Jack Harlow appear behind you to question why you left him on read for the past three days. Internally rolling your eyes, you mumbled a vague response while your eyes scanned the room for a distraction. You only half listened to him as he tried to get in your pants once more, but you fully stopped paying attention when you finally found her.

There she was, sitting in a booth beside Cara Delevigne across the room. You could tell she was looking for a way out of the situation from the way her shoulders were angled away from Cara and her nails tapped anxiously on the table.

You shamelessly stared, watching her eyes retreat from Cara’s face every once in a while to venture out into the crowd. Her legs were crossed and she sat as straight as a pin like she always had. You remembered how her perfect posture alone always made you feel small. She carelessly flicked her blonde hair back away from her face, smiling at whatever part of the long, winded story Cara was on.

You told yourself so many times that you had moved on. It was a repetitive thought that pounded into your brain each night when you were partying in cities all over the world. And sometimes it felt like you really did move on. You would naturally send a flirty wink to the cute girl at the bar or grind on the hot guy on the dance floor, enjoying the fruitful chase.

But each morning, when you woke up in an expensive hotel room beside a stranger, you always wished she was laying beside you instead. It felt hopeless at times when you were stalking her Instagram or scrolling through your camera roll at the many, many pictures of you and her.

You only truly believed you had moved on when you met your most recent girlfriend. She was finally the breath of fresh air you were looking for. The thoughts of Margot soon felt far and few in between as a new woman consumed your everyday life. She was beautiful and sweet and loving and everything you needed. It was rare for one of your partners to even last more than a couple weeks since you had a reputation of being quite the maneater, but you were glad it did. She was everything.

Until you were gaping at Margot from across the club. You could barely remember your girlfriend’s name when blue eyes finally met yours. They were piercing, like you remembered, and they seemed to look right through you, even from the other side of the room. Her smile melted as she realized who she was looking at.

You took your eyes off of her for a moment as you accepted your drink from the bartender. You thanked him and glanced back. To your satisfaction, she couldn’t take her eyes off of you. You lifted the glass to your lips and took a teasingly slow slip without breaking eye contact. You watched her take a deep breath, slightly pursing her lips, as she silently contemplated how to handle you. Oh, how you loved to be handled by her.

Her attention was stolen for a moment as Cara excused herself from the table. Margot sent her a forced smile and a slight wave before she was lost in the crowd.

You had been dreading this moment for weeks, the inevitable moment when you’d meet her sculpted face that always begged you to come closer. But now that it was happening, it almost felt euphoric.

“Get lost, Jack,” you said, shoving his shoulder out of your way. He groaned but didn’t protest. You had set your path of destruction and now there was no stopping you.

You focused on making long, smooth strides in your tall heels and swaying your hips a bit more than usual as her eyes wandered your incoming figure. Her face was stoic but her gaze was so familiar. It always made you want to impress her, to be extra good for her. To be wanted by her was a better feeling than any number one album or one-night lover. You were glad your dress didn’t leave much for the imagination.

And then, after cutting through the dance floor, you were there, placing your hand upon the table as you slid into the seat beside her. You pressed your thigh into hers, the only thing between them being the golden chains of your dress. The rounded booth kept the two of you secluded from the other happenings of the club.

Although you were beside her, you had each turned your heads to match one another, face to face. Her eyes had never left you and now you could feel her breath against the sensitive skin of your upper lip.

“Hi,” she said. You were envious of how confident she sounded with your face inches from hers. Your only relief was the faint quirk of her lips. You couldn’t tell if it was well-intentioned or mischievous.

“Hi,” you whispered breathlessly, leaving your lips slightly open. She seemed to take the bait as her eyes devoured your glossy, inviting lips.

“Come to get your fix?” she teased, sliding her tongue across her top lip. It was something she always used to say to you when you sneaked into her trailer or violently tugged her into the bathroom.

It reminded you of the times when her soft fingers molded your body into whatever piece of pottery she wanted you to be. The lick of her lips reminded you of all the times her tongue rewarded you afterward.

You clicked your own tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Something like that,” you mumbled, almost annoyed by all the memories she awakened.

“I was surprised,” she began, her nails skimming the chains along your hip, making a high-pitched noise. You tried not to show how the closeness of her fingers made you feel. “I didn’t see you with anyone.”

She was obviously referring to the fact that you hadn’t brought a date to the gala. Of course, knowing your long history, she had expected you to have someone young and new by your side. After all, TMZ had claimed you were dating four different people in the last two weeks.

You weren’t surprised by her prying. She always cut right to the chase whenever she was with you. But you were a little taken aback that she had asked it so outright considering how things had ended between you.

“Well, I was surprised I didn’t see you with anyone.” You couldn’t help the accusatory attitude that dripped from your voice.

“Hmm,” she hummed with a small smile as if she was expecting that response. She peered down at her hand as it climbed the chains to sit comfortably atop your thigh.

It was her “date” that had ruined your “relationship” in the first place. By “date,” I mean husband and by “relationship,” I mean affair.

It was your first acting gig and in a blockbuster movie at that. Before you had even introduced yourself, you locked eyes with her across the table at the first script reading and you knew you were hers.

But when she began shooting seductive glances from across the set, you assumed your eyes were playing tricks on you. When she began grabbing onto you anytime you were in arms reach, you assumed she was just one of those touchy people. And even that one time when she asked you to “be a good girl” and grab her a water, you just assumed it was a thing she said, even if it made your chest feel tight and your thighs squeeze together.

Because, after all, she was an older, straight, married woman. Or at least that’s what you thought.

It wasn’t until she got you alone in her trailer, pushed you onto the couch, and attacked you with kisses that she made it clear. From that moment on, you were her secret and she had to be yours. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still as perfect as could be. Until it wasn’t.

Before she had even made an advance on you, you knew you were bound to catch feelings. But you weren’t expecting it to hit you like a load of bricks. Nevertheless, you knew you were just some affair to her, some sex toy for her to play with, so it was easy to keep quiet and occasionally dream of what could be.

The real kicker was when, a couple days before shooting wrapped, she admitted she had fallen for you. Your whole world lit up and came crashing down on you simultaneously.

Hearing those words felt like hearing the song of the ice cream truck on a hot summer day: pure relief. You had loved her unwaveringly.

But what trumped that was the undeniable realization that you were only second to her. Second to her husband and the life she had created with him. She could never love you the way you loved her.

So, when promo for the movie was coming to an end, you had to give her the ultimatum. She had put off the decision for as long as possible. That was until you confronted her in her hotel room in a wreck of tears and rage.

You weren’t surprised, but disappointed when you weren’t her choice. She had begged you to stay, to spend one more night with her, but you left in a disheveled hurry, refusing to let her see the effect she had on you.

Sometimes, when you lie awake at night, you wish she had never told you she loved you. Then maybe it would have been easier to walk away and forget about her. It would have been easier to accept that she was just using you for a couple good fucks. But here you were, sitting beside her, rehashing your inevitable heartbreak because she was always so irresistible and she loved you

She looked back up at you, pushing her face even closer to yours. Her smile grew when she saw your lips tightly pressed together and your eyebrows furrowed. You were always so bad at hiding your frustration from her.

“I left him,” she said, squeezing your thigh. You could see the excitement within her, begging for a release.

Meanwhile, you felt dizzy.

“Wh-What do you mean you left him?”

“I mean that I left him,” she repeated, smiling wider at your shocked expression. You were sure you looked so stupid, almost like a dead bug with your eyes wide and your jaw hanging open. “Just waiting to finalize the papers.”

“Oh my god,” was all you could manage. Your hand came up to your mouth, covering the gaping hole. “Oh my god.”

It was the words you had always wanted to hear but at the most unexpected time. Her hypnotizing smile made your head spin as the colors of the club swirled together in your peripheral.

“I just-I don’t understand. Why…now?”

She shot you a slightly confused look, as if the answer was obvious, but a lot of time had passed and you finally needed her to be clear.

She used her free hand to remove your hand from over your mouth and drop it into your lap. Then she firmly grasped your chin, ensuring your eyes never left her candid ones. Her touch shot warmth up your cheeks and down your neck, just the shock you needed to wake you from your daze.

“Because I know I want you. And I tried being without you but I just…I can’t,” she confessed, the words scrambling out of her throat as if they had been trying to for days.

Your heart swelled in your chest at her pure sincerity. Instinctively, you wanted to jump into her arms, to let her have you in every way. But that little bit of insecurity still creeped up your spine. The insecurity she had created when she chose him all those months ago.

“Are-Are you sure?”

She only laughed. Honey may as well have been dripping from her lips as the sound was so sweet. Every sound that left her lips was angelic.

“I’ve been thinking about this every day since you left. I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Her hand left your thigh to tuck a few pieces of your loose hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the side of your neck. You felt like you were on fire and she reveled in the way the heat flooded your irises.

But then you felt like you were forgetting something, something important.

“I have a girlfriend, Mar,” you suddenly said, your fingers wrapping lightly around the forearm of the arm that held your chin.

Margot certainly wasn’t expecting that confession this late in the conversation. But your relationship couldn’t have been too serious if your new girlfriend wasn’t there, hanging off your arm. She proceeded without caution.

“Well, I don’t see her anywhere,” she said, tilting your head downward with the pull of her hand, forcing you to stare up at her through hooded eyes. She always adored when you looked at her from that angle, especially when she was knuckle deep inside of you.

You don’t even really know why you said it. You knew, girlfriend or not, you would always choose Margot. And she knew that.

“So, you want me or not, baby?” She pursed her lips in a fake pout, so close to yours.

You couldn’t control yourself and you heard yourself make a faint noise of unbridled temptation. She seemed quite satisfied by that as her thumb rubbed small circles into your chin, the nail grazing your lip every once in a while.

You both already knew the answer.

“Yes, fuck, I want you,” you said, your voice the most confident it had been all night but still the most desperate.

A feeling of pure bliss consumed your body. Just hearing yourself say it made a smile creep onto your lips.

Margot quickly copied you. She raised your chin to meet hers and wasted no more time. Finally, finally, she kissed you. She didn’t care who was watching as she firmly held your face, guiding you in every which way.

She was the only person in your universe and you were the only person in hers.

lmk if you guys want more Margot or any of her characters!! I will def write for Barbie, Harley, and even Naomi. I will prob write something for Barbie soon so stay tuned!

And if you have a request I haven’t responded to, I’m really sorry it’s taken a long time but I am working on it!

#margot robbie #margot robbie x reader #barbie #barbie x reader #margot robbie x femreader #margot robbie x fem!reader #margot robbie x you #margot barbie #margot #margot robbie barbie #harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #wlw #lesbian #fem reader #barbie x fem!reader #harley quinn x fem!reader

1K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

Note

Congrats on 5k!!!

I love little off-duty tidbits about the 141. What they get up to when they’re not on a mission, what do they do for fun on base, what do they do in their private time etc.

—Count The Hours

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Collection of what the One-Four-One do on their down-hours with their Lovers] ❞

John Price: Reading ➺

It was no secret that John liked to indulge in quiet time whenever he got the chance. Always surrounded by soldiers and hurling orders eventually got to even the most skilled Captain—he was no different even if he’d been at this for countless years.

On the days when the silent sounds of the house were able to be appreciated for what they were: the running of the laundry, the small creak of the kitchen cabinet that needed to be oiled, and the sound of your soft humming, it was a sacred turn of events. Such mundane, and normally labeled nuisances, were an excellent backdrop for the words on the page of his book that flew from the paper. Scenes unfolded from times and places long past; everything was separate. A perfect way for the mind to unwind.

You pass by silently as John reads, kissing his forehead when he grunts in pleasure. The man lets his fingers brush your thigh as you move off to do whatever you wish. He knew you’d join him eventually.

Reading was good, but nothing quite beat the perfect distraction that was you.

John flips a page and absentmindedly itches at his beard.

Simon Riley: People Watching ➺

“I bet she works in a cafe,” you mutter softly. “Look at her clothes—those are cafe clothes. Gorgeous.”

Brown eyes blink at the woman in a long skirt and a neat blouse, coffee cup in hand as she walks the ground before disappearing around a bend.

“What are bloody ‘cafe clothes’?” Simon grunts, giving you a strange look from over his balaclava. The bench you two sit on is far removed into the trees of the park, and you smile as you lean into the man and intertwine your fingers with his, stealing his body heat.

“I can’t explain it,” you wave your free hand as Simon chuckles lowly. “Your turn.”

“Pick one for me,” he grumbles. You point to a man dressed sharply from across the path, bending down and tying his shoe as a child plays with their mother near a picnic basket and blanket. Your lips twitch into a smile.

“Accountant,” Simon says easily, squeezing your hand as he blinks slowly, casual with his guesses. “Child’s birthday—he’ll ‘ave to go in soon.”

“Really?” You chuff under your breath. Simon hums, vision sliding about as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I guessed a hitman.”

The man at your side looks down once more. “You what?”

Johnny MacTavish: Hiking ➺

The both of you are covered in dirt and sweat, lying on your backs with your packs about a foot or so away; lungs working inside of your chests as you smile like fools.

“Remind me to let you carry me back,” you pant, chuckling as the form beside you rubs at his face—pushing back the grime. Nature is all around you two, the grass behind your bones and the open sky above your heads. Johnny and you rest for a short while on top of the hill, the wind picking up from the East but not so to an unmanageable degree.

It had been on a whim to come out here on such short notice, but it didn’t mean that it wasn’t enjoyable.

Johnny always made hiking trips enjoyable.

“Aye,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, Dearie, I’ll manage.” A moment of shared smiles passes between you two—you reach out and push at his cheek teasingly.

Johnny chuckles and grabs at your wrist, bringing it back and laying a firm kiss on the palm that leaves your already hot cheeks burning.

“Ready to keep going?” You’re asked delicately, those cobalt eyes crinkled with love.

“Oh, if I must,” you tease.

The man kisses you once more before standing, offering you a hand without a second thought through a gentle smirk.

Kyle Garrick: Cooking/Baking ➺

Kyle’s rolled-up sleeves are pushed back even more as he hums under his breath, the gentle jazz filling the room to mix with the scent of fresh bread and stew. You rest your head on the island table of your shared flat, watching as the man glances back at you and your arm pillow.

He chuckles.

“You don’t have to watch, Love.”

“Want to,” you mutter, eyes soft. The man’s smile turns sheepish as he glances away.

The man adds what he needs and says over his shoulder cheekily as you blink. “Well come on then, I’ll need you to taste test. Tell me what it needs.”

You chuckle and stand, walking over and sliding up beside him as Kyle takes a spoon and brings some of the broth to your lips. Your hand cups under the utensil, sipping it down.

You hum under your breath, glancing at him.

“It’s delicious, Kyle,” your fingers go to steal the spoon, but it’s moved away from you swiftly with a teasing tsk of his tongue.

“Ah, ah—it’s not done,” the man beams, kissing your cheek and putting the spoon down. “Patience, Love.”

“C’mon,” you lean into him, looking up into his face.

Instead, a kiss is pressed to your lips, making you melt as a hand comes to circle your waist.

Kyle leans back, smirking as he licks his lips.

“More salt,” he mutters, pulling back and disappearing into the pantry as you gape after his tall form.

763 notes · View notes

hisui-dreamer · 3 months

Text

where the light is dim

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Synopsis: everyone's wandered off in the festival, and you can't even find a familiar face

Tags: poetic themes, fluff, diasomnia shenanigans

Word count: 436

Notes: happy chinese new year everyone🧧🏮🎆!! this was heavily inspired by a chinese poem that takes place on new years (which i attempted a translation of below hehe), and plus it's the year of the dragon, so now we have mal mal festival time (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Masterlist

The east wind blows breezes a thousand blossoming trees,

The stars, like rain, descend like a gentle breeze.

Bejewelled carriages and fine horses leave a fragrant trail on the road,

Phoenix flutes resound in the wind, the jade lantern’s light flows,

All night, the fish and dragon lanterns dance.

Maidens adorned with gold, extravagant pins in their hair,

Smiling shyly, fragrance lingering in the air.

In the crowd, searching countless times,

Suddenly, turning my head,

There stands the one, where the light is dim.

―青玉案・元夕辛棄疾

The street pulses with energy, vibrant and bustling beneath a canopy of scarlet lanterns that sway gently in the evening breeze. Each lantern, adorned with intricate designs and tassels, casts a warm, inviting glow that bathes the cobblestone pavement below in a rich crimson hue.

The air is alive with the hum of chatter and laughter, as locals and visitors alike meander through the thoroughfare, their footsteps echoing against the ancient brick walls that line the street. Vendors peddle their wares from colourful stalls, their voices competing with the lively strains of traditional music that drift from nearby taverns and teahouses.

'Where is he?' you thought to yourself, tired from the heavy ornaments painstakingly styled into your hair as you turned and turned your head to catch even a glimpse of him amidst the bustling crowd.

Malleus had invited you to a short trip to the Far East, prompted by Silver's longing to explore the lands of his childhood hero, and swiftly organized by Lilia's enthusiastic urging. You're not sure whether Lilia was aware of it or not, your travels happened to coincide with a grand local festival.

The street offers a multitude of intrigue, from mouth-watering scents from the food skewers to the delicate souvenirs hand-crafted by merchants, and it's not long before you find yourselves gradually becoming separated from the group amidst the bustling crowd. The allure of the vibrant surroundings pulls each person in a different direction, until eventually, you can no longer spot any familiar faces amidst the sea of glamorous outfits adorning the local ladies.

A whirring noise catches your attention, and you turn to the direction of the sound. Your gaze is met with the spectacle of fireworks illuminating the night sky, their explosions of brilliance painting the heavens with vibrant hues, scattering glittering sparks like diamonds. Brilliant reds, dazzling blues, and alluring golds intertwine and collide, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colour that captivates all who gaze upon it.

It's a view you want to share with him.

You weave through the crowd once again, deftly sidestepping opulent carriages and elegant ladies. Their alluring perfume mingles with the joyous melodies of the flutes, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensation that leaves you momentarily dizzy.

A glance down a narrow alley catches your attention, and in the distance, a lone lantern flickers. Squinting to sharpen your focus, you realise you've found the very person you're looking for.

Malleus, tucked away in the shadowy corner, his focus fixed solely upon a weathered lion stone statue.

You can't help the exasperated smile that graces your lips.

Maybe you should've expected that.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #twst malleus #twst malleus x reader #diasomnia

409 notes · View notes

heich0e · 27 days

Text

there's an east wind blowing beyond your bedroom window.

you know it's from the east because the rain falling outside is hitting the windowpane in a soft tap-tap-tap that occasionally intensifies on a particularly strong gust. you know your bedroom window faces east because every morning you can see the sun cresting in the distance, diffusing—soft and pink and warm on your favourite days—through the gauzy panels of your curtains.

"you up yet?"

it's not morning now. far from it, in fact. the night's still only new, though it's already fully-dark outside—and has been for most of the day thanks to the dreary weather. it's late enough in the evening that most businesses have closed their doors for the day and people have returned to their homes, but not quite late enough to justify the fact that you're already curled up tightly underneath the covers of your bed.

you roll over in your comfortable cocoon and spy touya in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches you.

he's got his coat on.

"are you going out?" you ask him, your voice a little thicker than it usually is. you've been awake for a while, but your afternoon nap (that ran longer than you expected) has left it hoarse from disuse.

touya makes a quiet sound of agreement. not quite a grunt, nor a hum, but something somewhere in-between the two.

you push yourself up slightly in bed, propping your body upright on your elbows. "but it's raining."

touya hates the rain, and has for as long as you've known him. he's the first one to complain when dark clouds roll in, to curse as his teeth chatter and he shakes droplets from his hair when he steps through the door after getting caught in an unexpected downpour, to go out of his way to avoid making plans that require him to leave the house at the slightest mention of inclement weather.

"'s letting up a bit, i think," he answers from the doorway with a little shrug. "i just need to run to the convenience store, anyway."

he shuffles a little further into the room as you lift your hand and reach out for him, approaching the edge of the bed wordlessly and slipping his hand into your own. he peers down at you from your bedside as you lift his hand and press it to your cheek.

"what do you need at the store?" you ask him, your lips pursed slightly. it's not that late, and the weather really isn't that bad, but you'd still prefer he stay here with you.

"ran outta patches today," he replies, though there's something almost a little resentful in the statement. even his expression is a bit more annoyed than it had been a moment prior, in a way that almost makes you giggle—but you suppose the nicotine withdrawal could be playing a part in that.

"just patches, right? not patches and a pack—"

"not patches and a pack of cigarettes to tie me over on the walk home," he finishes the sentence for you before you get the chance, rolling his eyes a bit. "i know, i know."

he frees his hand from your grip and pokes your cheek lightly, earning him a little laugh you can't help but let slip through your lips.

"i'm 24 days in, you know. not about to throw it all away now," he reminds you pointedly.

"good," you reply with an encouraging nod and a somewhat cheeky smile. you never doubted him anyway. "make sure you take an umbrella."

he nods, his touch still lingering against your cheek. his fingertips skirt down, tracing along your jaw, until he reaches your mouth. he presses his thumb lightly against your chin, seemingly just to watch your lips part.

"d'ya want anything?"

you shake your head in dissent, but then pause, your eyes lighting up.

"can you get pickled ginger?"

"pickled ginger?" he asks you, a bit incredulously. "again? thought we just got some of that."

"i finished the jar earlier," you reply with a shrug.

"that can't be good for you," touya remarks dryly, letting his hand drop from your face. "you're gonna start pickling yourself from the inside out if you keep eating so much of that stuff."

"it's not my fault that pickling is the superior form of food preparation." you flop back lazily against your pillows, meeting his gaze resolutely. you lift your fingers as you list out the various accolades. "cold, crunchy, sour, kinda sweet, sometimes spicy—what's not to love?"

touya's nose wrinkles. he's never been a huge fan of pickles, but especially not in the volume you've been consuming them lately.

"whatever you say," he answers, knowing now after all this time when he ought to bow out of an argument before it starts. "mom texted me earlier and said she was sending yumi over with side dishes tomorrow, and there'll probably be pickled vegetables in there. so you can wait until then."

"fine," you sniff, and you may pout a little, but touya knows your excitement at his little sister coming to visit outweighs any annoyance you may feel about having to wait a whole twelve hours to get your fix.

outside, the wind picks up again, and the tapping against the windowpane gets a little bit louder.

"sounds like it's getting worse," you murmur, your face turned in the direction of the window. you glance up at him again, blinking from where you're sprawled out across your pillows. "you sure you wanna go out in that?"

touya nods, kneeling at the edge of the bed and dipping down so he can press a kiss to your forehead. you're still warm from sleep, and soft in all the ways he's come to depend on. you smell like your shampoo and your sheets—and a little bit like him too, since the floral-printed bedlinen is as much his own now as it is yours.

"be back soon," he speaks quietly into your skin before pulling away.

you wave him off tiredly, and as he leaves the room, touya wonders if you'll be asleep again before he returns.

he pulls his shoes off the rack in the genkan, tucked away next to yours, and leaves his slippers there as he stuffs his feet into footwear better suited for the elements. he grabs his keys off the little table in the entryway, the keychain you bought for him at the aquarium glinting in the light as he tucks them into his coat pocket. last, he grabs the umbrella from just beside the door—he doubts he'll even use it, but you told him to take it, so he does.

there's an unexpected break in the rain as touya steps out into the spring night, and he blinks up at the sky overhead a bit incredulously when he realizes his luck. he doesn't linger to appreciate it for long, knowing that at any moment his fortune could change, shuffling off in the direction of the convenience store at the other end of the street.

he sidesteps puddles along the sidewalk on his way, admiring how the streetlights ripple in the surface as he passes.

touya used to hate the rain, but he can't help but think that it's not so bad when he knows that he has somewhere—and someone—warm waiting to welcome him home.

#idk what this is if i'm being real w u all #touya i want to make an honest man out of u #let me domesticate u i'm begging #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha drabble #bnha writing #writing

328 notes · View notes

retellingthehobbit · 8 months

Text

When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay; When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day; When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain I'll look for thee, and call to thee; I'll come to thee again!

Together we will take the road that leads into the West, And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.

#HAPPY HOBBIT DAY #lotr #samfro #hobbit day #sam x frodo #lord of the rings #have some Hobbit Love #i blacked out and hours later this just appeared on my canvas at 2:16 am #(it’s missing my girlfriend hours )#frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #sam/frodo #frodo/sam #but yeah the films have their issues but #re adapting the song of the ent and the entwives #as a song about frodo and Sam’s relationship (In Dreams) was inspired #A+ choice no notes

655 notes · View notes

theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

(Part Three of the First Love/Late Spring series)

A/N: This is a monster of a part. I thought about splitting it into two but it just wouldn’t make sense to the story! I hope you babies like it.

Word Count: 10+ (holy fuck)

Warnings: This story is smut filled. All future installments of this story will be explicit.

You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.

Oral(female & male receiving), fingerfucking. Penetrative sex. Breeding. Talks of anal. Spanking. Cum eating. Dirty talking. A bit of exhibitionism if ya squint. Pretty much all the sexy sexual things you can imagine.

Summary: You and Neteyam move into your new home and spend your first Fertility Season together. Neteyam x Metkayina Reader

Series Masterlist (all parts can be found here)

Previous:<Crawling Back to You

Next:> Part Four (currently unnamed)

Honey, I belong with you

And only you babe.

Only you my girl. Only you, babe.

Only you darling. Only you- Dark Red, Steve Lacy

You had never been good with change.

Your steadfast nature flourished in routine. You found happiness in the known. In your corner of the world, mixing tinctures and tending to your clan. You’d been well aware of your role from a young age, had thought you’d understood the great mother’s plan for your life-

And then the Sully’s had ridden in on the strong east wind.

There had been invisible strings at play.

Unbeknownst to you fate had threaded you to a future that you couldn't have foreseen even in your wildest dreams. Entangled your heartlines with the last person you ever would’ve expected-

You think about the fact as you stare out at the choppy sea. Your hands are busy collecting the last of your belongings, but your mind is far away. Distracted and restless as the storms that gather along the coastline. The sky is dark and rain already falls in a light misting.

Fertility Season is here, palpable as it rolls over the village of Awa’atlu.

You’ve never experienced it this way, always a spectator and never a participant. Normally at this time of year you’d be preparing to assist the other villagers through the week of haze induced mating. Being bogged down by wet weather and running from Mauri to Mauri had always been exhausting, but still. You knew how to do it, we’re accustomed to what was expected of you when a healer was needed.

What would be expected of you as a mate?

The thought excites you and terrifies you all the same.

You want to be with Neteyam. There is no question about the fact. You crave him in a way that you didn't know was possible. Carnal and inescapable. Being with him is as easy as breathing,

It’s everything else that’s harder.

You’re an adult now, have been for years, yet you still live in your family home. It’s not that you had been forced to stay. Ao’nung had taken his leave after his rite; his hut more of a bachelor pad than anything. He still came to his parents home daily to raid their food stores and have his mother touch up his braids- but still. He’d jumped fearlessly into independence and had been living on his own for over a year.

All you’d ever known lived inside these walls.

Your Uncle Tonowari and Aunt Ronal had taken you in at such a young age that you don’t really remember anything else. You’d slept in the same bed since you were a childling, in your secluded little corner. Decorated with all of your trinkets and shrouded in familiarity, you’d loved your space.

It was safety incarnate.

And you leaving was difficult, for everyone.

It would’ve happened one day, a necessary step towards adulthood that all had to take and yet as you took your turn you couldn't help but be a bit devastated. It felt like a shock to your system, gathering everything you’d accumulated and preparing to leave.

After Fertility Season, you wouldn't return. You’d never sleep under this roof again.

You and Neteyam would start to build your life together- and you’d do so in your own home.

It wasn't even as though you were going far, the vacated mauri that Tonowari had granted you permission to claim was mere meters away, still in the heart of the village. The move wasn't a major one, and would take no time at all. Nothing like the way the Sully’s had been forced to uproot and leave everything they’d ever known.

There was no reason for you to act like a baby about it. So don't allow yourself to.

Even with all of the swirling questions plaguing you, you put on a brave face. Kept it all smiles and reassuring nods. This was all going to be just fine.

Right?

Right.

It’s too busy a time of year for your Aunt and Uncle to be housebound. They tend to the people, attention occupied by assuring the good of the clan. Of course they had given you all of their love before leaving to fulfill their many duties as Olo’eyktan and Tsahik-

Ronal had been stony about your coming of age. Very helpful, sending you back and forth with arms full of supplies and many words of advice. Tonowari on the other hand had played at being unaffected- charitable as ever. Smiling the whole way, reminding you of how proud of you he is at every turn. You pretended not to see the mist in his eyes that he furiously wiped away when he thought you weren't looking.

Tsireya has tears, silent but steady, rolling down her face the entire time you prepare to leave.

She helps you pack and reassures you that she’s fine. She’s so happy for you, yet still. She sniffles paws at her nose every few moments, no matter how many reassuring words you give her.

“You’ll be fine” you hum, gathering the last of your herbs, the tiny vials clinking together as you toss them in with the rest of your things . “Aren't you excited that you get the bigger bed space now?”

She just shoots you a wet smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

Your baby.

Your sweetest girl.

It wouldn't be long before she was leaving the nest herself, but you don't remind her of that fact, you just embrace her tight instead.

Finally, with the large woven basket in your arms, full to the brim, you step out into the rain.

It's chillier then it usually gets on the island. The humidity and wind creating a cold that clings to your bones. You bound quickly down the buoyant netting. Everyone seems to be out, even with the weather- getting their affairs in order. It was going to be a long week- and the village was a buzz. Everyone flitting around, focused in on making sure their loved ones would be well taken care of.

It’s a bit embarrassing, the attention that you receive.

Well meaning clans members give you their blessings in spades. Tight hugs and words of well wishes. Whispered advice and wrapped parcels of food.

A group of Elders who you have known since birth stop you in your tracks. Their hands on your back, your chest, your arms, as they chant over you.

They ask the Great Mother to look over you during this season, to bless you with strong babies and healthy pregnancies. Their knowing smiles are both encouraging and mortifying.

“Your man sure is handsome” Ch’kal, a wrinkled woman with striking silver streaked into her long dark hair, starts “But do they not feed them in the forest? He’s so skinny, isn't he? I’ll give you our families recipe for Lomia-lok(cabbage like rice roll) Put some meat on his bones”

You want to argue that Neteyam’s not skinny, he’s lean. All muscle and sinew, he was stronger than he looked.

Instead you respond cordially “I will gladly take it, thank you for the offering”

“No worry, the skinny ones always have the biggest surprises under their twengs. My muntxa was a scrawny thing and look at how many little ones he gave me” She continues, a mischievous spark twinkling in her eye. Known for her unbridled, silver tongue. “You know what they say, you can’t judge the fruit by the tree”

You can feel the blush rise on your cheeks as images from the beach flash before your eyes.

She had no idea just how…well endowed your future mate truly is. His cock had felt so good in your hand, better than anything you had ever encountered. Huge and hard and all yours.

You keep that fact a secret, hold it tight to your chest as you break away from the crowds.

Lots of the homes of young couples have already been barred off. Their drapes pulled shut and wicker entry blinds secured tightly closed. A thin attempt of privacy. It does little to shelter the sounds of coupling coming from inside. Breathy moans and grunts could be heard, nearly drowned out by the whipping wind.

It was just the beginning. Fertility Season was known to be loud, your people not shy at all when it came to pleasure.

Eager to get out of the rain that only seems to get heavier as the hours pass, you duck down the netted pathway.

Your clan is lucky for the reefs, their protective cushion keeps the village from ever feeling the full fury of the storms.

Even still, by the time you’re at the mouth of your new home, you’re drenched. Your hair clinging to your back uncomfortably as you get to quick work.

The graciously given pod is something of a fixer upper.

Had been used for storage but cleared promptly when you and Neteyam formally announced your courtship. He wouldn't have to build a Mauri from nothing, but even then. It would be a while before the space felt your own. The bare walls unnerve you a bit.

A sturdy roof is all that's truly needed and it had been patched up just fine. The fire that Neteyam had started earlier crackles warmly, a pleasant welcoming as you dry yourself off.

The firepit in the center has been cleared of soot and debris and topped by sturdy rods that hold a ready to use skillet and hand-me-down stew pots. There’s baskets of fresh fruit and dried meat placed in rows near the jugs of fresh water, you suspect that neat work had been Neteyam’s mothers doing. Neytiri had been a great help in the relocation process. You still felt a bit awkward in her strong, silent presence but we’re no less grateful for the offered assistance.

A bed mat, thick and large enough for two sits in the back corner. Already piled with an accumulation of Metkayinan and Omaticayan woven bedding. You admire the foreign patterns that make up Neteyams quilts. They look cozy, so much thicker than your own thinner blankets.

You sink down, resting on your shins as you begin to arrange them. The need to nest is instinctual, deep rooted and you move on auto pilot as you straighten out the bedding. It had to be perfect, the home. Your bed. And it would be, had the potential to be.

Yes, it’s a little bit of a mess.

The collection of you and Neteyam’s things strewn out across most of the visible floorspace, not yet put carefully away and sorted. It’s also far smaller than what you’d grown up in. Kind of rickety and worn down-

But it’s yours. You would live an entire life here. You get lost in imagining it; raising children, growing old. Spending years cultivating endless memories- maybe you’d build onto the structure? Expand the pod, depending on how many children you have-

“Fucking hell” Neteyam curses in his fathers foreign tongue as he rushes through the entrance, quickly latching the canvas and wicker flap across the doorframe behind him. Securing your home against the stirring elements.

His arms are full and he’s soaked from the storm. Rivulets of rain water race down his sculpted body and you try not to be too obvious as you gawk at him.

He’s just so good looking, it really is unfair.

“It’s really starting to pour out there”

“Yes, I was worried you might of drowned” You grin back at him, loving the

“Ha, ha” Neteyam teases as he goes to drop the baskets full of food down by all of the others “It’s my mom. She wont stop. I keep trying to tell her that we will be fed for weeks but she just won't hear it. ”

“I think it's sweet” you hum as you watch the planes of his back, the muscles bunching as he bends down to arrange the fruit.

He’s so strong, holds it in his back and broad shoulders. You ache to run your fingers along his long spine.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip hard as you continue working at the bedding. Trying to get the blankets to lay just right. You don’t think it will truly be done until you and Neteyam’s scents are saturating every inch of fabric, but still. It’s good right?

All you want to do is drag him down, make him roll around in the bed mat. It’s too firm, not broken in yet. You need him to plow you into it, if only to soften it up a little.

Your thoughts had been horribly vulgar since that night at the beach. Vivid in a way that had you losing yourself to them often.

It had only been two eclipse’s since, but the days had been long and filled with rushed preparations. Neteyam had been preoccupied with making sure the Mauri was livable, that it was comfortable enough to house you, comfortably, for the duration of the coming week. Both of you would be lost to your hormones soon, it was best to get it all done while he still had his wits about him.

The spaces between intimacy make you anxious and antsy. You question yourself, every touch and word. He’d made it more than clear that he wanted to be with you but what exactly did that mean? Could you just touch him, however you wanted, whenever you wanted? You’d never shared that with a man and knew you had a while to go before the awkwardness of it all faded.

Neteyam’s presence breaks you out of your thoughts, a big hand coming to rest on your shoulder. Palm warm as he looms behind you “It looks good, yawne.”

A surge of pride runs through you, makes your fingertips tingle and tail swish slowly “Really? You don’t think it needs more blankets? I could hunt some down-”

His chuckle is low, deep. So gentle as he croutches down until he’s nuzzling your hair, speaking his next words so close to your ear that it flicks with the whisper of contact.

“There’s no need for that, it’s perfect. Such nice little nest for us to spend the season in”

How does he always know just what to say?

You lean into him heavily, your back meeting his chest. Stomach fluttering with excitement at the contact. You’ve wanted to be in his arms since leaving them and are pretty sure that this could become an addiction. Being so close to him was heady, you’re not sure if it’s the electric energy in the air- or if its just HIM.

His hands slide from your shoulder, skimming across your chest. Massaging your flesh with the pads of his fingers. Your heart flutters hummingbird fast as he thumbs at your collarbone and a small gasp leaves you as his fingers start to slip down into your skimpy top.

It’s been so hard, keeping your mind from sinking under the haze of Fertility Season. So many of your peers are gone to it. Completely to their hormones, tucked away together as the storms batter the shore.

His touches leave fire in their wake, warm you up from the inside out and melt what little control you have left. You’d been good, hadn’t you? Gotten everything in order, all of your responsibilities were squared away. You could just…have this. Have him, and your small home and the rising heat between you.

“Need you” you whisper as he begins to palm at your breast, rubbing a callused palm over the hardening bud of your nipple over and over again.

“Need me how?” Neteyam presses, not stoping his insistent groping “‘What do you need, yawntutsyip(darling)? My mouth, my hands? My cock?”

You choke on your own tongue, startled by both Neteyam’s raunchy words and the fact that he pinches your sensitive nipple hard as he speaks them.

In all reality, you want it all. Want to ride his fingers again, and feel his mouth all over you. You’d dreamt, so vividly, about his head between your thighs-

All of those pale in comparison to what you truly crave.

‘It’s the skinny ones that always have the biggest secrets under their twengs’

You maneuver in his hold, twisting until you come face to face with exactly what you desire.

With him standing, straightening out to his full height, and you still resting on your knees, your eye level with the prize. Saliva pools in your mouth as you lean in, sucking in deep lungfuls of his scent. Its so strong at his groin that even concealed by his tweng, it still fills your nostrils in fragrant plumes.

So virile and potent that your womb throbs sparply, empty and wanting.

You nuzzle between his legs, nosing eagerly at his covered bulge. When you begin wetting the cloth of with your open mouth kisses and wandering tongue, Neteyam winds his hands in your hair and tugs your gaze up to his-

He’s more than happy to let you explore and get your fill but the lack of skin to skin contact is driving him crazy. His amber eyes are low, his belly concaving with his quickening breath.

“Baby, you’re killing me” he whispers whinely and a feline like grin stretches across your face.

“We can't have my mighty warrior dying on me, now” you croon at him, your small hands running up his strong legs. His muscles bunch under your touch, his thighs firm up, tightening in anticipation “I just wanna...Can’t I have a little taste?”

When you cup where he’s chubbing up, he hisses warningly between his clenched teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair-a thinly veiled warning. You just continue to give him that innocent little look.

Neteyam reaches for the leather bound knots of his covering, tugging on them harshly to free himself from the increasingly tight constraints, its hard to wiggle out of it. Especially when you keep reaching for his swelling balls with deft fingers, your hand tucked in between his thighs-

“Y/N!”

You giggle at his tone, at the shrill warning as the tips of your nails scritch his delicate taint.

Neteyam is huge. His cock is as dark as the rest of his svelte body, but blooms rosy purple at the crown of his swollen head. Longer than it is thick, a bead of thin opaline precum oozes from his slit.

You hum in the back of your throat, swallowing thickly around the saliva that pools your mouth. You can smell his sex, smell his essence rolling off of him and it’s dizzying.

You’re absolutely overwhelmed by it. It triggers something deep and primal. You want to roll around in this smell, want him to cover your body in it.

“You smell really good” you whimper, face coming to rest in the crease of his groin “Eywa, Neteyam- I-I want-fuck“

He hums, the hand still in your hair turns comforting. Pats at your head like your a child. “You wanted to taste, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm” you squeak, inhaling deep lungful's of his rich aroma.

“Then taste, sevin(pretty girl). Here” he pulls you from his center, hold your head, guiding it until your lips hover his top “stick your tongue out-“

The grunt that leaves him sounds like it was punched right from his stomach.

You don’t stick your tongue out-it’s more you take as much of him as you can into your eager mouth. You want his taste down your throat, want to guzzle it straight from the source.

The sensations are exciting and new. Having something so big in your mouth is admittedly a bit awkward, but the flavor that your rewarded with more than up for it. His skin is musky and warm-cut only by the sharp tang of the precum pouring out of him.

“Slow down, damn it- don’t-” Neteyam calves burn, struggling to stay upright as you attack him. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You’re so hungry for it, gagging yourself harshly on his member. The sounds that erupt from your chest are animalistic, needy and a bit pathetic. You whine for him, knowing somewhere deep that you need his come inside of you.

He’s trying to keep his wits about him, really he is. Trying to guide you through it

“Breathe through your nose, aht. Just like that”

“Not so much teeth, a little gentlier”

“Deep-too deep! Not so deep!”

Between the sounds of your gagging and the little bobs of your head, Neteyam’s losing it. His hips chasing the sweet suction of your hollowed lips, his tip hitting the back of your throat. The rhythm is sloppy and it only takes one odd, pointed thrust to make you choke raggedly..

You cough, pulling off him.

Your sucking had been messy and clumsy, you smear spit all over his groin. Your chin shiny slick when you pull away for a much needed breath.

Neteyam is panting harsley, his face screwed tight in concentration.

“Am I doing okay?”

You’ve never done this part, and that idea that you might be doing it wrong gnaws at you. It’s a familiar uncertainty, one that you’d been warring with since you’d met the darker Na’vi. Neteyam was so sure- so good at all things, and while his competency was part of his appeal, it made you worried that he might realize just how fucking unexperienced you are.

His eyes open, fingers unclenching from the fist in your hair and coming to cup your jaw. You kiss his thumb when it runs across your lips, chase it with the tip of your tongue.

“You’re being such a good girl for me, Y/N. You almost made me come, I was barely able to catch myself”

The sensations stirring in your belly makes you groan, hug his legs tighter, your head pressed against his lower belly. The praise makes you feel lightheaded. Very much like you aren't really in this moment-

He clocks the slight change, on the way you’re clinging to him. He suddenly doesn't want the power dynamic, he doesn't want to leer over you any longer. Not with the sweet little nest you’d made right there just waiting to be used

“Is that what you wanted?” Neteyam wonders as he herds you, gentle but sure, back into the tangle of blankets. You go willingly, back resting against the padding, “To make me come?”

He likes this so much better. You all burrowed into the covers. He wants to pur at the sight of you, wants to dig you deeper into the nest. Cover your body with his own and never let you out.

“Mhmm” you stare up at him with big eyes. “O-of course I did. I want to know that I can bring you pleasure”

At his strong body as he crouches, shuffling forward on his knees. He’s as naked as the day Eywa brought him into this world. He’s something out of an ancient song, so bewitchingly beautiful. All of those sharp, jagged angles-

And yet he smiles at you so tenderly.

“You’re so sweet” Neteyam’s voice is a honeyed croon “Always trying to make me feel good. But I need you to feel good too- I need you to be comfortable with me”

“I am comfortable with you-”

“Are you?” Neteyam inquires, his hands skimming up your legs that are spread round his waist. Starting near your ankles, his palms skim up the firm lines of your calves, trace your knees. So patient in his exploration of your turquoise skin.

You’re panting shallowly at his touch on your thighs.

His bony fingers play with the plush flesh, digging into where your blubber meets hip. Squeezing at curiously. You feel exposed, giddy and scared at letting him touch you.

It’s not like that night at the beach. Not rushed in the shadows.

He takes his time, his golden iris’ searing in the fire light as he appraises you. You’ve never felt…so seen. You’d never had anyone take the time to look at you, like this. Boys in the clan had shot you greedy glances as you matured and came of age and as the niece of the reigning Olo’eyktan, you’d become accustomed to having eyes watching your movements, judging- positively or negatively you never really knew.

It makes you want to run, that look on his face. All intense, focused in only on you. It’s too much, you want to curl into a ball. Away from all of this attention. Want to read his mind- try to understand what he’s seeing. What he wants.

So you can give it to him.

His fingers reach for your embroidered tweng, nimbly working the knots.

“Nete?” you breathe, your voice shaky with nerves.

Still, you raise your hips. Helping him slip the fabric from your body.

The inside of your thighs shine in the flickering glow. The juncture of your body sticky and ready for him. His nostrils flare, his thin tail shoots straight in the air. Stock still.

He’s breathing hard, gulping in lungful's of the air that's swimming with the scent of your pheromones. The scent of your wet cunt.

Emboldened by the sight you spread your legs, knees falling open. Revealing where you're hot and pulsing. The baby blue lips of your pussy are puffy, unfurling into a pretty rosy color as you bare your insides to him. Your hole twitches, pulses with your racing heart rate.

His gaze on the most hidden part of yourself makes you hot. It's secret, just for him. Just for his big honeyed eyes.

You reach down, spreading yourself with your fingers- your hard clit poking out of its little hood in a way that has Neteyam groaning. His shoulders shaking as he turns his head- like he just can't bare the view. You fingering your own cunt, spreading it wide for him would be burned into his corneas for the rest of his days.

Your fingers are soaked, barley dipped into yourself yet covered in your own arousal. You bring them up to Neteyams quivering lips-

He gasps, gaze snapping back to yours as you wipe your shiny slick over his cupids bow.

“Fuuuuuck” he hisses, grabbing your thin wrist bruisingly hard. Holding your feminine hand to his face, helping you to rub your wetness along his mouth.

You’re in love with him.

You have been for months. Your heart had pined for this moment. To share this with him, to be able to scent him. To hold him. To mate him.

You don't have it in you to wait any longer.

“Please” you gasp as his hot tongue delves between your fingers, tracing your knuckles.

“Please what?” he mumbles, his mouth busy collecting any and all of your essence that he could reach.

You’re overwhelmed, shaking. You think you may start crying- your eyes sting harshly. As harsh as the sting of your empty womb. “I-I-I don't know. Please. Just please-”

A flash of lightning strikes across the sky outside, so bright that the pod lights up for a moment with its vicious neon purple glow.

The two of you look at each other in a light that's new, foreign. His long dark braids look something like a halo.

Neteyam can see the tears gathering in your eyes. The desperation in the green orbs.

“Y/N” He breathes, lowering his head to yours. His forehead resting against your own as he clutches your hand from his mouth to his chest so that you can feel the way that it's racing. “oel ngati kameie. I’ve only ever seen you-”

You gasp, lips searching for his.

He repeats it into the pecking kisses. He wants you to know, to understand that this was all he’d ever wanted.

A woman, warm and loving and all his, in his bed.

He’d laid bruised and bloody on the battlefield dreaming of this. Thinking that it was too far out of his reach, that he could never have it. Though the woman in his fantasies face had always been blurry- he knew it had always only been you. Eywa had plucked him from the forest, from everything he knew, and plopped him in the middle of the ocean.

To bring him to you

You reach for your kuru, the thick braid easy to find in your loose hair. You need this, before he slips into your body you need to be connected to his soul. You’re gagging for it, shaking as you offer him everything you have to give.

Neteyam brings his own kuru over his shoulder and your stomach flops dangerously.

There’s a moment of stillness.

The storm rages steadily outside, the platter of rain on the canvas roof consistent. The howling of the wind strong- and yet all you can hear is your own heartbeat. Neteyams breathing. There are no more words to be spoken. No, they’d only get in the way. What the two of you are doing is ancient, older than Pandora itself. Its the base for all life, for all connection.

The tendrils at the end of your kuru glow, a lilac haze as they reach desperately for Neteyams own. Straining, writhing in a way that you’d never experienced.

Only calming as they connect with what they truly want. They bind together seamlessly, and the bond is sealed.

Tsaheylu is made.

The air is forced from your lungs in a breathless whimper at the contact. You can hear Neteyams own sounds too. But no, that's not really it.

You’re not hearing him, you’re feeling him.

His soul, his essence is bright and dancing. He’s stronger then anything you’ve ever felt, instantly seeping bone deep. He feels like the forest at dawn, like the last moment before the evening eclipse over the ocean.

You’d heard stories of the first time mates make Tsaheylu. Of course you had. Some had been dirty and scandalous, leaving you blushing. But most had been whispers of reverence.

There was nothing like it. Being connected to another Na’vi body, mind and soul was an experience that no one could truly put into words.

You get it now.

It's all consuming. Overwhelming. Euphoric in a way that you didn't know could exist.

You and Neteyam blur. You’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

His forehead grits against yours as he pants, lost to the sensation of you. Of him. Of the bond.

His arms twine around your middle, hauling you as close as possible. He wants to crawl into your skin, wants to dig so deep into you that he will never return to the outside world. He’s only yours, from now until the day he returns to the All Mother.

“I’m yours” you reply through the haze. The words spill through the neurological connection. He doesn't need to speak them out loud.

And neither do you. You needn't tell him what you want. He can feel it, can feel the hot pulsing of your desperate cunt. He grabs ahold of his hard cock and leads it to where you need him. He doesn't even need to look, though a part of him wants to watch you take it.

You cry out as you’re breached for the first time. Your virgnally tight body clinging to every inch of him as he sinks slowly into you. The sensations new and dizzying. Everything is too much, and at the same time not enough. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck as you choke on the stretch of it all.

“You have to relax for me, shh, it's okay. Don't tense up or else it will hurt more” He soothes you, because he can feel it all. Tsaheylu a feedback loop. It hurts, there’s no way for him to have completely eliminated the pain. But he works you slowly through it. Let's you take all the time you need as he carves out his place within your body.

His sharp hip bones meet yours and you shudder.

“You okay?” he worries as you shift against the large intrusion. Your hips shifting, testing. You just shake your head and bury it in his neck. Eyes screwed tightly shut as you try to adjust to him.

It takes a long moment for the burn to fade from pain…to something else. Something itchy and nagging.

“Mmm” your hips move in slow, restless, circles. Electric shocks racing up your spine, flowing through your kuru as his heavy length rubs a spot within you that feels so good “Move, ugh, move”

“Slowly” Neteyam starts to adhere to your plea’s. Trying not to give into his need to snap into you.

“Cant-ah. Feels so weird” you grunt, trying to nail that place inside of you again. Your gummy walls pulse around him, your body begging him to help. To make you feel good. “Move, move. Please, I need you to move faster”

“So fucking tight” he gasps as he pulls out, only able to get about halfway free, before your strong hole is sucking him right back in. “Never felt anything so tight”

He feels your flare of jealousy, uncomfortably hot, through the bond.

“Never- you can't be with anyone else again” you warn him through shuttered breath. Your nails digging into the smooth skin on the back of his neck, under his braids.

“My love-” his amused chuckle tickles your ear.

“No. You can never even look at anyone else again. You’re only mine” you seethe, your hips grinding into his dangerously. Encouraging him to take you. To pound into you the way you needed him to. “I’ll kill them”

Neteyam's groan echoes around the space of your newly shared home.

His thrusts grow strong, careless. Pulling out and then sinking back into your squelching heat, all the way to the hilt. Your body's jerk with the rhythm of his fucking. You hold on tightly for the ride, your knees hugging at his ribs as you give him all the room he needs to move inside of you.

His tip bully’s it’s way deep, too deep. You wail as it kisses your cervix. That sharp pain back, combined with the pleasure it was unbearable.

“Ah” you arch into the sensation, confused at the way your body welcomes it even though it stings, and feels scarily new. Neteyam grabs your left leg, raises it high until your calf rests on his shoulder.

Your eyes cross, your mouth falls open in a wordless gasp.

Everytime you try to suck in a breath, he fills you right back up. Hits that secretive, sensitive spot relentlessly. Its maddening, makes you shake all over-

“Neteyam” you warn, reaching for his hand. He just grabs your fingers, pins your arm over your head, hand held captive by his fingers as he starters down at you.

“Yeah? Are you there?” His thrusts turn very pointed, deliberate “Come for me, come all over me”

You’re tightening up quickly, screeching as you clench around his plowing cock. The waves of pleasure are almost too much, feels too good. Your stomach quivers, and it’s like you dove from the highest cliff as you’re struck by your first orgasm.

It’s so good you can taste it-

-You choke on it as Neteyam continues his relentless pace. Not slowing down even a little bit as you struggle. Left hypersensitive, still pulsing around him as your orgasm is drawn out. Never ending. You’re blubbering, trying to ground yourself, holding onto him as he pistons inside of you.

His panting breaths are damp as he hides in the skin of your neck.

Holds his body to yours as he works himself to his release. One of his hands still keeps your arm pinned above your head- the other works his way to your leg that’s loose around his hips. Props it up to join the other, so that both of your legs dangle over his broad shoulders. Bends you into a mating press that has you screaming. Truly unable to take in a breath as he displays all that strength of his- and holds you down. Makes you take what you’d wanted to much.

It doesn't take much at all- when his sharp canines graze your shoulder you’re gone for. You don't think you’d truly come down from the last orgasm when you fall into another. You can't even take in a breath to make sound, you just wheeze as you come.

Neteyam had wanted this to be special. Had wanted to do it right- to mate you the way that your ancestors had intended.

As he bites into your shoulder, his teeth breaking the skin- he seals the bond. Its painful, and the sharp metallic twang of your blood fills his mouth as he fills your pussy with his seed.

His groin presses against yours, holding you still. Keeping the rivers of his release inside of you. You're whimpering and twitching, yet still he pins you.

His warm, slippery tongue laves against the sluggishly bleeding wound.

He hopes that it sticks.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The hours drone by and day turns to night, the dusk not bringing an end to the storms. If anything they get louder. The rain falling heavier, thunder roaring startlingly. You are so beyond fucking glad that you don't have to brave it, that you instead get to laze in bed. Wrapped up in warm, worn blankets.

Your body melts into Neteyam’s as he massages every inch of exposed skin. His strong fingers digging into your tired muscles as you lounge against him, cheek laid comfortably on his chest.

You feel boneless, but also more powerful than you ever have before. You’re a woman mated now. All of those seasons spent alone, all of the whispers. They don't matter now.

You have a mate.

You hug Neteyams waist a little tighter, hiding your smile in his dark skin.

He chuckles, can feel how proud you are of yourself through the bond. He hasn't bothered to disconnect your kuru’s after he’d slipped out of you, not ready to release the Tsaheylu. You we’re more then happy to be connected for him for as long as he liked.

You think you might enjoy this part as much as the sex. The afterwards is soft, he attendants to you diligently. You can feel his affection pour off of him in waves. It's thrilling, all of it. This whole day had been filled with fresh experiences. You feel brand new, a different side of yourself coming to the surface.

You’d never been anyone’s lover before.

It makes you all giddy and excited, being his. Having him be yours.

You tell him things you’d never told another soul, not even Tsireya. All your secrets come flowing out of you like a babbling brooke. You want him to know all of you, even the embarrassing scary parts.

“I can see it” He chuckles heartily at the story from your childhood. The one about a bet gone wrong, one where Roxto had been drug down the depths by an angry mother Kapapal(octopus). You’d jumped in after him even though you we’re smaller then a shell shocked Ao’nung, it had all ended in a cloud of black ink that had stained your skin for weeks “You’re my brave little warrior, aren't you?”

“You are the brave one between the two of us. It’s not every tsamsiyu (warrior) that can pass two Iknimaya”

Neteyam shrugs, his hands working on a knot between your shoulder blades “Things like that have never been hard for me. It's simple when there's a task that I can see the end of. It’s like- that is the way my mind works. Anything can be done if you keep your head down and figure out a way whether through. Lo’ak calls me a bootlicker for it. Maybe he’s right, I do not know”

Your fingers dance along a raised, jagged scar. It's on his lower stomach, stretched out across his right hip. It had to have hurt, even now you can feel how deep the scar tissue runs. His body is littered with them. Little tokens from the war. It hurts you that his learned coping mechanism is essentially just sticking it out. Bracing himself against the pain and swallowing it down.

He’d never have to do that again. Not with you.

You cup his jaw “Your brothers not the brightest ilu in the pod, I wouldn't pay any mind to his opinions. It’s why I’m glad that him and Ao’nung are friends now- their voices cancel eachother out”

Neteyams laughter is ringing and contagious.

He’s beautiful when he’s given the opportunity to be vulnerable. When he’s not weighed down with the weight of all of his responsibilities. His eyes glitter when he talks about the forest, about his grandmother and the Omiticaya people. About the vast mountain ranges and dense, endless greenery.

Even when he speaks of the war and training, its not with the sadness that you know you’d be overcome with if you ever had to face such adversities. He was good at following orders and giving them, had an entire air fleet that was at his control.

He mentions a name a few times. A female name. You can help but notice it.

And its stupid. Really it is, but you recall how he'd said you were the tightest he’d ever been with. How many women had be been with, back home? You knew that he wasn't a virgin. He’d never put up that front with you but still-

You busy yourself with the still raw tattoo that sprawls over his right arm. Across his shoulder and down his bicep. It’s still hot and healing. Easy for you to focus on, your withdrawing nature flaring up protectively. You’d rather focus on tending to his wounds then being stupidly upset about his past romps.

You retreat from his arms with a small smile, gently breaking Tsaheylu-

“Hey!” Neteyam protests, reaching to pull you back, but you just giggle at his antics. Standing up and scurrying to the other side of the hut.

Your belongings were scattered all over the place- but still. You dig for the little jar. Giving a triumphant little “aha” when you find it.

He pouts as you plop back down next to him, demanding you give you his arm.

“It’ll get infected if you don't take care of it” you warn as you spread the viscous liquid over the slightly raised ink. Rubbing it into his skin, blowing on it when he hisses about the sting. Kelp Jelly tended to do that. Still, he leans into your touch.

“Let me put some on your shoulder” he requests when you’re finished nodding at the scabbing bite on the juncture where your shoulder met your neck. You allow him to dip his long fingers into the jar, to spread it over your own wound.

“Did I upset you?”

“No”

“Liar” he sighs, working the jelly in a thick layer “I felt it through Tsaheylu. Was it the war? I don't have to talk about that if you don't want me to”

“Of course it wasnt that…” your lips purse as you try to pick your words in a way that will least embarrass you. Try and fail. “Who’s Zeytawni?”

Neteyam gives you a long blank look before a smile cracks across his handsome face. His braids sway as he shakes his head, his thumb brushes soothingly at the skin around the bite.

“You are the most jealous woman I’ve ever met” He’s extremely amused, it makes your cheeks burn and a haughty protest raise in your throat.

“I am not! And if I was-am I not rightfully jealous? The two of you we’re obviously close” you splutter because it's not fair! That it’s all a joke to him. You’re always so flustered and he’s always so collected “I know that you have had…women. I get to be curious about that. I’ve never had partners the way that you have. I don't have anything to compare it to-”

“Stop” Neteyam’s voice is sage but demanding. He puts the jar of healing salve down beside him- before his fingers spread across your bare breast bone. Pressing his palm firmly against your heart.

“There’s nothing to compare. Nothing at all. Please do not ever break the bond again before you ask me about other women. You could’ve have felt for yourself what I feel about all of this.”

Your mouth quirks as you roll his words over in your head. You know he’s right- that you had a one way ticket into his head just moments ago. But maybe you’d been scared about what you’d find. Still naively clinging on to your insecurity.

“I'm just not very experienced. You know that. I’d barely done anything with anyone before you” You whisper, feeling smaller than you we’re.

“That’s…not a bad thing. Not for me. I don't like the idea of anyone else touching you” Neteyam reassures you, but his jaw smarts. Like even thinking about this makes him a little sick.

You get a little thrill out of it “Why? Are you…jealous?”

He snorts. His amber eyes boring into yours for a moment before he speaks “You know exactly how I feel about the attention you get from the men in the village”

You giggle, reaching out to press a peck of a kiss to his cheek “No one ever sparked my interest.”

“Really?” He argues, scoffing a bit as he pickles on a loose thread of the bed mat “None of them seemed to get that hint, huh? They all thought they had a chance.”

You shimmy as close to him as you can get, molding yourself into his side. His arm raises so that you can press right under his armpit, skin to skin. Your hardening nipples graze the side of his ribcage.

You love this. It may not be exactly healthy but you do.

You love feeling like you're not the only one losing your damn mind over the idea of ever having to share what the two of you had.

You smother the side of his face in kisses, your lips pecking all over his cheeks. His nose. The corner of his lips- which purse as he gives a halfhearted return.

“You’re the only one who ever had a chance” you promise as you begin to drag wet open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He’d shed his many chokers, and his bare throat is just so pretty.

“Ahuh” he grumbles, but his head lulls, giving you more room “Even today, I watched so many head’s turn to watch you. As you readied to move into my hut, to live with me. It’s maddening”

You heat up at his words. You feel your core begin to pulse again. You want him like this all of the time, and you know that the future is going to be littered with attempts at getting your man this riled up as much as possible.

“Mark me up some more?” you suggest, casually as ever. Grinning when your mate groans a little at the idea “Cover me in your cum. Make me smell so much like you that no one will ever question who I belong to.”

You yelp, shocked, when his hand claps loudly against your ass.

Swatting it once in warning, before his big paw begins to grope at the hot flesh. For a moment you’re so surprised, so scandalized, that you freeze.

That’s just for a moment though. You’re quickly resuming your assault on his neck, your tail wagging excitedly behind you.

“You like this?” He phrases it as a question, even though the bastard already knows. As though he can't tell, can't feel how wet you are for him when his fingers slip between your cheeks and circle your hole. Your pussy's already futtering for him.

“Mhmm” you whine as he presses into you, fingers disappearing knuckle deep. Not slow, no. He starts to fuck you with them almost automatically “Of course I like that you want me”

He pounds you with his hand and you gasp into his ear, jutting out your sweet behind. Wanting him harder, wanting all three of his long digits pressed as far into as they can go. It feels almost like a punishment…

You think you might like that, too.

“Silly girl” He chastises as he plays your body like a flute “I’ll always want you”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The week passes by, although you truly wish it wouldn't- and slowly the rains start to clear. The storms fading into something docile, rainbows glittering as they catch on the many little windchimes you’d hung at the entrance of your home.

You and Neteyam don't leave the Mauri once. Completely enthralled with one and other. Intertwined too deeply to move far from the bed mat. He keeps you fed, cleaned and hydrated. Tends to any and all of your needs. Makes sure your greedy body is satiated-

“Ma Nete” you whine from your place among the blankets. The pout on your face is endearing, dramatic as anything though. "Don't go"

The two of you hadn't broken Tsaheylu in days. You could survive the separated bond for ten minutes.

“I have to go get more fresh water. We ran out last night- don’t look at me like that! I’ll be right back!” He’s refastening the leather straps of his tweng. He just has to go as far as the center of the village, to the well.

You’re not having it. You have no idea how he had wrestled his way out of your arms, but this wouldn't do. There we’re still women in the throws of Fertility Season. You could hear the caterwauling. He couldn't just go out there with all of his muscles-

“But paskalin(honey). We can go get water later. Together” you protest and he shakes his head, grabbing the water pail next to the fire pit.

“Or I can go get it now and get it over with” he sniggers, making a move for the doorway. He’s reaching for the flap, reading himself to leave.

When your pitiful moan rings through the air.

He should be strong, should be a dutiful mate. Needs to clear his head enough that he can take care of you-

Instead he turns back.

You’re a dirty cheat, he’s learned that fact during the last week. A sore loser. A little brat who couldn't take no for an answer. He’d spend the rest of his days spoiling you rotten and he blames Tonowari for it. He wonders if the older man had ever given you healthy boundaries;

You’d do just about anything to get your way. Resort to nasty tricks that you know he couldn't resist-

This being one of said tricks.

You’re on your hands and knees, your spine a perfect arch as you raise your ass into the air, and keep your head and shoulders pressed into the bedding. Your thighs parted wide as you reach back, tugging on your cheeks.

Presenting beautifully for him. The perfect picture of submission.

Your still wet holes wink at him hypnotically. Luring him back like a fish on a hook.

His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows, hard. Feet rooted in place as he battles with himself.

“Y/N…” He warns, even though he knows it’s futile. He can't resist you like this.

Can't resist you at all.

“Come taste” you purr, wiggling your hips as your delicate fingers trace the furl of your sphincter. “Tastes so good, huh, paskalin? It's cause I'm full of your cum. We taste so nice combined”

Neteyam groans, deep and gutted, and the pail clatters to the floor.

He dives back in, face first.

Not at all ashamed over the fact that his previously unswayable sense of duty deems to dissipate when it comes to you and your demands.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

The village is coming back to life. Couples rejoining the world after their week spent intimately tucked away. Slowly but surely Awa’atlu will return back to it’s everyday routine.

Jake maneuvers the walkways, smiling at people he passes. It had been much like this, in the forest. Fertility Season had been something he’d definitely had to get used to, a culture shock to the extreme, but once he realized how important it was to the Na’vi he’d got with the program pretty damn fast.

It's a sacred ritual, Neytiri had explained to him the first time he’d participated in the ritual. He had spent the week trying to keep up with his mate, completely surprised by the tantric, communal, act of sex.

It’s vital for their population, Norm and Max elucidated. They needed to have these seasons so that their tribes can stay afloat. If they don't, there weren't be enough babies born.

Whatever the true cause, it was an experience for sure. Back home in the forest as the Omiticayan Olo’eyktan, he’d been much more hands on. Running around like a chicken with his head cut off for weeks before the event. Organizing the hunt, making sure the coupling Na’vi were taken care of. Keeping the entire clan afloat.

It had been different this year, as most things we’re since the big move to the coast.

This year he was just another Metkayina clans member. He and his mate still had children under their care and didn't feel the lure of the heat as intensely. He wondered if after Tuk came of age, would Neytiri want to go back to being active participants?-

They Sully’s had been of service where they could, picking up any slack. Helping with odd jobs. Kiri had been a great help to Ronal, her quick healing hands had come in handy to the heavily pregnant Tsahik. Tuk beaded bracelets and delivered them, along with little prayers, to everyone's doorsteps. Neytiri had become quite the fisherman in her time on the Island and made sure to double up on her hunts, less anyone need a meal. Even Lo’ak had pitched in, an aid when needed. The kid bitched about it the whole time, but Jake had reminded him that it would be him in the mating couples’ place soon. Lo’ak had rolled his eyes and shrugged his dad off. Jake didn't miss the way his youngest son shot a very busy Tsireya a lingering look.

There was one very big presence missing though.

His eldest son had always been his right hand man, and especially during busy times of the year such as this, Neteyam was the always biggest help. Running around almost as much as Jake, taking on any and all responsibility. Completing even the most minute of errands.

Another change this year. His eldest had finally chosen a mate. And had been locked away in his own Mauri for the past week. Participating in Fertility Season for his first time.

It's why Jake was sent on this little task. Neytiri had filled a large woven basket with more food. Pitchers of well water, replacements of medicinal herbs.

“Isn't this a little much? We just got them all stocked up-”

Jake hadn't even bothered to finish his sentence, cut off by his wife’s withering glare. He’d just taken the basket and promised to deliver it safely.

He adores that she’s such a good mother to their children, he’d lacked that back on Earth. Him and Tommy had all but raised themselves. But did she have to be such a…hover mom? Neteyam had made it clear that he wanted some space to mate with Y/N. Private from his bustling family.

Jake couldn't deny that he’d missed his boy. Was a bit worried about him. Neteyam been so against mating back in the forest, rejected any and all proposals. Fertility Season could be…alot, to say the least. A marathon that even the most experienced had trouble running. Jake wasn't ashamed to say that he’d fainted his first time. Neytiri had almost killed him.

He’ll just check in quickly. Drop off the goods. Make sure no one is unconscious. It’ll be fine, most everyone has come out from the haze of the Season anyway. The two of you we’re probably just recovering from the week. Cleaning up-

As he reaches the Mauri, he realizes how wrong he was.

Your moans can be heard through the walls. Syrupy and raspy, you sound worn out. Yet nowhere near stopping.

“Neteyam- ugh-right there. Right there”

Jakes ears flatten against his head and his eyes go comically wide.

“Take it, Y/N. Fuck-”

Jake abandons the basket by the door and hightails it the fuck out of there before he hears anymore. Na’vi are different about sexuality. Far more open. There’s no stigma or shame, just love and acceptance. He’d grown to appreciate it during his years on Pandora.

That being said, Jake had no desire to hear his eldest son fucking his mate. Grown man or not. Call it the tawtute in him.

He’s still a little mortified, even when he makes it back to his own Mauri. Neytiri is sat by the firepit, slow roasting a recent catch. His other kids are nowhere to be found.

“What is it?” she questions as he plops down. Her husband looks a bit shell shocked.

Jake takes a beat, before turning to her. A peculiar look on his face “I’m pretty sure we’re going to be grandparents soon. Like, very soon. Like as soon as possible”

Ah. Her husband and his earthly modesty.

She can't help but laugh at it. After all these years, he still was so easy to fluster. Her sister and Tsu’tey had spent their first Fertility Season under the same roof as the rest of the family. It wasn't odd, or frowned upon.

A part of her wishes Neteyam had done the same so that she could take better care of him and Y/N.

“If the Great Mother wills it, yes” She pats his five fingered hand encouragingly.

“There is no way that girl isn't pregnant right now. Don't you think I’m too young to be a grandpa?”

“No. You are very old now, my love. Look at all of that gray in your hair” Neytiri jests, pointing out the silvery webbing that had started to sprout from Jakes dreads.

“Skxawng!” He swats at her and the two of them break into giggles as he takes out his knife and starts to cut the vegetables, helps her prepare dinner.

After all of the years, their rapport is easy. They move in harmony. She is very excited that her eldest son has finally found someone to build with. He had been so picky, she was worried he might end up an eternal bachelor, forever fated to take care of his siblings.

Neteyam deserved so much more than that.

“I miss having a prrnen(baby) around. Tuk has grown so fast. My time to birth children has come and gone, I am ready for grandchildren. Though I wish they could be raised in the forest” Neytiri shoots her husband a look “They will need us to guide them through it. To protect them. Family is our fortress, that is what you say. Our family is growing, Ma Jake”

Neytiri had been younger than her son is now when she birthed him.

She had no doubts that he was capable of raising a family. He’d helped them raise theirs. Always more of a parental figure than a sibling. She’s factual as she reminds her husband. He’ll be a fun grandpa, he decides. Paw Paw.

He gets a blank confused stare in response. Tuk comes running in, talking a mile a minute, before Neytiri can question Jake about what a “pah-pah” is.

Neytiri prays to the great mother before she goes to sleep that night. For healthy pregnancies and easy deliveries. For her eldest son and his mate’s happiness.

That Fertility Season had been good to them.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Welp, welp, welppppp. I finally finished it. I want you guys to know how hard it was to get this finished. The amount of WIPS that sit unfinished in my drafts is actually sad.

But this story feels special. The response I have gotten to it has made me happier than I can express.

I'm so grateful to be a part of this fandom. Really. Pandora is such a fin world to escape into and play in and the fact that you guys enjoy reading what I consider self therapy is fucking amazing.

Next chapter will be full of pregnancy and pregnancy talk!!! If that’s triggering at all please just be aware that it’s coming and you can skip it if you’d like.

Also thinking about who’s POV we want to see next. Lo’ak’s maybe?

Again I want to remind you that I write what I want to read. I know that Na’vi don’t really have beds or blankets buttttt- I want them to.

Is there rice on Pandora? I’m not sure. My readers gonna eat some rice though.

Was it necessary for Neteyam to bite the shit out of her to seal the deal? Yup. Cause I wanted him to.

Part Four should be out in the next couple weeks. Thanks for being patient with me!

The taglist for this story is closed buttttt I am really good at linking my posts so just keep an eye on my page/Masterlist for updates!

Til next time babies.

Leave me all the good comments- you may get a teaser faster if you do lol

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x reader #aged up neteyam #neteyam x metkayina!reader #mating

1K notes · View notes

hamsterclaw · 8 months

Text

Fugitive

You're kidnapped by a desperate man and you can't see a way that this is going to end well, for either of you.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Word count: 10k

Genre: Escaped criminal, convict Yoongi

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of a gun, threat of gun violence

Author note: This story is based on the romance novel Perfect by Judith McNaught. I've taken a few liberties with the plot and characters.

The coffee at this mountainside diner is good, warming your belly as you frown at the snow outside.

All the weather reports say there’s a storm coming from the east, but it doesn’t take a trooper to know that.

Even a city girl like you can see how the sky’s darkening, how the wind’s relentless, how the temperature is rapidly dropping.

You’ve got snow tires on, four wheel drive, emergency supplies in your trunk, but you think you won’t need them, you’re heading west and you’ve made good time on your way to visit your sister and her newborn.

Like your dad used to say, your family’s full of grit.

You swallow your smile when you see the man standing just outside the diner looking straight at you.

Did he think you were smiling at him?

You look down hastily.

The waitress comes round with the check you signalled for, you put money on the little acrylic tray and get ready to go.

By the time you step outside, the wind’s picked up even more, snow swirling, making your eyes want to screw shut under your beanie.

You don’t hear him until he’s almost on top of you.

He’s not a lot taller than you, and he’s not particularly dressed for the weather, in denim on denim, a parka. No hat or gloves.

His hair is dark, as are his eyes, and his skin is pale, like he doesn’t get a lot of sun.

He looks vaguely familiar but you can’t really place him.

‘You have a flat,’ he says, pointing to one of your front tyres.

You look down in dismay only to see that he’s right.

Shit!

‘I can help you change it, if you’ve got a spare,’ he offers.

‘Would you?’ you ask, grateful.

‘Yeah, not a problem.’

You show him where the spare and tools are, and as he crouches by the tyre, you’re very aware of how, unlike you, he doesn’t have gloves on.

You feel a surge of guilt.

‘Hey,’ you offer, ‘whilst you’re doing that, can I get you a hot drink or something?’

He looks up at you, hands braced on the flat.

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’

‘Of course,’ you say, relieved that he’s not too polite to take you up on your offer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You hurry back into the diner to get him a coffee. As you wait you wonder if he might want a sandwich too, and impulsively, you order him a hot sandwich.

He can always say no if he doesn’t want it, you reason.

By the time you come out, he’s putting the flat in your trunk, tidying up the tools he used.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him, passing him the drink.

‘No problem,’ he says.

A little awkwardly, you hold out the wrapped sandwich. ‘I got you a sandwich too, if you want it. It’s turkey.’

He accepts with another murmured ‘thank you.’

You’re wondering if you should offer him money for his kindness when he says, hesitant, ‘I could use a lift, if you’re heading west. I’ve got a job interview I’m hoping to make it to.’

Now you’re the hesitant one. He’s shown you nothing but kindness, but he is still a total stranger.

He waits without looking at you, sipping his coffee, keeping his distance.

You think about his lack of warm clothes, and as you’re looking at him, you notice the crispness of the creases in his clothing, remnants of how they must have been folded when he bought them.

You think about his calloused palms and how he accepted the sandwich without hesitation.

‘Hey, it’s ok,’ he starts to say, and it’s that, more than anything else, that spurs you on to reply.

‘It’s fine,’ you say. ‘I’ll take you as far as I’m heading.’

***

He gets into the passenger seat, and from the sigh that passes his lips you realise that he really was as cold as you thought he might be.

You start the engine, and warm air starts to blow through your A/C vents.

You check that the GPS is still set and glance over at him.

‘You ready?’

You’re a mile or so out of the diner, listening to the radio, when it occurs to you to ask him his name.

‘I’m Y/N,’ you say.

‘Yoongi,’ comes the reply.

In here, away from the whistling wind, you can hear the gravel in his voice.

‘What job are you going for?’ you ask.

‘Just some construction job my friend’s lined up for me near Maisan,’ Yoongi says.

He glances in the rearview mirror.

‘I hope you get it,’ you tell him. ‘Do you live around there?’

He seems to hesitate.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ you say, quickly.

To bridge the sudden silence, you say, ‘I’m going to see my sister and her new baby. She chose a good time to have him, right before a storm.’

You notice movement up ahead, a police roadblock.

Beside you, your new acquaintance sits up.

‘Nice and easy,’ he says, and you look at him, confused, until you notice that he has a gun in his hand.

Pointed right at you.

You straighten up so quickly your neck cracks.

‘What —-‘

‘Nice and easy,’ Yoongi says again, a hardness to his voice you haven’t heard up until now.

‘There are six shots in this gun, but I’ll only need one to hurt you,’ he continues.

Your hands tighten on the wheel, and your lips clamp together, trying to stifle the squeak of terror that threatens to slip out.

‘I just want you to know that I will hurt you if you try anything,’ Yoongi says. There’s a seriousness in his voice that makes your blood chill. ‘So nice and easy, get us past this roadblock.’

You’ve slowed automatically as you approach the uniformed policemen, your years of driving making your body do the expected things despite the way your head is reeling.

Yoongi has a gun, and he seems perfectly capable of using it on you.

The fear crystallises into a single sob before your throat closes completely. Your breathing quickens but you know you’ll need to look normal, unsuspicious, to get you and Yoongi past the police.

‘Are they looking for you?’ you ask. Your voice is shuddery, you’re trembling so hard.

In response, Yoongi jams the barrel of the gun against you, high up, against your ribs, so hard it’s like he’s impaled you.

‘Shut up and get us through this,’ he snarls.

Your lips snap together again, and you make a conscious effort to pull yourself together.

Just before you stop, Yoongi says, ‘If you try anything, I won’t just be trying to hurt you. I’ll kill you.’

His tone is low, and another shiver runs through you.

You roll down the window.

The police trooper leans in. ‘Where are you headed?’

‘We’re going to see my sister in Maisan,’ you say, grateful at least, that your voice is steady.

Beside you, Yoongi’s sitting perfectly still.

‘You’ve not picked a good time to go,’ says the trooper.

This time, it’s Yoongi who answers. ‘I did say we should wait, but my girlfriend’s been looking forward to seeing her new nephew.’

He shrugs, a picture of indulgent exasperation.

The trooper laughs along with Yoongi even as you try to make desperate eye contact with him.

‘Better carry on then, hopefully you’ll make it before the storm hits.’

Then he’s waving you off, and you have a split second of panic, a moment where you consider screaming, before Yoongi’s gun jabs into your ribs again.

Again, your body responds before you do, driving you away from your last chance to seek help.

***

Twenty miles out from the diner, Yoongi tosses your phone out of the window.

Forty miles out, he programs a different address into your GPS.

It’s another ten miles before you find your voice again.

‘You can take the car, you know, and leave me here. I can’t call anyone.’

Yoongi almost looks like he’s considering it.

‘I can’t leave you here out in the mountains in the middle of nowhere,’ he tells you. ‘You’ll die of exposure, especially if you can’t call for help.’

‘Also,’ he adds, almost as if it’s an afterthought, ‘you know the address of where we’re going.’

‘I didn’t see it,’ you say, too quickly.

Yoongi’s silent.

Finally, he says, ‘Just keep driving.’

‘Please,’ you plead. ‘Just let me go. I won’t tell the police where you’re heading.’

Yoongi’s grasp on the gun, still in his lap, tightens.

‘You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you give a ride to a strange man you’ve just met?’

You don’t have a good answer to that.

‘You changed my tyre,’ you say. ‘I thought —‘

‘I slashed your tyre,’ he says, low, cold. ‘I was hanging around outside the diner, I saw you pull up, saw you were alone.’

His admission chills you.

Tears start to spill down your cheeks when you realise what a fool you were to trust him.

‘I just wanted to help you out,’ you tell him. ‘You seemed hungry and down on your luck, and you didn’t even have any warm c-c-clothes!’

You swipe at your cheeks furiously.

‘Didn’t have any warm clothes,’ Yoongi repeats, incredulous, scornful. ‘You’re some fucking good Samaritan.’

You’re crying quietly now, despairing over your naivety.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a good long while, and neither do you.

***

By the time you reach your destination, it’s snowing so hard you can barely see six feet in front of your car.

Snowy walls close in either side of you, buffeting you from the wind but heightening your sense of claustrophobia.

The clearing’s upon you before you quite realise it, and you end up stopping in front of a huge structure in the woods.

It’s more than a cabin, it looks like a proper house, from what you can make out, with a shed and a carport.

Yoongi reaches out and takes your car keys.

‘Wait until I come round to your side.’

He doesn’t point the gun at you, but you don’t need reminding.

He gets out, walks around to your side, pulls open the door, pushes you in front of him.

You try to take note of your surroundings, landmarks, but all you can see is snow.

Your boots clomp on the concrete as you approach the front door.

Behind you, you can hear Yoongi rustling, glancing at his phone before he punches numbers into the keypad discreetly placed by the door.

He cups a hand over the keypad, you don’t see a thing.

He pulls you in as he enters, and you’re initially just grateful to be out of the snow.

Yoongi says, ‘Take your coat off.’

He makes a move as if to do it for you when you don’t react quickly enough, and you snap into action, pulling the snaps apart, unzipping hastily.

He takes your coat, tosses it carelessly to one side, grasps your wrist, tight.

You flinch as he tightens a cable tie around your wrist and attaches you to the steel flap of a radiator by the entrance hall of the house.

‘I can’t trust you not to try to run,’ he tells you. ‘I won’t hurt you, but I can’t afford for you to interfere with my plans, not now.’

You’re barely listening at this point.

The terror of the last few hours has drained most of your energy.

Yoongi stands over you for a few moments, as if to make sure you aren’t going to bolt, and then he heads further into the house.

***

Time passes, you’re disorientated by the darkness brought on by the storm outside and your own sense of disjointedness.

It doesn’t seem like that long ago since you loaded your things into your trunk and set off from home, and yet, it seems like forever.

Gradually, you become aware of the hardwood floor under your salopes. The entry hall you’re being held captive in gives you the impression that this is a nice house.

Whoever had this built has money.

The ceilings are high, the wood panelling rich and beautifully rendered.

The radiator beside you has started heating up, the steel flaps burning you whenever you let your hand move too close.

Your snow boots have made puddles on the hardwood.

Where the hell are you? Who owns this place? Why did Yoongi have the code for the door?

If he has friends this rich willing to let him use their house why the hell did he need you to drive him?

Your mind swirling with thoughts you can’t reconcile, you pull your knees into your chest and tuck your chin in, wrapping your arms around yourself.

You fall into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

***

You wake to complete darkness and a searing pain in your hand where you’ve let it fall against the radiator.

It all comes back to you in a flash.

The diner. The state trooper. The house. Yoongi.

Your hand hurts, badly, but it’s too dark to see.

As you straighten your legs, your foot hits something that falls with a soft thud, then rolls.

A water bottle.

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your throat is.

You reach for the bottle, but maddeningly, it rolls out of your reach.

There are tears on your face but you’re not crying, not really.

Maybe you are.

***

When you next wake, the cold thin grey light filtering in through the windows tells you it’s morning, or early.

You look up to see your captor standing over you.

You look at each other wordlessly.

Yoongi crouches next to you.

‘Do you need the bathroom?’ he asks.

You nod.

He reaches down to detach you from the radiator.

Your hand.

You can see it clearly now, the blistered, reddened side of your palm, the thin line of blood where the cable tie’s cut into your wrist.

You say nothing. You don’t know if you can form any words.

You get up carefully, follow Yoongi down the hall to a small bathroom.

‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ Yoongi says.

You take care of business, trying not to sob at the pain in your burnt hand and wrist.

The window to the bathroom doesn’t open, and there’s nothing that you can use to break it.

There’s a knock at the door, you feel a surge of hysterical laughter threatening to come out.

He’s kidnapped you, locked you to a radiator, and he’s knocking because he cares about your privacy?

The door opens, and Yoongi comes in.

You stare at the scissors in his hand.

‘Your wrist,’ he says.

You watch, detached, as he cuts the cable tie. It falls to the floor, and you instinctively raise your hand to your chest to rub at your wrist.

Yoongi says. ‘I have food for you.’

He takes you down another hallway, to a huge kitchen full of windows. The early morning sun filters in, bright and blinding, adding more of a sense of unreality to the situation you now find yourself in.

Yoongi gestures to a seat at the kitchen island, sets a plate in front of you, like he’s made you breakfast.

You stare in disbelief at the food.

‘The car’s coming for me in two days, I’ll let you go then,’ Yoongi tells you, like you’re making plans together.

Like you’re just two people who know each other, discussing plans over breakfast, instead of captor and captive.

Now you’re staring at him.

‘You’ll let me go?’ you ask. Your voice comes out in a rasp, you have a vague recollection of trying to drink water but being unable to reach.

Yoongi winces a little, pours out a glass of water that you gulp down.

‘You should have told me you wanted water,’ he says.

‘You took my phone so I couldn’t text you,’ you say, the snark coming out of your mouth surprising you.

His brow lifts. ‘You don’t have my number anyway.’

‘Don’t need it,’ you snap, gulping down your refill. ‘We’re not going on a second date.’

Now it’s his turn to stare at you.

‘You’re not my type anyway,’ he snaps back. ‘Eat your food.’

For a moment you contemplate going on a hunger strike but you suspect he wouldn’t give a shit anyway so you examine your plate.

You fork up some eggs and chew cautiously.

They’re good. Better than you expected. Your stomach growls as you eat.

The food’s doing wonders for your energy levels.

‘Why are you running from the police?’ you ask. ‘What did you do?’

‘I was convicted of murder,’ he tells you, cold.

‘Did you do it?’ you ask, unimpressed.

‘I didn’t, as a matter of fact,’ he replies, flat.

‘Wait. Were you in prison?’

‘I escaped,’ he tells you. ‘With a little help from my friends.’

You mull this over as you finish the last of your eggs.

‘You have friends?’

Yoongi gives you a look that makes your chest tighten a little.

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ he agrees.

He takes your plate, gathers up your cutlery, turns his back to put them in the sink.

‘Don’t even think about throwing your glass at me,’ he says, back still to you.

Your hand stills on the counter.

You change the subject.

‘This is a nice house. Do your friends know they’re harbouring a fugitive from the law?’

‘My friends have nothing to do with anything,’ Yoongi tells you, giving you a hard look.

He sets out a bandage and some ointment on the kitchen island in front of you.

‘Your hand,’ he prompts impatiently, when you don’t make a move to take them.

You’re about to reach for them when he sighs, unscrews the top of the tube, drops a dollop on your burnt palm.

You stifle a hiss of pain as he rubs the ointment in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Yoongi says quietly.

He’s close to you now, so close you catch a whiff of the freshness of his shampoo.

‘You should be sorry,’ you say. ‘I thought you were just some guy who was down on his luck who needed a break, and next thing you’re waving a gun in my face and threatening to kill me.’

You can feel the tears threatening to rise again, but you blink them back.

Yoongi’s touch is gentle on your sore hand.

‘I am sorry. Believe me, if there were any other way I would have taken it. I promise, I’ll let you go. I have no intention of hurting you.’

He says the words with conviction but you know you can’t believe anything he says.

Trusting him is what got you into this in the first place.

You let him bandage your hand.

‘Which radiator next?’ you ask, resigned.

‘I won’t tie you up again, but I’ll have to keep an eye on you,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘There’s a den we can sit in, if you want.’

You don’t see that you have any better options.

***

You start off in the furthest corner of the den from him, back to the wall, wary.

Yoongi ignores you completely as he turns on the TV, scrolls to the news.

You glance over the books on the bookshelf along one wall, but the TV catches your attention.

‘The search continues for Min Yoongi, the disgraced former rapper who was convicted of the murder of Han Jisung three years ago.’

Your gaze snaps to Yoongi, but he’s not looking at you, attention fully on the screen as an old media clip of him rapping plays.

‘The federal police are looking into several leads, and members of the public can contact the number onscreen if they have any information as to his whereabouts.’

The next story flashes up, and Yoongi sits back. You can see the tension leaving his body.

He catches the way you’re still gaping at him.

You blink, clear your throat.

‘So, you used to rap?’

Yoongi’s expression morphs into one of incredulity. ‘That’s your take-home from all that?’

You try again. ‘Too bad I don’t have my phone to call the number. Do you think there’s a reward?’

Yoongi stares at you.

‘I didn’t kill Han Jisung,’ he says.

He refuses to be drawn into any further discussion about it, and finally, you give up and pick up one of the books from the shelf.

***

Lunch is a sombre affair, sandwiches that you eat mechanically while looking at the grey outside.

The storm’s upon you, you doubt your snow tires would be up to the challenge even if you could get your car keys off Yoongi.

There’s no visibility at all, and if the wall of ice that’s forming around the glass of the floor to ceiling windows of the house wasn’t enough to deter you, the fact that you have no idea where your parka is certainly helps put you off.

You grew up in a mountainous area like this, and you’ve got a healthy respect for the weather conditions when it's like this.

You wonder how your sister’s doing, and your new nephew, if they’ve noticed you’re missing yet.

Maybe they think you’ve stopped to seek shelter and are waiting for the storm to pass before you continue on your journey.

You wonder if they’ve put your lack of communication down to a signal failure.

You wonder if anyone will notice you’re missing.

Your thoughts drift to Seokjin, the man you’ve recently had a few dates with.

He’s a good looking guy, outmatching you in looks if you’re being honest about what you think, but he seems to like the way you look, and to enjoy spending time with you.

You realise that Yoongi’s talking to you.

‘Are you all right?’ he asks, nodding to your half eaten sandwich.

‘I’m fine,’ you answer. You pull a face. ‘Well apart from being held captive against my will.’

Yoongi looks like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

‘Were you really going to see your sister?’ he asks. ‘Will she notice you’re missing?’

You eye him narrowly. ‘I don’t think anyone’s sending out a search party for me just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Yoongi says, unexpectedly, ‘Why not? You’re pretty, you’d catch attention on the front page of the newspapers.’

You say, incredulously, ‘I bet dozens of women go missing every single day.’

‘They probably do,’ Yoongi agrees.

‘How did you get put in prison if you didn’t kill that guy?’ you ask, changing the subject. ‘I’m sure you could afford a good legal team.’

Yoongi takes a while to answer.

‘I was fucking Han Jisung’s fiancee.’

You raise a sceptical brow at him. ‘And?’

‘I think his half-brother set me up.’

You mull this over.

‘So what’s the plan? You escape from prison and leave the country?’

Yoongi shrugs, but his gaze is hard.

‘I stay on the run until I get enough evidence for a re-trial. Prove my innocence.’

‘Seems a long shot,’ you say, but you have no desire to piss him off, at least not while he’s got a gun in his possession.

‘I have influential friends who are willing to help,’ Yoongi says, simply.

You say nothing.

‘Do you know what it’s like to be put away for life for something you didn’t do?’ Yoongi asks, suddenly. ‘I’ve lost three years of my life to this, there’s no chance of parole for another 7 years.’

His voice rings with anger and frustration.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say.

You have no idea if he’s telling you the truth, but you’re convinced of one thing. He believes it.

If he’s telling the truth, you can’t think of anything more awful.

‘Some say I brought this on myself,’ Yoongi says.

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t blame them. I was an asshole and a womaniser.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ you retort.

Yoongi looks at you, momentarily speechless with surprise.

Then he laughs.

‘Has no one ever taught you not to make fun of a man with a gun?’

You look at him seriously. ‘You promised you’d let me go in two days. Was that a lie?’

‘No,’ he answers. His eyes meet yours, gaze steady and unwavering. ‘I’ll keep my word.’

With him looking at you like this, you almost believe him.

***

Night’s falling, or so you think, it’s been dark all day but you get the sense that daylight’s fading fast.

Yoongi gets up, says, ‘Come on, I’m going to bed.’

‘You want a bedtime story?’ you ask, tetchy.

He just waits patiently by the entrance of the den for you to join him.

‘Any chance I could take a shower?’ you ask.

You’ve been in the same clothes for a day and a half, and you feel pretty grimy.

‘Sure,’ Yoongi says, surprising you. ‘Need clothes?’

Yoongi takes you to what looks like a pretty impressive master bedroom, with an equally luxurious looking bathroom.

He rummages in a drawer, hands you a set of grey sweats.

He says, the faintest note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘There’s no women’s clothes here.’

You accept the clothes with a murmured ‘thanks.’

Yoongi says, ‘the door doesn’t lock, but I won’t walk in on you. The window’s too high to jump from.’

You eye him.

‘I have no interest in walking through this snowstorm without a coat.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want to give me the car keys?’

Yoongi chooses not to answer, steps back so you can close the bathroom door.

You get undressed quickly, step under a shower of water so hot it feels like heaven after you’ve been cold most of the day.

There’s toiletries that you avail yourself of, and by the time you get redressed, you feel practically human again, burnt hand and sore wrist notwithstanding.

You wrap a towel around your hair, step out to see Yoongi sitting on an armchair by the bed.

His gaze flicks over you once, his expression unreadable.

‘I don’t want to tie you to another radiator,’ he says.

You wait to hear where he’s going with this.

‘I’m going to lock the bedroom door. You can share the bed with me, or there’s that couch.’

‘I’ll take the couch,’ you say.

You get onto the couch, pull a blanket over your head, and you must be more tired that you thought, because you’re thinking of everything Yoongi’s told you, and then you’re not thinking of anything at all.

***

You wake in complete darkness, quiet save for your own breathing.

As your eyes adjust, you realise that the lump near the window is Yoongi.

He’s looking out, facing away from you.

‘What time is it?’ you ask.

Yoongi inhales, keeps looking out.

‘Sometime after midnight,’ he says. ‘Does it matter?’

You sit up, curl your legs under you.

His profile is strangely lovely, the slope of his brow, the high bridge of his nose, his jaw.

‘What are you going to do if you manage to prove your innocence?’ you ask.

It’s a clumsy question, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’d like to live near a beach,’ he says. ‘Make music. Be away from people for a bit.’

You guess there’s not a whole lot of privacy in prison.

‘I have a beach hut,’ you say. ‘We used to spend summers at the seaside. When my parents died, my sister and I inherited it.’

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi asks, turning towards you.

‘Yeah. We swam a lot. Explored caves. Did some rockpooling.’

‘Sounds fun,’ Yoongi says. ‘When I was a kid I spent summers trying to earn money.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I did a lot of gigs, trying to get exposure. I had my own crew though.’ He sounds wistful. ‘We busted our asses.’

He laughs. ‘When I signed my first record deal I got a house so my crew would always have a roof over their heads.’

‘No diamond encrusted chains?’ you tease.

‘Baby, that was after I got my first platinum record,’ he shoots back.

You laugh, and after a moment, he does too.

‘You got a job?’

You look up at the ceiling.

‘I teach,’ you tell him. ‘Grade school. I’ve got a class of seven year olds.’

‘You do have that whole teacher vibe,’ Yoongi remarks.

You’re amused.

‘What whole teacher vibe?’

‘You know. Responsible, prepared for everything. I mean, I saw the supplies in your trunk.’

You can’t argue.

‘You’re too soft,’ Yoongi continues. He’s still turned towards you. ‘You shouldn’t have offered me a ride.��

‘Like I said,’ you reply. ‘You looked like you needed help.’

He scoffs. ‘If I were your man I’d teach you to make any man regret even thinking about messing with you.’

‘I don’t need a man to teach me that,’ you say.

Yoongi shrugs, a rustle of his sweatshirt.

‘All I’m saying is you should work on looking less sweet and harmless.’

You toss a couch cushion in his direction.

‘I’ll show you how to crush a trachea tomorrow if you want,’ Yoongi volunteers.

‘Can I practise on you?’ you mutter, disgruntled.

Yoongi just laughs.

He turns back to the window.

It’s too dark to tell if the snow’s still falling but it doesn’t make a difference to you, because soon enough, you’re asleep again.

***

Yoongi’s quiet today, prepping breakfast with a distracted concentration that makes you wonder what’s on his mind.

You’re fixing coffee, looking for filters.

You pull open a drawer and freeze.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see the way Yoongi’s back stiffens.

There’s a revolver in the drawer. The same gun Yoongi used on you that first day.

Yoongi turns around slowly, and your eyes lock.

He’s too far away to have any chance of getting to it before you.

Yoongi tilts his head.

‘It’s fully loaded,’ he says. ‘You cock the trigger to arm it. Point and shoot. It’s reliable. It doesn’t jam.’

You blink at him.

‘The car keys are in my pocket. The snow’s still a little crazy but if you wait a few hours it might settle. It’s safer to go tomorrow.’

Thoughts swirl in your head, too much for you to process.

Finally, you reach out, and close the drawer wordlessly.

‘You’ll let me go tomorrow?’ you ask, wondering if you’ve just made the most stupid decision of your life.

‘I’ll let you go tomorrow, I promise you. Even if my friend doesn’t come through.’

You can’t look at him.

You can hear him approaching, but instead of heading for the drawer, he heads for you.

‘Thank you,’ he says.

You look over.

His eyes are serious. ‘It’s been a while since anyone who didn’t know me before trusted me.’

‘Like you said, I’m dumb and soft,’ you reply. There’s a wobble in your voice that belies the snarky tone you were going for.

His hand lands on your shoulder. It’s gentle.

‘You’d be eaten alive where I come from,’ he agrees, when you look his way again. ‘But that’s never going to happen, if I have anything to do with it.’

He squeezes your shoulder, reassuring. ‘Forget the coffee. I’ll make it. Go and eat.’

***

The unfamiliar sound from overhead is making the wineglasses rattle.

You glance at Yoongi.

He’s quicker than you, mouth set in a straight line, heading for the window in the lounge.

‘What is it?’ you ask, but a moment later, you know.

It’s a chopper, flying directly overhead.

Yoongi turns to you.

‘If that’s the police, stay inside, hands up, away from the windows whilst I turn myself in.’

You’re staring at him, again feeling like you’re three steps behind.

‘It’s the way that it’s safest for you,’ he says, patient. ‘They’ll want you to come in for questioning once they take me in. Just tell the truth, don’t try to hide anything.’

Your throat feels like it’s filled with cotton, your heart’s pounding in your ears.

‘They won’t hurt you, will they?’

‘There are other ways to hurt a man than shooting him on sight,’ Yoongi replies. The bitterness is back in his voice again.

There’s a truth to his words you can’t deny.

Overhead, the noise intensifies, until finally, it starts fading away.

You don’t know if it’s just wishful thinking at first, but eventually it becomes clear that the chopper’s becoming more distant.

Yoongi hasn’t moved from his spot by the window.

‘They’re not here for you,’ you say, unnecessary, but the silence is so loaded you have to fill it with something, anything.

‘Not this time,’ Yoongi agrees.

***

Around mid-day, Yoongi switches on the news in the den.

You don’t have to wait long for an update.

‘The search for convicted murderer Min Yoongi intensifies. CCTV footage from a mountainside diner near east of Maisan suggests that he was aided in his journey by an unidentified female driving a 2004 Grand Cherokee Jeep.’

You watch, your heart in your stomach as grainy footage of Yoongi getting into your car is played.

The clip is less than 10 seconds, and your face is barely visible, but it’s definitely you.

The same information about how to get in touch with the police flashes up, but you’re beyond listening.

You get up shakily, rush to the bathroom, and throw up the partially digested remains of your breakfast.

By the time you emerge from the bathroom, Yoongi’s waiting outside.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks. He’s holding out a glass of water that you accept automatically.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You take a big gulp, swipe at your face. ‘Am I in trouble, Yoongi?’

‘You’ll have to make a statement when you get to your sister’s,’ Yoongi tells you. ‘Tell them I forced you at gunpoint.’

You think of the gun you had the opportunity to take this morning.

‘I offered you a ride voluntarily,’ you say.

‘I don’t give a fuck,’ Yoongi says, harshly. He steps forward. ‘And they won’t give a fuck, either. This won’t affect me, I’m already a convicted murderer. But it’ll affect you if they think you helped me.’

He slams his open hand against the wall next to him, startling you.

‘You need to wise up. I don’t care if you throw me under the bus, and it won’t make a difference to the charges against me. But this could affect your future, so you need to do whatever it takes to make sure you come away clean from this.’

What he’s saying makes sense, but he doesn’t know you.

‘I promised them,’ you burst out.

Yoongi stops dead. ‘What?’

‘I was adopted, when I was eight,’ you say. The words are coming out in a rush now, garbled, and you’re not sure if you can make him understand but you need to say it all.

‘I promised my adoptive parents I’d never lie again. I was some dumb kid when they adopted me, I’d been in and out of foster homes. I’d developed a thing for taking things I wanted.’

Stealing, your inner voice says, accurately.

‘And when my parents adopted me, I promised them I’d never lie again.’

Yoongi’s staring at you now, incredulous.

‘I’ll tell the police the truth,’ you tell him. ‘But I’m not going to ‘throw you under the bus’.’

Yoongi lets out a long breath. ‘Fucking hell.’

He shakes his head. ‘I wish I’d never got in your car.’

You kind of wish the same thing.

***

Yoongi’s cracked open a couple of beers with your dinner.

‘Be careful when you’re crossing the stream tomorrow – the bridge is hard to see at the best of times, and I don’t think the snow’s made it any easier.’

‘Yes, dad,’ you say, rolling your eyes.

You’d listened the first time he said it, but he’s repeated himself a few times now.

He’s acting like he’s more worried about you getting to your sister safely than himself evading the entire manhunt that’s looking for him.

‘I did survive an entire adulthood without you, you know,’ you say, teasing.

He ignores you.

‘There’s an SOS box two miles west when you get to the main road —’

‘Yes, I know how that works,’ you say, cutting him off.

‘And if any man sends you dick pics you should block him right off the bat,’ Yoongi finishes.

You stop, processing his words, then realise he’s joking.

Your laughter makes the frown line between his brows disappear.

‘And you don’t owe any man anything even if he makes you come,’ Yoongi continues.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘Should I be writing this wisdom down?’

Yoongi frowns. ‘I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.’

‘Show me how to crush a trachea,’ you suggest.

Yoongi swigs his beer.

‘Yeah, good idea.’

He gets up, pushes his sleeves back.

You catch a glimpse of a tattoo on his upper arm.

‘If any asshole tries anything with you, you should go for all his weak spots.’

He points to his own neck, the hollow between his collarbones. ‘Jab them right here, elbow up into his nose, knee into his balls. Then, fucking run.’

He holds out his hands. ‘Come on, try me.’

You look at him uncertainly. ‘You want me to hit you?’

Yoongi says, patient, ‘Hit me now so when you hit the next asshole you’ll know how to do it right.’

‘Who are all these assholes that I’m meeting?’ you ask, but you comply anyway.

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you jab your fingers into his neck.

‘Harder,’ he says, grabbing your hand.

‘I don’t want to hurt you —’

‘Hit me as hard as I shoved that gun into your ribs,’ Yoongi says.

The memory makes you wince, and you redouble your efforts with the next jab.

When he coughs and splutters, you jerk your elbow up, straight into his nose.

He’s doubled over now, but there’s one last move he’s asked you to do.

You knee him in the balls, and he grabs your thigh at the last second so hold off the blow.

You wrench his hand off and take two steps back.

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears.

He folds over onto the kitchen floor, still coughing, eyes watering.

‘You’re supposed to run now,’ he wheezes out.

‘Do you — do you want some water or something?’ you offer.

He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re good. You’re pretty damn quick.’

‘Sorr—’

Yoongi fixes you with a glare. ‘Don’t even think about apologising,’ he scolds. ‘You fuck the asshole up, and then you run. You did it perfectly.’

‘Can I practice it again?’ you ask, sweetly.

Yoongi says, ‘Yeah —’

It takes him a moment to realise you’re joking.

***

Yoongi steps out of the shower, fully dressed, his hair still wet, making little trails of wet course down the neck of his sweatshirt.

You’re already on the couch, covered in a fluffy duvet.

‘You can take the bed if you want,’ he offers. ‘I’ll take the couch.’

‘I’m fine,’ you tell him.

He sits on the edge of the bed, towel drying his hair.

You don’t realise you’re staring at him until he asks, voice dry, ‘Something on my face?’

‘Nothing,’ you answer, startled. ‘You look good clean.’

His laughter is deep, gravelly. ‘I’d have taken a shower earlier if I’d known you preferred me clean.’

‘You should get clean for yourself,’ you answer, primly, but your lips are curving in a smile anyway.

‘Your hair looks pretty like this,’ he says.

You tug at a lock of hair, self-conscious.

‘I’m surprised you’re not better at handling compliments,’ Yoongi continues. He’s looking at you now, teasing in his voice. ‘Given how pretty you are.’

You bury your face in your duvet.

‘Stop teasing me,’ you say, muffled.

He seems to hear you just fine.

‘I’m not teasing,’ he says. ‘I’m just telling you what I think.’

‘Just turn the lights off,’ you grumble.

Yoongi laughs again. ‘You’re not the first woman to tell me to shut up, to be fair.’

He gets up, turns the lights out.

***

You wake in the middle of the night to Yoongi groaning, tossing and turning in bed.

‘Yoongi?’ you call, sitting up to look at him.

He doesn’t answer, but his groaning intensifies.

You get up and pad across the room to him.

He’s drenched in sweat, thrashing in the sheets, holding out his hands.

He’s having a nightmare.

‘Hey,’ you say, grasping his hand.

He sits up abruptly, looking around in the dark, bewildered, disoriented.

You don’t have to think about it.

You pull him in a hug, wrapping your arms tight around him. ‘You’re fine. It was a nightmare.’

You don’t think he’s really listening, but he holds you back.

His heart’s thumping so hard you can feel it under your arm.

‘You’re fine,’ you tell him again.

Eventually his grip loosens, and he pulls back a little.

‘That was some bad dream,’ you say, breathless from how tightly he’s been holding you.

He doesn’t answer, and you realise he’s staring at your lips.

His kiss takes you by surprise, but you don’t pull away.

His lips are soft and warm. When he licks into your mouth you can’t help the whine that falls from your lips.

Your hand fists in the material of his sweatshirt as he kisses you again and again, pulling you into a haze of pleasure so deep it takes you a moment to realise he’s stopped, his hand on your side, on your bare skin, under your top.

He says your name.

‘Do you want this?’ he asks. ‘We don’t have to do this if it’s not what you want.’

‘This?’ you ask. ‘You mean us kissing like this?’

You run your hand along his chest, stopping when you get to the waistband of his sweats.

‘You mean touching each other like this?’

Your hand delves lower, and he lets out a low groan as you wrap your fingers around his hardness.

‘Like this?’

‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,’ Yoongi says, his hand closing over yours.

‘I want to do this with you,’ you tell him.

He groans again, pulls you fully onto the bed, helps you tug your sweatshirt over your head.

His warm hands slide up from your waist, making slow passes over your sides, and by the time he cups your breasts, your nipples are fully hard.

‘Don’t tease, Yoongi,’ you say, trying not to moan as he rolls a nipple under his thumb.

‘Not teasing,’ he says, voice low, thick. ‘I just — fuck, you’re so pretty–’

He dips his head, and at the first flick of his tongue against the tip of your breast, you moan.

‘Yoongi,’ you plead.

‘I’ve got it,’ he tells you, lifting off your breast. ‘I’ve got you.’

Yoongi mouths at your breasts until your hips are writhing under him.

‘Please, please,’ you plead.

He tugs at your sweatpants, and when you raise your hips to help him get them off, he leans down and presses a warm kiss to the bare skin over your hipbone.

‘Wanna taste you,’ he tells you.

He pushes your thighs apart, stops with his face over your core for a split second, breathing you in.

Then he kisses you, open-mouthed, tongue delving into your cunt like he’s starving for you.

Your moan changes into a cry of pleasure as he licks at you, nose nudging your clit.

You reach out for something to grab, fisting the sheets, and Yoongi’s hand grips the flesh of your thigh, firm.

‘Shit,’ he says, ‘ you’re so wet you’re gonna make me come.’

The idea of him coming before he gets inside you could make you cry.

‘Get inside, Yoongi,’ you moan.

‘Not gonna last, not with you like this,’ Yoongi tells you. He strokes between your legs, presses his thumb in firm strokes over your clit, licks into your cunt again, and you cry his name as you come.

‘Fuck, that’s my good girl,’ Yoongi grunts. ‘Can you take me now?’

He slides his cock into you, hard, thick, whilst you’re still pulsing from your orgasm, and you keen with the pleasure of it.

He’s breathless, head thrown back, eyes shut as he moves, fucking you deep.

You kiss along his bared throat, and he swears. ‘Fuck, baby, stop – I can’t —’

He pulls out suddenly, and a moment later you feel the warmth of his cum spurting on your belly.

‘C’mere,’ he says, pulling you close, kissing you deep. ‘Stay.’

***

You wait on the porch whilst Yoongi drives your car out of the carport. He pulls up in front of the porch, gets out.

‘Remember what you have to do?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

You’ve talked about it so much you don’t think you can bear to go over it again.

‘Drive safe, ok?’ Yoongi says. He’s looking at you, intently. ‘And thank you, for everything.’

‘Good luck with being exonerated,’ you say.

It sounds stupid, you sound stupid, but you don’t know what else to say.

Yoongi walks you over to your car, waits until your seatbelt’s buckled.

‘I’ll see you, Yoongi,’ you say.

‘Take this,’ he says.

You look at the phone number he’s got scribbled down on a scrap of paper.

‘It’s a burner phone. I can’t check it all the time but do you think you could —’

He breaks off mid-sentence, then pushes on. ‘Do you think you could text me when you get to your sister’s? I just want to know you’re safe.’

‘Sure,’ you say. You slide the scrap of paper into the pocket of your salopes, zip it up.

‘Good,’ Yoongi says.

You reach out, tug the collar of his parka.

His kiss is as good a way to say goodbye as any, you think.

Yoongi closes the door, waits on the porch as you drive away.

He gets smaller and smaller in the distance, and eventually, you can’t see him at all.

***

It’s been nearly a month since you left Yoongi at the house.

You’d pulled up at your sister’s house to find out she’d just filed a missing persons report on you.

You’d had an emotional reunion with your sister, an equally emotional introduction to your new baby nephew, and one meal and one hot shower later, you’d found yourself at the police station, being questioned by a couple of detectives who’d regarded you with suspicion so strong it was a short step from open accusation.

You’d been questioned for hours but had eventually been allowed home. You’d been truthful, as you’d told Yoongi you would be, apart from one thing.

It was only later, when you were on your bed in your sister’s spare room, that you’d picked up your phone and scrolled to the name you’d saved Yoongi’s number under.

You’d typed out a text, two words, unincriminating, you’d thought.

I’m safe.

The next morning, there was a text back, similar to yours in brevity.

I’m glad.

You’d refrained from texting again, or calling, not wishing to put Yoongi at risk in case anyone looked into your phone records.

You’d been called in again for questioning on two separate occasions after the initial interview, once by people who’d introduced themselves as federal agents.

You’d thought that was the end of it until the media got hold of your identity.

There was a week or so of reporters stopping you outside your house, waiting for you in the school car park, until eventually something more newsworthy came along.

You’d been photographed more times in that week than you’d even been in your life.

You’ve taken to watching the evening news every night, but as time stretches on and Min Yoongi hasn’t been found, he’s been dropping down the list of top stories, barely scraping a mention.

You’re glad.

You hope he’s closer to getting what he wished for.

***

‘Y/N,’ says Bora, your head of department. ‘Mr Lee wants to see you.’

You look up from your grading, a little surprised. ‘Did he say what it was about?’

‘Nope, just that he’s free now.’

You pocket your phone, straighten your ID badge and get up.

Mr Lee is the school principal, and you’d organised a meeting with him when the media frenzy over your involvement with Min Yoongi was at its peak, but you’ve not seen him since.

Mrs Choi, his PA, waves you in.

‘Mr Lee,’ you say in greeting. ‘Did you want to see me?’

‘Yes, please come in and have a seat,’ Mr Lee says.

He’s a serious man in his mid forties, and as far as principals go, you know he’s got a good reputation.

‘There’s been a complaint put in about you,’ Mr Lee says, sparing you any preamble.

Your stomach drops.

‘What about?’ you ask.

‘I know the media furore has died off over Min Yoongi, but the PTA has fielded a number of concerns raised by worried parents over your involvement in the case.’

You’re taken aback. ‘A number of concerns? It’s not just one —’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr Lee, and to his credit, he does seem genuinely upset. ‘I’m going to have to ask if you can take a few weeks off.’

‘Off?’ you ask, worried.

‘It’s not a suspension,’ Mr Lee says, somehow giving the impression that a suspension is exactly what it is. ‘You’ll be paid, and at the end of four weeks we’ll meet again to discuss what your future is at this school.’

You’re trying to make sense of this. ‘My future at this school?’

Mr Lee gets up, moves to take the seat next to you. ‘I’m hoping that having you off teaching for a month will give enough time for these parents to realise that you’re not a bad influence on their kids.’

‘And if they don’t?’ you ask.

‘I’m hoping they will.’

You swallow, and to your horror, tears prick the back of your eyelids.

You blink them back.

‘Should I look for another job, Mr Lee?’

‘It doesn’t hurt to keep your options open,’ Mr Lee says gently.

You suppose that’s that.

***

You wake to a dozen missed calls and texts from your sister.

You blink blearily at your phone and swipe to answer.

‘Yeah?’ you grunt. ‘Is everything ok?’

‘It’s Min Yoongi,’ your sister says. ‘He’s all over the news.’

You sit up abruptly. ‘Is he ok?’

Your sister, who’s heard all about your time with Yoongi, barring the details of your one-night stand, laughs.

‘He’s more than ok. Get online, sis. There’s a press statement you might want to watch.’

You’re still a little drowsy, but by the time you’ve got your laptop open and made yourself coffee, you’re wide awake.

Your phone rings again whilst you’re reading about how new evidence and a new witness was brought forward, resulting in a swift retrial.

Distractedly, you swipe to answer.

His voice makes you stop in your tracks.

It’s gravelly, low, with the distinct mix of sardonic and soft that brings you back to the house in the woods, over a month ago now.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How’re you keeping?’

You close your eyes, suck in a breath.

‘Jeez, you telemarketers are getting a little personal, aren’t you?’ you ask.

His laughter makes you feel warm inside.

‘I just wondered if you wanted to go get dinner with me sometime.’

‘Depends,’ you answer. ‘Are we going to have to avoid the police?’

‘Always,’ he says, making you smile. ‘But I’m a free man now, I guess you haven’t heard.’

‘Your friends came through, huh?’

‘All of them,’ he says, the warmth in his voice palpable even through the line. ‘Including you.’

***

You’re a little nervous as you wait for Yoongi at the restaurant he picked. It’s a little out of the way for you, but at least it’s not snowing.

He’s dressed in black, a cashmere sweater that sets off the glow in his skin, his hair styled back.

The rings in his fingers, the earrings in his ears gleam in the golden light.

He’s so beautiful you can’t quite believe he’s real.

Yet it’s him who stops in front of you, gaze flickering over you with a flattering intensity.

‘How can you be even prettier than I remember?’ he asks, tilting his head.

‘Guess you have a bad memory,’ you say. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks are hurting, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind.

‘I’ve thought about you a lot,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’

Yoongi pulls out your chair for you.

‘Yeah. I saw the footage of those reporters hounding you.’

‘They got bored after a while,’ you tell him.

‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ Yoongi says.

Over dinner he tells you about how the retrial resulted in all charges against him being overturned, how he’s been back home resting.

‘Been to the beach yet?’ you ask.

Yoongi looks at you over his wine glass. ‘You inviting me? You’re the one with a beach hut.’

‘We can go,’ you say. ‘I’ve been informally suspended from my job.’

This is news to him.

‘Is it to do with me?’ he asks quietly.

You shrug. ‘I’m hoping it’ll die down, especially since everyone knows you’re an innocent man now.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ you tell him.

He frowns a little, but lets the subject slide.

After dinner he walks you to your car.

‘Can I take you out again?’ he asks.

‘I’d like that,’ you tell him.

He leans close, brushes a kiss against your cheek that sends a thrill all the way to your toes.

‘I live about a half hour drive from here,’ you tell him, when he pulls away.

‘Maybe I can drive us this time,’ he says.

***

Yoongi slips his hand into yours as he walks up the front driveway to your house with you. You look over at him in surprise.

‘What?’ he teases. ‘Don’t you want to hold my hand?’

You stick your key in the lock, push open your front door.

‘Baby, I want to hold more than that,’ you tell him.

Yoongi’s eyes darken, and he lets you push him against the door.

He’s already leaning down, lips seeking yours. He kisses you hungrily, his large hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth.

‘I’ve fucking missed you,’ he murmurs. ‘Shit, I’m so hard it’s embarrassing.’

‘Been deprived, huh?’ you tease, breathlessly.

‘Nah. Just you.’

He kisses a fiery path down your neck, into the hollow between your collarbones.

His hands slide down into the small of your back, cup your ass to pull you against him.

You can feel the ridge of his cock against your belly, and you roll your hips, trying to get closer.

‘Pull these down,’ Yoongi says, thumb looped in the band of your lacy panties.

They’re stuck to you, the wetness between your legs trails a path down your bare thighs that Yoongi’s only too happy to lick off.

‘I wanted to wait,’ he tells you, lifting the skirt of your dress, unzipping his trousers.

‘Wait next time,’ you tell him. ‘Want you now.’

‘You’ve got me,’ he tells you.

There’s the rustle of foil, the snick of elastic, then Yoongi’s parting your legs, sliding inside you with a groan deep in his chest.

Just like before, he fills you perfectly.

Yoongi kisses you again, slow though you can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

‘Feels so good, every time,’ he tells you.

He starts to move then, doesn’t stop when you part your thighs to take him deeper, doesn’t stop when you cross your ankles behind his back and cry his name, doesn’t stop until you’re panting, sticky with your release, clutching him tight.

It’s only then that his thrusts start to become erratic, speeding up then slowing as he reaches his peak. He comes with a shout of your name, buried deep inside you, hips still moving like he, too, can’t get enough.

***

When you wake in the morning, it’s with Yoongi’s finger tracing a lazy path down your spine, his fingertip warm on your bare skin.

‘More, Yoongi?’ you ask, sleepy.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, you can hear the rumble in his chest as he suppresses a laugh.

‘Tapping out on me so soon, my love?’ he asks.

After the first time when you hadn’t made it to your bed, you’d fucked three more times before you’d finally collapsed in a tangled heap.

You’d woken once, to see him flat on his back, looking out the window, fingers intertwined with yours.

‘Can’t sleep?’ you’d asked.

He’d turned to you, pressed a kiss to your forehead. ‘Just thinking how lucky I am. I’d thought being wrongly imprisoned was the worst thing that had happened to me. And here I am.’

‘Here you are, you lucky sonofabitch,’ you’d laughed, squealing as he’d pinned your hands to the bed and half-heartedly climbed on top of you again.

‘I am lucky,’ he’d said, his free hand sliding under your ass, squeezing. You’d have fucked him again if he’d wanted, despite the soreness between your legs, but he’d wrapped you in his arms instead. ‘Sleep, baby.’

So you had.

Now your phone rings, distracting you from Yoongi’s wandering hands, just about.

‘Shit, it’s Mr Lee,’ you say, sitting up straight.

Yoongi cocks a brow at you as you take the call.

‘Y/N, I wanted to let you know that the school board have voted to have you back taking your regular classes, at your earliest convenience. If you’ll have us.’

You frown. ‘I hadn’t realised there was a vote?’

‘An emergency meeting was convened last night,’ Mr Lee says. ‘You don’t have to let me know now, but we’d love to have you back.’

You hang up, thoroughly confused.

‘I guess I’m not informally suspended any more,’ you tell Yoongi.

‘For a new gym with a fully functional basketball court, and a grant for gym equipment, they’d better be giving you a raise too,’ drawls Yoongi.

‘You did this?’

‘What? You thought I was some deadbeat who held you at gunpoint and wasn’t going to repay everything you did for me?’

‘I never thought you were a deadbeat,’ you say.

‘I know,’ Yoongi agrees. ‘You’re an idiot.’

You swat at him, outraged.

‘You’re my idiot,’ Yoongi says, deflecting your blows easily. ‘And I’m going to make sure no one takes advantage of you ever again.’

He hesitates. ‘If — if you’ll have me.’

You pretend to think about it. ‘Well, you’re not perfect,’ you say, ‘but I guess you’ll do.’

#bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi x reader #bts fic #yoongi fanfic

647 notes · View notes

somekindofpoet · 1 year

Text

La Petite Mort

Summary: Reader finds out Lorraine has just been bearing through intimacy with RJ, and takes it upon herself to educate her on how it should be done

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Anon who requested this, whoever you are, forehead kiss you little horny angel. This was a real pleasure to write. If you don't read this in Lorraine's adorable accent, I will come for you.

LPM - La Drague (Part II) LPM - C'est Comme Ça (Part III)

LPM -T'en Va Pas (Part IV) LPM - Vouloir, C'est Pouvoir(Part V)

LPM - La Fin (Part VI)

Texas summers were nearly unbearable. The humidity rolled off the gulf coast and simmered in the blazing sun, soaking through your clothes and ensuring your sweat never evaporated. The problem with the weather in East Texas was that it forced you to suffer the ocean air, even with the warm dark waters hours away. You did your damnedest not to think about it while throwing bales of hay into the back of the ranch truck.

You had big dreams of moving out of state and going to a University in a place that was green and cool, but your reality was much more difficult to bear. The first strike against you was that you came from humble roots, your family mostly working for wealthy ranchers in the countryside. Your second and most egregious strike was being a woman. Sure, it was 1980, and girls went to college, but only the exceptional were accepted in the major universities on the East and West coasts. You were painfully average in IQ, and while you were lean and strong from a lifetime of working at ranches, women’s sports weren’t exactly the top priority of the country.

You’d settled for now, saving up your money and sweating away as a ranch hand until you had enough in your pocket to make your escape. Your palms were beginning to burn, the bale ropes cutting into your callouses as you had foregone gloves for the sake of trying to keep cool. With the truck bed piled high, you slam the tailgate shut and walk around to the driver's side, wiping your forehead with your wrist. You climb in and start the old Chevy, ready to get it rolling back to the cool shade of the barn. You put the truck in drive, imagining it was your luggage in the back and the open road in front of you. You glance at the passenger seat and smile, the image of a girl sitting there painting itself in your head.

The girl always started out as something innocent, but the image of her inevitably warped in your mind from a shadowy stranger into one you knew well. Tanned caramel skin, dark chestnut hair blowing in the wind, and a spattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. You sigh and shake your head, trying to etch-a-sketch the vivid picture from behind your eyes. As the truck rolls around the dirt road, the very figure of your imagination pulls into view.

Lorraine Day, the rancher's daughter and your friend, was sitting leaning up against the shady side of the barn, her nose in a book. You grip the steering wheel a little harder, trying to cool yourself. Lorraine was all sweet southern charm, innocent doe eyes, and small half smiles. She also happened to be the most beautiful girl you had ever seen, and your friendship with her was a daily challenge. You’d thought it would get easier after she started dating RJ, but in reality, it got worse. She was so far out of his league it was laughable, but she had fallen for his goofy charm and enthusiasm for film. You thought he was far too pretentious and self-righteous, a point you’d made to her often.

You back the truck up to the barn door and park it, sliding out into the sun. Lorraine closes her book and looks up at you, a smile pulling at her lips. You were such a sucker for that smile. You drop the tailgate open and slide the closest bale to the end, turning your head over your shoulder to return the smile.

“Mornin, Lorraine.” You say, dipping your head at her in greeting.

“Good mornin y/n, you’re gettin started awfully early today.”

You pull the bale down, holding it by the two ropes that bound it, and nod your head, “Can’t be workin in this weather in a few hours. Figured I’d get the heavy liftin done early.”

She hums in agreement and leans back against the barn, watching you haul the bales down off the truck and walk them inside. When you come out for the next bale, she gets up and strolls over to you. She hops up and sits on the side of the tailgate, swinging her legs.

“Hey, when you’re done, you wanna go grab some ice cream in town? Daddy took the truck to the livestock auction today, so I’m stuck here.” She drawls, plucking strands of hay from the bale beside her.

You smirk and pull another bale off the truck, grunting with the effort. “You gonna help me haul these bales, or just sit there lookin all pretty like, asking me for favors?”

Her eyebrows go up, and she laughs, the sound like music to your ears. “You know full well I can’t help you move these things. And it’s not a favor, it’s an invitation.”

You walk back from the barn to the truck bed, shaking your head, chuckling. Only three bales left to move and you’re done for the morning.

“An invitation to take my truck and spend my money on ice cream for you?” You jab playfully at her, enjoying yourself.

You walk the next bale into the shade of the barn and throw it down next to the stall, turning back for the last two. The sun is beaming down on Lorraine, her hair shining in the light and her dark eyes glittering. You puff your cheeks up with air and let it out all at once, shaking your head.

She’s working you, widening her eyes and blinking slowly, “Come on y/n, it’ll be quick. Promise.”

You pull the last two bales off the truck and laugh. You’re such a sucker.

“Yeah alright, get in the truck.”

The drive to town is a quick fifteen minutes, all back country roads and open fields in between. The windows are rolled down, the wind softly licking at your sweaty neck and whipping your hair into your eyes. You glance over to the passenger seat, your fantasy from earlier coming true in a small way. Lorraine has one arm on the window, her head slightly tilted out, letting the rushing air pull her hair out of her face.

The ice cream shop is nearly empty, most folks deeming 10 AM too early for something so sweet. You buy a strawberry cone for Lorraine and a lemon for yourself. You take them to your truck to eat on the drive back to the ranch. You can’t help but notice the pink liquid dripping down the cone onto her fingers as it melts, and you question if you should have asked for strawberry instead of lemon. It would probably taste better on her skin, though.

You toss what’s left of your cone out the window, the lemon seeming bitter now that you had imagined the syrupy, pink sweetness of Lorraine. Her ice cream. Only the ice cream of course. You could never. She would never.

You grit your teeth, white knuckle gripping the steering wheel, trying to undo the sudden knots twisting in your stomach. Lorraine isn’t helping the case, savoring the ice cream with a slow tongue, sucking the melted runoff from her fingers. It’s simultaneously innocent and pornographic. It makes you dislike RJ even more.

She pops the last bit of the cone into her mouth as you pull down the dirt driveway along the side of her house, finally granting you a reprieve. You park next to the barn and jump out of the truck, eager to put some space between yourself and Lorraine. To your great disappointment, she follows you into the barn and sits on a short stack of hay bales as you ready yourself to finish the barn chores.

You pick up a pitch fork and press the teeth into the dirt, leaning on the wooden handle. “You don’t got anything better to do today than watch me sweat, or what?”

She shrugs, picking at the hay, “Nothing interesting.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” You ask, the question weighted in your gut.

She sighs and purses her lips, “He went with some crew out past Houston to film somethin.”

Your brow furrows, “You don’t sound too pleased about that.”

“Well he says it’s gonna be tasteful, but it’s smut.”

You snort a laugh through your nose, stumbling forward as you press too much weight into the pitchfork. You right yourself and look back to her, her expression unamused.

“He’s shootin a porno?”

She rolls her eyes at you, “I guess if that’s what you want to call it, then yeah.”

You raise your eyebrow at her, grinning, “Well if there’s naked people bumpin up against each other, usually you call that a porno.”

She huffs, “A tasteful one though.”

You laugh in over-exaggerated disbelief, “Tasteful or no, he’s filmin people fuckin. You’re okay with that?”

She gestures vacantly with her hand, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why people want to do stuff like that. Sex ain’t all that exciting anyway.”

You bark out a laugh, then stop when you realize she wasn’t joking.

“What do you mean, it ‘ain’t all that exciting’?” You air quote, waiting for her to clarify.

She shrugs, “It just ain’t. Everyone acts like it’s some grand ole time, but mostly I find myself just waitin for it to be over.”

Your jaw drops, and you let go of the pitchfork, dropping that too. “You mean to tell me RJ ain’t shakin your tree every other hour?”

The blush that rises up her neck tells you everything you need to know. She has no idea what it’s supposed to be like. Obviously, her boyfriend is doing something terribly wrong. The heat rises to her cheeks and she starts chewing the inside of her lip.

“I mean he does, but I won’t let him much. It’s more fun for him than it is for me.”

You scoff and bend over to pick up the pitchfork. You’re shaking your head, opening the empty horse stall, quietly exiting the conversation before you say something she won’t like.

She pipes up before you can enter the stall, the frown on her face clear even from the other side of the barn. “What? You been doin better? I don’t see you running around town with any boys.”

You purse your lips and turn back to her, “Well that’s your first problem right there, Lorraine. I don’t go runnin around with boys.”

You turn back to the stall to let her absorb the information. It takes her a few minutes, enough time for you to start mucking the hay. You hear her get up and figure she would leave, but her head pops up over the side of the stall, her arms resting on the top beam.

“So you been runnin around with girls then?”

You scoop a pile of soiled hay, nodding once, “Now and again.”

She hums, her brow furrowed in curiosity, “What’s that like?”

“Better’n whatever RJs been doin to you.”

She lifts her head from her hands, irritation spreading across her face, “You tellin me you could do better?”

This is a line you hadn’t ever walked. Sure, you flirted with her subtly but never outright propositioned her. Maybe it’s the heat that has your brain a little foggy, or maybe the realization that the most beautiful girl you’d ever seen had never been given a proper orgasm pushed you to the line.

“Without a doubt.” You say, not looking up from your work.

She’s quiet, and you worry you’ve gouged an indelible mark into your friendship. You glance up at her and are surprised to find hesitant but curious eyes on you. You stop working and watch her eyes trail down your neck and over your shoulders. You cock your head, was she checking you out?

She glances back up and realizes you’ve caught her, and the blush returns to her cheeks. She drops off the side of the stall and out of your sight, so you stake the pitchfork into the ground and slowly exit back into the open barn. You’re nervous, so you stick your hand in your pocket for the candies you stash there, hoping to keep yourself busy while you mend whatever damage you’d just done.

She’s sitting on the hay bales again, biting her nails. You approach her and open your palm, a watermelon Jolly Rancher rolling there.

“Quit chewin your nails. Have a candy.”

She takes it quickly, unwrapping it and popping it into her mouth. She’s gazing up at you, her face thoughtful.

She pushes the candy into her cheek, “How does it work?”

You roll the blue sweet around in your mouth, wondering how in-depth to go, “Depends. We have mouths and hands just like any boy.”

She gulps and sputters, “Your mouth?”

You raise your eyebrows at her, this is worse than you’d thought. “Well yeah, don’t RJ do that to you?”

She shakes her head no, eyes wide. You lick your lips, unconsciously taking a step toward her. Her lips part just slightly, her eyes growing dark with her pupils expanding. You catch her stealing the fastest glance at your lips and consider your losses if you do cross this line. If she rejects you, you can laugh it off and go back to mucking the horse stall. But if she doesn’t, oh, the consequences of that are enough to make your mouth water around the hard candy on your tongue.

You take another step toward her, gauging her reaction. Her fingers twitch at her side, and she inhales sharply, but she doesn’t move away. The candy in your mouth has dissolved completely, the extra saliva under your tongue mixing sweet and syrupy. Hers is gone too, either swallowed whole or meeting the same fate as yours. You throw caution to the wind and reach down, cupping her jaw in your hand. Her breathing speeds up, her chest rising and falling quickly beneath her shirt.

You lean in, inches from her lips, emboldened by her body language, and whisper, “I could show you, if you want.”

She gulps again, “You-you could?”

“Would you like me to show you?” You say, your voice low and soft, just a hair away from her lips.

She nods slowly, inhaling deeply. It’s all the consent you need, and you close the gap, pressing your lips into hers. You intended to take it slow, ease her into the idea of kissing a girl. But she surges forward the moment your lips meet, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close. Your tongue glides across her lip, and she gasps, opening her mouth to greet your tongue with hers. Her hands are in your hair, gripping, and her knees are spreading apart, allowing you more space to move in on her.

She whimpers when you bite softly on her bottom lip, and a fire ignites in your lower belly. Your hands begin to wander, down her neck, over her shoulders and breasts, sliding down her ribs to her hips. You trail kisses down her jaw and lick at her pulse, eliciting more small mewls from the back of her throat. You take your time on her neck, testing how far she’s willing to let you go. She leans her head back, her hands grasping at your shoulder blades over your shirt.

She’s touch starved, hungry for an intimacy that is clearly missing from her current relationship. You pull back and drop to your knees between her legs, looking up at her while tracing your fingers along the hem of her shirt. You can feel her stomach twitch under your fingers, excited and ticklish. She looks down at you with a mixed expression. She’s nervous, but she wants this. More than you had expected. She takes her shirt from under your fingers and pulls it over her head, her jaw clenched but her head nodding yes.

You slow your approach, if she’s nervous, you know she won’t enjoy it as much. You take the time to soothe her, ease her into it, make her comfortable with wanting you. Her denim shorts are bunched up, revealing miles of skin, hot to the touch. You run your palms from her knees up to her hips, inching your body in between her legs until your chest is pressing into her stomach. You plant a soft kiss on her ribs, just under her bra, your hands making their way to her waist to steady her.

She reaches down to you, her hand sliding around the side of your neck, and pushes you back some so she can lean down and kiss you again. You savor the sugary taste on her tongue, the two flavors of jolly ranchers mixing in your mouth. She seems more sure now, her hands wandering across your shoulders and back, taking in your form. You break away from her lips and shuffle back to press hot, open mouthed kisses below her belly button, running your tongue along the top of her shorts. She leans back on her hands, opening her body to you.

You take the button of her shorts between your fingers and look up at her, waiting for permission. She nods hurriedly, reaching down to help you push them off of her. You brush her rushing hands away and undo the button, pulling her forward to the edge of the hay bale. The shorts and her underwear hit the ground behind you as you toss them over your shoulder, your hands returning to the tops of her thighs. You spread her legs, and your jaw drops at the sight.

You didn’t think she could get more attractive, and yet, here she was, soaking wet and wanting and absolutely beautiful.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, your eyes glued to her center.

She gasps and tries to close her legs but ends up squeezing your shoulders as you lean in.

“Oh god, is it bad, it’s never been like this, I-“ she’s breathless and panicky, but you cut her rambling off with a kiss to her swollen clit.

You drag your tongue from her opening back up to her clit, circling it once, twice, then sucking it in between your lips. She’s lost all composure, forgetting her insecurities and letting out surprised sighs and soft moans. You detach and turn your head, nip at her thigh, and soothe it with your tongue. You look up at her and grin.

“Don’t apologize. You’re incredible.” You say, your voice raspy.

She whimpers as you dive back in, licking up all the nectar she has to give you. She is decidedly better than the ice cream you’d had earlier, the salt of her sweat mingling in the sweetness between her legs. You dip your tongue inside her entrance, and one of her hands winds its way into your hair. You pull your tongue out and drag it up to her clit again, lapping at it slowly, learning what she likes through touch and sound alone. She’s shaking under your mouth, her legs squeezing your head as you wrap your hands around them. You give her one long suck, rolling your tongue over her and she cums, hard. Her hips tilt up into your face and her hand in your hair presses you into her, her head thrown back and mouth open. You keep at it, letting her ride it out as long as she can until she’s pushing your head back, twitching and panting.

You kiss the inside of her thighs on both legs and look up at her, a wide smile on your shining lips. She’s still gasping for air, but she looks down at you, and it’s clear she’s in awe.

“That’s…that was…I’ve never…” she stutters, still breathless.

You rest your arms on her legs, smirking up at her in self-satisfaction, “Come down here with me, and we can do it again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. And again, if you want.”

The next thing you know, you’re on your back, fresh hay clinging to your hair and the sweet smell of alfalfa working its way into your clothes. Lorraine leans down and kisses you, groaning into your lips, looking for the “again” that was promised. You don’t tell her you could do this all day with her, you don’t even need food. Just her.

She’s reaching down and pulling your shirt up, so you sit up, letting her pull it over your head before crashing back down into you. Moaning at the feeling of your skin on hers. You reach around her back, still kissing her, and unclasp her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders. She sits up and slings it aside, quick to return to your lips. She’s hurried now, her skin burning hot on yours. Her kisses are growing sloppy in her rush, but you find you enjoy it even more that way.

You lift your hips and roll her over, settling your leg between hers and taking in the view. Her dark hair is mixed with the hay, the contrast making it even more beautiful. You lean into her and realize you’re criminally overdressed, so you unbutton your jeans and push them to your ankles before kicking them off behind you. Now when you lean in, you can feel how wet she is on your thigh, and the sensation alone nearly takes you out.

You drop your face into her neck again, kissing and nipping her skin, leaving faint pink marks in your wake. While your lips begin their descent to her chest, your hand runs down her ribs. You slide your leg back, and your fingers find her clit, rubbing small circles over the overly sensitive area. A soft “oh” falls from her lips when you run your tongue over her nipple, then suck on it softly. Her hands are restless, her nails running down your spine, up the back of your neck, softly gripping your hair only to release and begin again.

She’s not twitching away from your fingers anymore, her body recovered and ready for round two. You run your fingers through her, groaning around her nipple as you feel how warm and wet she is. You slide two fingers into her, and she sighs in relief. Like she’d been waiting for you all day. Like nothing was more desirable than your fingers filling her up. You release her nipple with a pop and breathe slowly through your nose, fending off your own orgasm feeling how tight she was around you. Once you’ve recovered, you begin to pump your arm, curling your fingers softly before you pull out. You graze her G spot and she shouts, clenching down on you and sitting up on her elbows. You stop moving, looking up at her in alarm.

“Did I hurt you?”

She swallows, her eyes wide, “No, no, it’s just. What was that?”

Of course, RJ hadn’t ever hit that spot. You internally roll your eyes at his ineptness. It was criminal, she hadn’t even known the spot was there.

You curl your fingers again, pressing into it, “You mean this?”

Her eyes roll and her lashes flutter, her arms shaking under her, “Yeah, yes. How?”

You pull out slightly, then push back in and do it again, pulling another whimper from her throat, “Do you like that?”

She nods, dropping back to the ground.

You lean over her, your mouth close to her ear, “Tell me.”

“I like it,” she sighs, her hands moving into your hair, “Oh god I like it.”

You smile and press a kiss to the side of her jaw, “Good.” You say and begin moving your fingers again.

You use your thumb to circle her clit gently, and her breathing speeds up. One hand in your hair, and one squeezing your shoulder. She pulls you down, kisses you feverishly, groaning through her nose as your tongues slide across each others. Your pace is steady as you fuck her into the ground, alternating between kissing her lips and down her neck. Her nails drag across your back, digging deep into your skin, the sting giving you goosebumps.

Her neck is straining and she’s panting, arching her back up into your body. Her moans grow closer together and louder.

“Oh, fuck y/n, right there,” she groans, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“

The rest of her statement is cut off by a low pitched moan, her body seizing up and her legs squeezing your body. The sound of her orgasm sends you hurtling into your own, stiffening your back and clenching your legs. She drops into the hay and dirt just before you drop onto her, bodies spent and hearts racing. You slide your weight off to her side, pulling your hand out from between her legs, your head resting on her shoulder. You lay your arm across her, careful not to let your fingers fall into the dirt.

Once the post orgasmic high wears off, you sit up, looking down at her. Her eyes are far away, distant in thought. You caress her cheek with the back of your hand, smiling warmly.

“You okay?”

She blinks quickly, her eyes shifting over to you. She nods, “More than okay.”

“You wanna do it again?” You ask her, smiling coyly at her.

She looks dumbfounded, her mouth opening and closing without speaking. You smirk at her, feeling smug about the state you’ve put her in.

She finally comes around and nods, “I just need a minute.”

You shrug, “That’s okay. Take all the time you need. My day is yours now.”

She sits up, her eyes wide and a half smile tugging at her lips. She pulls you over, kissing you slowly and softly. As the pace begins to pick up, the sound of car tires on the gravel outside rip the two of you apart.

Lorraine gasps, her eyes wide with terror, “Daddy.”

You frown, “Well, no one’s ever called me that before, but I’m not against the nickname.”

She shoves your shoulder and scrambles to her feet, looking for her clothes, “No idiot. My dad, he’s home.”

“Oh shit!” You yelp, joining her in the search for clothing.

It’s a mad dash, pulling on underwear and pants and shoes, shuffling around in the barn, both of you trying not to giggle. You hear his footsteps approaching and run into the horse stall, frantically grabbing the abandoned pitch fork. Lorraine scrambles up the side of the stall and sits perched on the edge, pretending to watch you muck out the hay.

Her eyes are wild, and she whispers to you, “I couldn’t find my panties.”

You blanch, knowing full well if Mr. Day saw the Sunday panties in the hay, he’d know exactly what had gone on. You pop your head over the stall, your eyes scanning the barn floor for them. You finally catch sight of them, half hidden under the rusty old tractor in the corner. Too far for you to run over to hide them. You cross your fingers, hoping he doesn’t catch sight of them. Lorraine is doing a horrendous job of appearing nonchalant, twisting her fingers and swinging her legs. You glance up at her as he walks in and give her your hardest ‘be chill’ look before you start shoveling horse shit.

“There’s my beautiful daughter,” Mr. Day’s low, scratchy voice rumbles out as he saunters over to the stall, patting her back and looking over the wall at you.

“And my favorite ranch hand. Hard at work, as always.”

You stop shoveling to stand and smile at him. You shoot him a wink, “You know me sir, always workin on somethin.”

He barks out a laugh, his mustache getting caught between his lips. He sighs, patting Lorraine’s leg, “You’re a good kid, y/n. A damn good kid.” He looks up at his daughter, “Good company for my baby girl, keep her around, Lorraine.”

He pats her leg once more and turns to shuffle out of the barn, making his way up to the house. Lorraine lets out a breath you hadn’t realized she was holding and slouches over. You grin up at her conspiratorially. She grimaces at you, making you frown.

“Whats’a matter? He didn’t suspect a thing.”

She starts wringing her hands again, looking down at her fingers, “What if RJ finds out?”

You snort and shake your head “Baby, he’s got his head so far up his own ass I’m pretty sure I could make you cum in front of him, and he wouldn’t notice.”

She shoots you an exasperated look, picking up a loose screw off the post next to her and throwing it at you.

“He would too notice, and he’s gonna notice these.” She says, softly running her fingertip over the bite marks and hickeys on the inside of her thighs.

She shivers, closing her eyes and licking her lips. You dip your head down, pretending not to see but grinning like mad at the hay in your pitchfork. Hopefully, he did notice the marks. Hopefully, she figured you were better for her than he was. Hopefully, the first petite mort you had given her opened her eyes to the possibilities of satisfaction. When you lift your head to look at her again, she’s smiling at you.

“Your apartment got room for two?”

“You gonna buy me dinner first?” You ask, smirking.

“If you do that to me again, I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

“I want a great big ranch house and a new truck.” You tell her, dropping the pitchfork and strutting over to her.

You put your hands on her knees and open her legs, stepping between them again, her hips at face height. You rest your head on her thigh and look up at her. Her eyes are soft and warm, and she reaches out to run her fingers through your hair.

“I think I can find a way to make that happen.”

“Put it on your tab.” You say, kissing the bite mark on her thigh.

“It’s gonna run up pretty high.”

“You can afford it.”

#lorraine day #jenna ortega #lorraine day x reader #X #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell #tara carpenter #wednesday

2K notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 24 days

Text

Big Sky Country - ch. 1

Cowboy!Frankie x OFC

Hi!

I'm really excited to post the first chapter of my new fic after posting a little snippet of it almost a month ago! In it we meet a cowboy version of Frankie as he returns to New York to patch things up with his "maybe girlfriend", but he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

No age gap, OFC story, angsty as fuck in parts, some smut, and I'm putting poor Frankie through hell again (I love him, I swear...)

And a big shout out and thank you to @i-own-loki who made the beautiful banner!

Warnings can be found here - contains spoilers but please read if you know certain themes may be upsetting for you. This fic is dark in parts and I don't want to upset anyone.

Series Master List

Main Master list

Prologue

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sank behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’d left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed.

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks.

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind that hurtled down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugging at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in.

He pressed his thumb to the button with her name, the taxi behind him rolling away down the crowded street. The buzz from the intercom added another layer of noise to the assault on his ears.

He dropped his hand.

Waited.

Glanced down the street, letting the tall steel and glass buildings pull his gaze upwards, to the thin sliver of dirty gray sky visible above them. With a sigh he dropped his eyes down, towards the end of the long street, where the buildings seemed to merge into one solid wall. He knew he was looking west, could feel it in his bones, in the way his feet wanted to start walking towards it. Towards the tall mountain range behind his home.

He pressed his thumb against the button with her name on it again, the buzzer grated his skin. He had a way back, nothing stopping him from hailing a cab, climbing back on the Greyhound and heading west again.

But she was here. If he wanted to make this work, he needed to be here.

Chapter One

A wall of warm air hit Frankie as he pulled open the door to the bar, chatter spilling out onto the street. His shoulders pulled up to his ears, the environment uncomfortable to him and he stopped just inside the door, scanning the room for something familiar apart from the smell of stale beer in the air. This bar was the first one he saw that looked like it would maybe serve someone like him, a Texas boy, fresh off the bus from Montana. He’s pretty sure he still has horse dung stuck to the bottom of his cowboy boots, his old army duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

The door behind him opened again, cold air hitting the nape of his neck under the ball cap.

“You growing roots, old man?”

The line is followed by a man snorting and a hand on Frankie’s arm, pushing him to the side. He would snap, bite back with a threatening remark, or at the very least fix the man with his most intimidating soldier scowl. But he just took two steps to the side, his shoulders creeping closer to his ears as he tugged at his cap, the movement unintentional, a nervous habit. He knew he was out of place here, a stranger.

The young man, a yellow backpack slung over his shoulder and long hair pulled into a bun, shoved his way past Frankie, catching the eye of the woman behind the bar.

“Hey, dickwad! Behave yourself or I’ll have you barred,” she barked, her eyebrows furrowed as she jabbed her finger at the man and he raised his hands in a weak gesture of apology as he sauntered towards the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he snarked, heading towards a loud crowd further in, walking away and ignoring the frown from the woman. She turned her attention to Frankie instead and looked him up and down, an appraising look, before meeting his eyes.

“You coming or going, cowboy?”

“Uuh..coming,” he managed to press out, picking up his feet and walking to the bar. He felt heat creep up his neck at being so easily pegged as a cowboy, an out of towner, swallowing down the urge to turn on his heel and bolt out the door. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and the woman behind it gave him a smile, setting down a coaster with a flick of her wrist.

“What can I get you? You look like you’ve traveled far.”

“Just a beer, thanks,” he said and she gave him a softer smile, pity flashing across her face.

“This is Brooklyn, cowboy, I’ve got twenty beers on tap and forty in bottles,” she said and he felt fatigue set in, can’t even order a normal fucking beer in this city. He sighed deeply, dropping his head between his shoulders. But the woman just chuckled in a low voice, tapping her hand on the bar just in front of him.

“Don’t despair, I’m a good bartender, I know what you’ll like.”

He picked up his head as she stepped away, grabbed a glass, and moved to a tap further down the bar. Shooting him a quick grin, she began to pull the pint, amber liquid filling the glass, topping off with a creamy white head. He watched her from under the bill of his cap, shouldn’t really appraise her, but he couldn't help it. The fitted jeans on her curves, and the faded bar uniform shirt tied at the waist instead of tucking it in, made his eyes drop down over her ass in a way a man trying to save his relationship with another woman should avoid. And she clocked him, checking her out when she turned towards him again, making him snap his eyes to his hands on the bar. Heat crept up his neck as he rubbed the small bullseye tattoo next to his thumb.

“Amber ale from a local brewery three blocks from here,” she said and placed the pint on the mat in front of him.

“Thanks,” he replied, watching the bubbles rise to the bottom of the head, “looks good.”

“One of my favorites, I’ve always had a soft spot for amber ale,” she nodded, picking up a cloth and returning to the never ending duty of cleaning glasses.

Frankie picked up the glass and took a long sip, humming as the ale slipped down his throat.

“Damn,” he said, “that’s good, that’s really good.”

“Told you,” the woman smiled at him and he gave her a quick smile in return before he took another sip.

She watched him from the corner of her eye as she moved around the bar, clean glasses getting wiped and stacked. Clearly a newcomer to the city, she’d called him ‘cowboy’ and he hadn’t protested, the boots and the duffel bag giving him away, even before she saw his uneasy eyes roam around the bar and his nervous shuffle. She’s used to assessing anyone who stepped in through the door, the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones who are only coming to make trouble.

This man was one of the quiet ones, she doesn’t think he’s loud even when he’s in his own element, surrounded by friends.

As he took another long drink from his pint, she turned and picked up glass, catching his eyes on her. She smiled warmly at him, wanting to make him feel welcome, at least in this bar. The city outside is usually brutal to newcomers, and this one seemed to carry more of a burden than most.

“So you’re new to the city?” she asked him, moving back to his side of the bar, pushing long strands of ginger red hair back behind her ears before wiping another glass.

“Yeah, came in on the bus a few hours ago,” he replied and she nodded. He doesn’t look like he flew into the city, he’s got the tired face of someone who's spent too many hours leaning against a window, watching the Midwest slip past. But underneath the tired eyes there’s a warmth, a softness in the way he gives her a small crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his right cheek.

“Spent two fucking days on it,” he sighed, rubbing a large hand over his face before he lifted his cap and swept his thick curls back. She was temporarily mesmerized by how they bounced back around his ears as he squashed the cap back down.

“Two days? Where did you come from, Texas?” she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of spending two whole days on a bus, but he shook his head.

“No, I think Texas is like three days, I came from Montana,” he took another long drag of his beer.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a weekend trip then”, she quipped, putting down the cloth, all the glasses done, and leaned back on the counter behind her. There’s more work to be done but the stranger chuckled softly at her joke and it pulled her in, making her smile in return.

“No, I’m here to stay with someone, my..ah-a friend, of sorts,” he said, “Gonna see if I can find some work around here, try a different type of life.”

“What do you do?” she asked, “Maybe I know someone who knows someone, that’s usually how it works here.”

“Back in Montana I work with horses, on a ranch,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the condensation on the beer glass, “Before that, I was a mechanic, cars, helicopters, anything really, I can usually fix it.”

“That’s a pretty handy skill,” she replied, sounding impressed and he gave a little shrug, as if the ability to fix helicopters was something inconsequential, “I’m sure you’ll find work, especially if you can fix old cars, lots of those around here.”

She turned and grabbed a notepad from next to the till, “What’s your name and number? I’ll keep it on hand and ask around for you.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised as he sat up a bit straighter, “Uh yeah, I’m Frankie, Frankie Morales.”

“Nice to meet you, Frankie,” she smiled back at him and slid the notepad across the bar, “Write it down, and your number. I can’t promise anything, and I’m not recommending you to anyone, I’ll just let them know you’re looking for work.”

“Yeah, sure, of course, but anything helps,” he replied, grabbing the pen and jotting down his information.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as he passed the notepad back to her.

“Aisling,” she replied, slipping it in next to the till again.

“Do you own this place,” he asked, looking around the bar. When he looked back at her she was shaking her head.

“No, not at all, I’m just the bartender,” she said, “Give me a minute, I’m just gonna serve these guys.” She gave him a quick smile and headed down the bar to two men who had just sat down.

Frankie watched her as she took their orders, smiling and laughing easily as she pulled a beer for one of them. The men, her age, are both hanging on to her every word as she makes a joke, the blonde one clapping the other one on the shoulder with a loud howl. She winked at him and turned, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf to serve the other man. As she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to reach, her shirt rose up, a soft sliver of creamy skin exposed in the dim light of the bar. Frankie couldn’t help but stare at the glimpse black underwear peeking out above the edge of her jeans, a flash of lace, his mouth suddenly dry as his cock reacted. He dipped his head, but couldn't keep his eyes away, she swayed on her tiptoes, refusing to get the stepladder and her breasts pressed against the shirt as it rode up higher. Frankie had an image of her underneath him, all that soft flesh, warm and smooth under his rough palms, sweet smelling and whimpering.

She managed to slide the bottle off the shelf and grab a glass. Frankie peeled his eyes away, looking down at the now empty pint in his hands, pressed his thumb into the tattoo, forcing his thoughts in another direction. At the end of the bar, Aisling rang up the customers’ order and wiped down the bar before coming back towards him.

“Do you want another?” she asked, nodding towards the empty glass. Frankie considered it for a beat and then shook his head. He wanted a clear head when he went back to the apartment, he needed to say the right things to save the relationship with the woman who lived there. He already knew that not even in his head could he bring himself to call her ‘girlfriend’, he’s far from sure that’s what she is anymore, not with the way they left it.

“No, I can’t,” he said, “It was good though, what do I owe you?”

“Fourteen fifty,” Aisling replied and he tried not to cough at the price as he pulled his wallet from the back of his jeans.

She took his bills and he left her a tip on the bar that she deposited in the tip jar with a smile.

“Uhm…tell me,” Frankie said, absentmindedly tugging at his cap, “Do I really look that much like a cowboy?”

Aisling’s smile softened as she heard his nervous question, “Well…yeah, the cowboy boots are kinda a give away,” she replied, “It doesn’t exactly look like it’s a fashion choice, and the whole jeans, suede jacket, belt buckle look…” She motioned over his body as Frankie’s eyes dropped down to his jeans and belt, hidden from view by the counter.

“You’re good,” he said, a small chuckle escaping him, “You got all that just from when I came in?”

“Tricks of the trade,” she replied, “I need to know who steps into the bar and read them quickly.”

“So you assessed me as soon as I walked in? What else did you pick up on?” He was curious now and leaned forward on the counter as she laughed.

“Well, I’m cheating because we’ve been talking for a bit now. But you do look ‘new in town’ and I’d say ex-army maybe?”

“I guess the duffel bag gave it away?” Frankie smiled, glancing down at the old bag at his feet.

“No, they’re ten dollars at the army surplus stores,” Aisling replied, shaking her head, “But you sat down with your back against a corner, and I bet you can tell me exactly where the exits are and how many people are in here and which ones could give you trouble.”

Frankie raised his eyebrows in surprise at her and she shrugged.

“You’ve been scanning the room since you walked in.”

“Yeah, you’re not wrong,” he replied, letting his eyes roam across the room again, it’s instinct at this point, inherited from years in the army, “I quit the army years ago but it’s a habit I can’t seem to drop.”

“What did you do? Mechanic?” Aisling asked and Frankie shook his head.

“Helicopter pilot, which means I had to be able to fix anything, but mainly I flew things, anything really.”

Aisling gave him a closer second look and the pieces fell into place, his quiet demeanor, the way he held himself, not exactly folded in on himself, but as if he was trying to stay unseen and not be noticed unless he wanted to be. A strong, solid body gone slightly soft with age, betrayed by the gray in his beard and hair, small white scars across his knuckles, evidence of old injuries.

“What?” he asked as he noticed her eyes scanning him.

“Just building the picture,” she said, a small crooked smile, “You know us bartenders, always trying to figure out the story of our patrons.”

“Not much of a story,” he said, tugging at his cap and hiding his eyes, “just new in town, looking for work.”

“Everyone has a story, Frankie Morales.”

He shrugged at that and fumbled for his phone as it began to ring. Aisling gave him a quick smile and stepped away to let him answer in private.

Frankie’s jaw ticked as he saw the name on the screen, Eva. He’s been expecting her to call since he left her front door. Their front door, maybe. The truth is, he doesn’t know where they stand anymore. They’d met in Florida, after a doomed mission to South America that left so much pain inside him, and a rift between old friends. She’d been a calming presence, someone who seemed to have his back when his mind spiraled out of control. But she hadn’t been enough, being in Florida became oppressive, and it wasn’t just the humid heat. The old haunts from the days he’d spent trying to numb his brain with white powder, bars and venues filled with memories of the friends he’d lost, both those who’d died and those who still lived, it all became claustrophobic.

When Herb, his sponsor at the NA, first invited him to the ranch in Montana he’d scoffed at the idea. He was a pilot, not a ranch hand. But after a close call, nearly falling back into the habit, he’d taken him up on the offer and gone out there for two weeks. Herb had convinced him by talking about the clear, cool air making it easy to breathe, the open sky making the mind feel less claustrophobic. And he’d been right. The first evening they’d sat on the porch, the mountains at their back, the open prairie in front, and Frankie had looked up at the endless sky and it was almost as if he was back in a cockpit, flying close to the stars. Nothing encroached on his mind, no buzz in his ears, nothing tugged at his memories, just the open sky and an endless horizon.

The two weeks of hard ranch work, aching muscles, blistered hands, sealed the deal. If he wanted to truly start over, he needed to leave Florida and come here.

Eva had been enthusiastic at first, pulled in by Frankie’s talk of the horses, a new foal that had just been born, the small cabin they’d live in. He’d shared the pictures he’d taken, all rustic beams, sturdy wood furniture and a hammock on the porch. It looked like a romantic western dream and that’s what they both really thought it would be. And for the first few months they were happy.

But when Frankie found peace and calm in the solitude of the isolated ranch, felt free and unrestricted, she began to feel claustrophobic and suffocated. The nearest town, a forty-five minute drive away, didn’t offer much of anything. She found work online and began to resent the life he’d trapped her in. That was the word she’d used, trapped. When the fights became a daily occurrence, Frankie felt the familiar itch of wanting to escape come back. Starting, as always, in his feet and crawling up his body until he spent more time out on the ranch than in the cabin. And for every hour he stayed away, Eva resented their life more, resented him more.

Until eventually, one late evening when he came back after five days on the trails with a group of guests from a neighboring ranch, she’d left. Only a note saying she’d accepted a position in New York with the company she worked for. A line about needing a different type of life, no invitation to come with her, to follow her, just signed /E and that was it.

He’d called her, spent hours on the phone when she eventually picked up, begged her to come back. Offered to move to a ranch closer to a bigger town, find a compromise where he could still have the peace of the ranch life, but let her live her life too. But she loved New York, after the silent cabin, she craved the noise and the tempo of the city.

Eventually he agreed to come to New York, to see her new life and maybe find a place in it. But the city was an assault on his senses after so long on the ranch. The peace that his spiraling mind had finally found evaporated as he navigated the city, the metro, her friends, the bars. His feet itched, the skin around his nails was picked raw and he felt on edge, even in the apartment, his mind never getting a chance to be quiet.

Eva called it his need for control, to always have a plan of escape, a way out. He knew it was the years in the army that had shredded his sense of safety, left his nerves ragged and too exposed to the mundane background noise of a city. Maybe he’d be able to deal with it some day, but now, he needed the silence.

After two months in Brooklyn, he left. A loose promise from both of them to maybe try to patch things up, to try the long distance thing. But when he sent a text, saying he’d returned safely to the ranch, and she didn’t reply for two days, he knew it was over. And he didn’t miss her. He had loved her at some point, he thinks. But their lives didn’t match, their needs too different. And he saw that he should maybe not be with anyone while he laid down the foundations of a new life in a new place. He needed to find a way to live with himself, in silence, before he considered sharing his darkest sides with someone else.

And then Eva called. Six weeks after he’d left Brooklyn. He could hear the heavy traffic behind her as she walked down a street somewhere, leaving a clinic that had confirmed what she’d suspected.

“I’m pregnant, Frankie, and it’s yours.”

The words floored him, sent a sharp jolt of dread through his system, his feet tingling, then his scalp. A baby. In New York. But his baby, their child. And the dread was replaced by nerves, how would they do this? Would she want to raise the baby in New York or come back to Montana? He had space for a child here, a guest bedroom with a view of the mountains. It would be a perfect nursery, he could paint it, build a crib with Herb’s help, the nearby town was a good place to raise a family when the child was old enough to begin school. Without even stopping to think, he built a new life around the unborn child.

Or hell, even New York, he’d make himself put up with New York if that was what she wanted. The apartment only had one bedroom but maybe they could move further out, get a bigger place. He could renovate pretty much anything, he was sure of it. Maybe they could find a quiet neighborhood with trees, where his mind could find peace even in the city. Without even stopping, he built another new life around his, their, unborn child.

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it, but I wanted to tell you.”

Eva’s voice had been hard, letting him know that she was doing him a favor by telling him, letting him be part of it.

“I’ll come to New York, I’ll get a bus today,” Frankie pleaded, “Let’s talk this through, a few more days won’t make a difference.”

She’d conceded, and he’d thrown stuff into the old duffel bag, left a message with Herb, and driven to the crossroads where the Greyhound stopped.

Now he was here, in a Brooklyn bar, looking down at her name on his phone as he pressed the green button to answer.

Chapter 2

A/N: And we're off! I'm so nervous, I really hope you all will love this and follow along as I explore this new version of Frankie! I hope to post a new chapter every Sunday so fingers crossed life doesn't get in the way too much!

❤

Tagging the ususal suspects: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @casa-boiardi

#frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfic #triple frontier

162 notes · View notes