Chapter Text
"I knew I was playing with fire when we met, so I couldn't blame you when I got burned."
- Bridgett Devoue
Getting burned was an understatement. The heat traveled through every nerve like atoms floating through space, gravity pulling from the center drawing it in until it had no where to go--nowhere to escape except your almond eyes.
Numerous blinks, deep sighs, and fidgeting with the tip of your wine glass as everyone cheered them on had you on the brink of a heavy down pour.
And HE had the nerve to glance your way, lids low filled with guilt as his hand slid down her slim waist, lips pressed to her cheek with half the effort he would of given you.
He didn't love her.
An excuse you often told yourself, every time his hands slid to your stomach to swoop you up from behind and twirl you around. Gentle kisses planted in the cook of your neck, as he ran his fingers through your curls and whispered sweet nothings.
"I am yours"
Was his go to when he'd lay you under him, back rested gently in his sheets. Bodies conjoined in a tangle of soulmates, lips parted, panting, with the corners of his lips curling into an open smile.
He'd run his hands down the curves of your body until they cusp your ass. Fingers spidering over the plush skin as he pushed himself deeper into your depths.
He'd talk you through your orgasms, forcing you to breathe once your breath was caught in your throat like a shirt snatched in a fence.
He was the one that came and unhooked it. Allowing you to fall gently to the ground as you'd come undone under him.
You glanced down, avoiding his ocean eyes, wishing your escape wouldn't cause a stir of questions. You figured being supportive was the best option, so you clapped with everyone else, raised your glass even. Playing your part as you watched everyone give him congratulations, praise you'd never let past you full lips.
Price will never get anything of that sort from you. You twist your body, silk dress helping you slide off the bars leather seat, downing the last swig of your wine before setting it down harshly.
The background chatter drowning out the clank of the glass as you jetted off. You'd seen enough, enough to know you are not the chosen one, as he so often promised.
And like clock work, before you could escape, fingers on the handle ready to drown your sorrows into the pillow that was seeped in his cologne. Fingers curl your arm, warm and endearing, makes your heart flutter and your face flush.
Your skin recognizes his prints. The swirls on the tips of his fingers that traced every inch of you. Your muscles freeze, his grip tightens ever so, he's asking you not to leave. Fuck you hated how easily you could read each other.
You remain tuned away, watching the cars in traffic through the glass and as the clock ticks, you begin to yearn for his body to be against yours.
It makes your head turn slightly before he tilts forward. Surely everyone is watching, they must be watching.
This moment in time of lovers on different paths, two atoms blasted off in different directions. It's your fault, it always is.
Wearing your heart on your sleeve and he picked it off as if it was a piece of lint that became an eye sore. Except, he held on to it, placing it between his chest and leaving it there until it falls on it own.
"Don't go."
His accent pouring from his lips, voice purring a tune that puddles you, his mustache that you have developed to love, even if it makes your cheek itch every time he choses to press his lips to you.
You wished to feel it again. It was that easy to reel you back in. To make you want to wrap your arms around him and lay your head on his hard chest and listen to his steady heart beat.
"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore John."
"I know.. jus--"
He huffed air, frustrated. As if this choice wasn't his. He made his bed, it was his time to lay in it.
You turn to fully face him, he's wearing the beanie you made. The one he watched you knit for days while stuck in that cabin a year ago.
It frames his face in a way that increases his attractiveness if that is even possible. It makes your throat dry as you struggle to swallow the emotions piling up.
"You've made your decision."
You speak just above a whisper, barley audible. It doesn't matter, he can read your lips. The flushness in your face and the way your breathing is entirely too hard to just be standing still.
He can sense you want to flee from him, to leave him behind where he belongs. It forms a hole, like fire burring through the center of paper, it spreads quickly until it reaches the edges. He can feel you whisking away like ashes in the wind.
He's desperately trying to reach for each piece, each one grabbed is a chance. A chance that maybe he can keep you in his corner for a bit longer, until feelings fade and it no longer stings to watch the back of you gain distance.
"I am yours."
You huff, shaking your head, the audacity. It makes you chuckle a sarcastic laugh. Yet it makes you melt, turning you into sand held in his palms as it seeps through his fingers.
Makes you run your fingers through your hair because it is exactly what you want to hear before you rush out that door to never be seen again. It makes the heat rush to your face before it settles else where.
That's the problem with John and you. It is never simple with you two. Forever bound to be intertwined in complications, fate. No one will ever understand you like him. The realization is what begins to crush you, makes you feel as though the room is too small for just the two of you, let alone extras.
"It doesn't do me any good for you to be mine."
"I am yours y/n"
Price repeats, reassures. It's a slap in the face really. If that were true, it would be you he was putting that ring on instead of her. It makes your eyes water, your insides boil. It's extremely conflicting to be as equally hurt and wet at the same time, you just wanted him to let you go.
But that would be to easy. When eyes lock and you yank your arm, he only grips tighter and the scene becomes less and less friendly and more of an entanglement of lovers. It makes people stop and stare, to observe the odd movements between Captain and his sergeant, who, before today have only spoken very few times.
And not John and Y/N who have spent every night together for months on end. Months with his mouth on yours, lips soft as a pile of feathers as they tangled with him absorbing every moan that escaped your pretty lips.
His large hands engulf your back pulling you in until he can capture the entirety of you before they slide up. Fingers cradling the nape of your neck with his tongue tasting you, your hands in his hair gripping, pulling until there is no space left between faces.
He can see it. The desire in your eyes and he matches it. He can't help but to feel this way for you. It makes his face soften and his eyes widen and shoulders behind to rise and fall more noticeably. It isn't until you realize the room has fallen silent and all eyes are on you two.
He turns to the room, his eyes falling on his soon to be wife and her look of confusion. He releases you but now you can't jet off. Instead you wrap your arm around his neck and set off another congratulations, one you advised you'd never give him.
"TO JOHN AND ANNA!!"
You smile wide, and the room repeats. Cheer fills the room and its so loud it drowns out the racing of your heart when his his hand slips to the slim of your waist.
Fingers indenting the silk into your side, his thumb tracing ovals purposely, it sends a jolt through your spine with each completion. And as his hand drops, it grazes the full of your ass. It causes a silent gasp to escape your lips.
He hears it, he wants nothing more then to have you under him. You want nothing more than to be under him. That feeling quickly fades with his fiancé putting her arms around what you feel deep in your soul is yours.
He is yours.
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