#(I really hope to change that by the end of the year :T )

[kiana12113]

Heart’s ease

john marston x reader

✦ slowburn, first-boyfie

Synopsis: A certain outlaw takes a specific route every week to meet the girl on the balcony.

Note: I really luv this one. It’s cute as heck. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. ໒꒰ྀི∩◜𖥦◝∩꒱ྀི১ ♡

John Marston,, you have my heart.

Warnings: Language, Violence

Word Count: 6.4k

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

It all started a few weeks ago.

You were sat on a chair, reading a book by your house’s balcony. Hours on end you would be here; if not working.

Your parents kept nagging you about finding a husband and starting a family soon, since you were already in your mid-twenties and you haven’t introduced a single love interest to them since birth.

You couldn’t help it. Romance didn’t click with you, it always seemed dull. To meet, fall in love, go on dates, marry, have a child — it was all the same. You wanted something exciting; you didn’t want to marry a man who worked in Saint Denis while you stayed at home tending to household chores.

While your eyes were glued to the book, you hear a horse’s hooves clack by the grass. Your home wasn’t by the main road, or by any one in particular. So whoever that was passing here either came for something specifically, or got lost.

Your eyes perked up, narrowing while you searched where the sound seemed to be coming from.

It laid on a man — a cowboy, you assumed. Further peeking nosily, your eyes scan over his figure. His face was obscured due to his hat; though what sticked out to you the most was the fact that he must have been dangerous.

He had a bandolier wrapped around him, from his shoulder to his waist, and two holsters by his hip, both with revolvers present.

By the looks of it, he wasn’t a lawman.

While you had yourself standing, at this point, the cowboy looked at you. He felt your gaze, and promptly locked eyes with you.

Your heart beat quickened, blinking a few times.

Then he had tipped his hat at you, and went about his day, disappearing into the distance. You stared in bewilderment, and in subtle awe.

Your hands grip the railing, your eyes following him until you couldn’t.

It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen — and yet, you find yourself thinking about that mysterious man even until a few nights later.

Like clockwork, your eyes scan the view once you hear a horse’s neighs or anything that disrupted the silence of your abode.

It was him, again. Of course, his clothes had changed. It was different; red collared shirt, black slacks, yet he wore the same hat. It always hid his face from you before his head turns upward to look at the house’s balcony.

Lo and behold, you stand there. To be honest, you didn’t know what you were waiting for, or what you were expecting.

He tips his hat again, this time — you swore you saw those thin lips of his curve into a smile.

And it was burned into your memory.

This continued to happen every once in a while.

The man’ll tip his hat and smile. The many times it happened your eyes began to memorize the way his lips worded out “ma’am”.

Currently, you sat on your balcony, relishing in the early morning sun. You swear you weren’t waiting for a certain someone.

Today you had your chin rested on your palm, talking to yourself.

As much as you wanted to deny it — living alone did come with its cons. While you’re happy to live your life without anyone, things have been starting to turn bland.

All you did was work, read, and occasionally turn to the other hobbies you’ve garnered. But it doesn’t really fill the hole. You’re starting to think your parents are right — but until it hasn’t eaten you whole yet, you weren’t going to act on it.

You were lonely.

You were pushing twenty-four this year. Maybe it wasn’t the fact that you didn’t want anyone — no one wanted you instead. Your self-depreciating spiral of thoughts quickly ceased once you heard the familiar hooves of a horse trot closely.

Your body stood up in that familiar way, immediately resting your hands on the railing.

The cowboy stopped, this time, turning his head to find you. He tips his hat, this time, a little slower — as if he’s taking his time.

“Ma’am.” His lips made — you could see. And then it curved up into that familiar smile, while he put his hat back on.

Oh, that smile.

For a man filled to the brim with weapons, he smiled quite sweetly.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, and you knew he saw it as well.

All of this meeting and looking, but you have not an idea of who this man was.

All you knew was that he came here frequently — ever since that day. He has that black hat, that brown horse, and that he looks like an extremely dangerous man.

You didn’t even know his name.

You sat yourself back in your chair, and sighed. Your thoughts begin to wander again, like you were a teenager.

You never had a lover. Not even a boyfriend, not even a situation-ship. Not even once. Sure, some boys and men liked you — though you never returned their feelings.

This little interaction was all you had.

So when it rained for a week, you couldn’t help but worry for him. A stranger you barely knew. You wondered if he was going to show himself, tip his hat, smile, and call you “ma’am” like he always did, even with all the rain.

You knew it was silly. You had become too attached and dependent. It affected your mood when you didn’t see him.

You thought maybe you had missed him, or it was due to the heavy rainfall. It made sense.

And yet you couldn’t shake the feeling off that he would never show up again.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

You waited, and waited, and waited. You had turned into a fool, you thought.

Like things in life, he was bound to come and go. You just wished you caught his name.

It’s been two weeks since then.

You were going to lose your mind. Nothing seemed to appeal or appease you anymore.

You’d been sending your parents letters, like usual. You tell them everything is going fine, despite your deteriorating mental condition.

Today you wrote another letter, hoping to ease their worries this month. With a deep breath, your pen began to slide smoothly against the paper.

Dear Mama and Papa,

You started. Everything was silent, uninterrupted, quiet.

When you suddenly hear a knock on your door.

Your ears perked, looking at the door with curiosity. Who could it be? You thought to yourself. Maybe it was a traveller, or another lost person.

“I’ll be there in a second,” You say, loud enough for them to hear.

You dust yourself off and fix your hair for a moment, before opening the door.

Nothing could prepare you from what you were about to see.

It was him.

Wearing his hat.

Without his holsters and bandolier.

Holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Good evenin’, ma’am,” He starts, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest.

You’d never seen him up this close before, nor heard his voice personally.

You felt like a mess, seeing him. He looks like he’s fixed himself, too.

“Good… evening, sir.” You manage to say back. Every word burnt your tongue.

Oh, and those eyes, when yours meet his — it’s like you couldn’t tear it away.

He coughs and clears his throat. “I… uh, thought it would be better meeting you personally than passing by your balcony every week.”

Your eyes flicker to the bouquet in his hands. He held a bunch of white roses in his hand, and the other holding his hat. He gently brung the flowers closer to you, for you to accept it. “For you.”

“Thank you, ah…” You accepted it, however, you didn’t know how to address him.

He caught this. “It’s— It’s John. John Marston.”

You smiled. John Marston.

“Thank you, John.” In return, you had also given him your name.

“If it ain’t too much to ask, are you free this evening, miss [Reader]?”

You were free practically any day, truth be told. You nodded, and raised a brow. “Why?”

“I know a place not far from here. It’d be nice—” He stopped, “—If you agree, that is.” then he adds quickly after. His words are crystal clear, yet you could tell he was nervous.

You usually never accepted such offers.

Boys would ask you out when you were a teen. Tell you to watch a show with them, or go eat somewhere. You had read enough, seen enough, and heard enough to know how they went — you never went with them. At the end of day, it would all be the same. You’ll earn a kiss, but it wouldn’t mean anything.

Teenagers are stupid, chasing after momentary pleasures. None of it ever lasted as much as their flowery words promised. Girls would get pregnant after two meetings. You disliked the idea.

Although maybe you could make an exception, just this one night.

“Lead the way.”

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

Horses were never much your thing. You’d prefer to ride trains and carriages if you had spare money to get where you wanted.

He helped you up his horse, holding your hand, and making sure you didn’t fall off.

“I don’t ride horses… often.” you said whilst you tried to properly sit on the saddle.

John’s eyebrows lifted, looking at you. “You don’t?” He had assumed you did, living so far from town.

“Woah there — careful.” John says again, when you almost slip, having to hold your hand again.

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. He had to hold you so you could stay still.

“It’s alright,” John eventually lets go of your hand. “Just hold on to me, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

You were hesitant at first — when you placed your hands along John’s waist. However, it quickly changed when his horse started moving.

You held onto him for dear life, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly.

He was going deliberately slow, too. And yet you had your face almost touching his back.

“You alright?” He says every three minutes. You’re thankful you’re able to nod, even.

If you weren’t so inexperienced, maybe you’d enjoy this more than you did. You couldn’t face what was around you, too focused on trying not to fall. Your hands kept itself on his hips.

You didn’t even notice how hard you were gripping on him before John decided to clear his throat and point it out.

“Think your hands are placed little bit too forward.”

Your hands were on his stomach.

You wanted to bury yourself in a hole and die.

It wasn’t like this, or, you thought it wouldn’t be like this. You were hardly embarrassed in your life. You survived the constant downpour of other embarrassing situations.

And yet, here you were, burning up — merely because you misplaced your hands.

It wasn’t even a big deal. You never thought it was. Everything had been so simple before.

You’ve never felt this before.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

What happened, happened.

You went on a date with John Marston.

The first date of your life, that is.

You had a general idea of what was going to happen — he would make jokes, ask you questions, compliment you, and all of what you’ve heard before.

Except you did laugh at his jokes, you did answer his questions, you did return his compliments, and all the while your thoughts were running overtime, thinking over and over again, “Was that okay?”

When he had taken you back to your home, he took you to your door. He bid farewell to you, and like he always did, tipped his hat.

You laughed. Not because he was ridiculous, well, maybe — but also the fruit of that giddy feeling you have in your chest.

For a dangerous man, he was a gentleman.

You remember that night like a treasure. After then, you closed the door, and your body leaned on it, legs slowly going weak as you slid down.

What the hell just happened?

You asked yourself several times. Your eyes glanced at the bouquet on the table. There also laid the incomplete letter you were supposed to send to your parents.

You thought you might as well finish it today.

And with an effort, you wrote.

Dear Mama and Papa,

How are you both these days? I hope you’re healthy and well. Everything is going fine. I’m doing alright.

Though I had met a peculiar man today.

And that night, as much as you tried to force yourself to sleep — you couldn’t.

You’d close your eyes for minutes, lasting half an hour, before you’d give up and groan.

Everything kept playing over and over again, like a broken record.

John Marston.

He was so interesting. He piqued your interest like no other.

You asked him about that scar of his, while the conversation topics passed like smooth butter.

It was from a wolf attack — he said. That time he almost died on a snowy mountain up North.

And his guns, his horse.

He told you he was an outlaw.

“So I understand if you don’t want to associate yourself with me after this.” You remember his words.

It was true. He said it himself — he wasn’t a saint, and he didn’t get his other scars from falling down in church.

But he did like you, he said. And that meant he would try every door, and every nook and cranny to get in your heart.

That is, once again, if you let him.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

The next days pass by incredibly fast.

All things continue the way they were, except maybe instead of passing by your balcony, John passes by the door of your home.

Usually, he’ll stay for a moment. If he’s on the rush, though, he’ll give you a few moments before having to leave. He’ll kiss the back of your hand before he does.

Otherwise, he’ll hitch his horse nearby and knock on your door — and you’ll come opening it with a sweet greeting.

“Good morning, John.” You say.

He takes off his hat and greets you back. He’s got roses, again. He didn’t stop from that one day — no. In fact, he’s been doing it ever since.

This time your parents had also visited you, and they sit on the dinner table watching you open the door.

You were acting like a teen — like someone that had fallen in love. They notice this immediately. Really, they have been — with all the letters you’ve been sending them.

Your mother gets up, and before you knew it, she stood behind you. Her eyes scanned the man with a smile, and then you.

You looked enthralled. This was rare.

“Is that the man you were talking about? Your boyfriend?” She asks with a grin. She’s never been so excited before.

Except he wasn’t your boyfriend.

No, not particularly. You’d like to believe not yet; but you were getting head of yourself.

John is surprised how eagerly your mother sits him down at the table.

“Boy…friend?” He asks to himself.

Your parents don’t even let him argue otherwise. The next moment they’re bombarding him with questions, one after another — to the point he can’t even answer.

It doesn’t take you awhile to find an excuse to leave with him.

“Sorry about them,” You start. “They’re… eager.”

“So I ain’t your boyfriend yet? No?” He asks jokingly.

You roll your eyes in response.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

No longer are you lonely, for you had John. You, who never believed in love, had helplessly fallen for him.

You sure have been giving him a hard time of winning your heart, though.

But you were planning to answer him this time. You’d tell him yes today. Once he came through that door, you’d press a kiss on his cheek and nod.

To be honest, you had been planning for days on end. You were sure to open your heart to him, even though it was unfamiliar.

That was supposed to happen, if it weren’t for the fact that he had gone away for weeks again.

It was typical, indeed, you had become accustomed to his appearing and disappearing nature. You were expecting this.

What you didn’t, though, was when he came through the door without even a knock.

You prayed to God that very second that the blood on his body wasn’t his.

“Sorry, for intrudin’ like this,” He groans in pain, resting his hand on the doorframe. He looked disheveled, in pain, a complete mess he was. The loose strands of his hair covered his forehead and his eye, while his face had been littered by several bruises, the most prominent one by the corner of his mouth.

He felt another tinge of pain hit him, as he tried to catch his breath. “Ah…”

“What happened to you?” You said. You couldn’t help but cup his cheek, looking at his face. It came to you naturally.

“Got… in a fight, kind of,” He grunted, wincing as your thumb came in contact with his bruises. His hand came to nurse the pain by his side. Your eyes followed the action and there his clothes were soaked in blood.

It was more than a fight — you knew. He could barely breathe properly. Every inhale and exhale felt like daggers poking through him.

He did feel bad about barging in your home like this. “I couldn’t… go anywhere else.” He intakes another sharp breath, his eyes closing momentarily while his eyebrows furrowed.

Aside from worrying, you felt another emotion — anger.

For once, you wanted to curse him out and tell him how much of a fool he was for getting so injured.

“I’ll make it up to ya…” He whispers softly. “Get you two bouquets next time.”

“Will you be quiet?” Your free hand felt the fabric of his bleeding sides.

“Let me see.”

With an effort, John lifted his shirt to reveal a wound. It was far from bad — it was the worst you’d seen.

He cussed silently under his breath. He couldn’t stand like this any further.

“No,” You murmur — while you carried his body to rest on your bed. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes — Hey.”

His chest heaved up and down with intensity; if he didn’t get any medical attention soon, he might bleed out until his body couldn’t anymore.

Your blood stained hands shook, holding bandages you had taken momentarily.

“John.” You called out. His eyes, half-lidded, turned to you. Still alive.

His wound was higher up his sides.

In the intensity of the moment, you didn’t even realize you were taking off his shirt.

“Can… I?”

John murmured. “…Please do.”

Slowly you did, the fabric inching higher and higher — the more it did, the more it exposed his skin.

Your eyes scanned over his body longer than it was necessary.

God, this man.

You’d never seen a man like this.

Your eyes glanced over his chest, his collarbone, then back to his sides.

Your hands gently wrapped over his body, applying pressure to where it bled. He let out sighs and took sharp, pained breaths.

“…Sorry.” You couldn’t help but feel bad.

It must have hurt like hell, you thought. And it did — if it had John barely being able to breathe.

“…‘S fine, angel.”

He didn’t have to call you that in the middle of such a tense situation.

In John’s defense, it slipped; and he might as well call you that, the way you were nursing him and saving his life. Technically, you were an angel. Always has been.

His hands gripped the sheets — you could notice. While he didn’t make much noise, his body betrayed how much he was trying to hide the pain.

Your legs are at both sides of his, resting on the sheets of the bed. His half-lidded eyes followed your every action, then stared at your face.

Then you tightened the gauze.

“Fuck…” He murmured.

At least the bleeding had stopped, for now.

Yet he still had those bruises over in his face. Aside from the one by his mouth, he had one under his eye, the side of his forehead, and on his nose bridge.

You began to wonder, just what had happened to get him so beaten up?

The cold cloth pressed against his face. His eyes wandered over to you, again, like he was thinking.

And he was — he wanted to speak, he wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked.

But he couldn’t. Not in this state, at least.

Then he felt the cold, wet cloth linger on the corner of his mouth. Of course it did — it was the worst one.

“I have a feelin’…” He starts, quietly. “It’d heal faster if ya kissed it.”

“You’re not funny.” You say. He’s in this pitiful state, and yet, he still continues to let his tongue run like he always would.

Besides, you’ve never kissed anyone before, anyway.

It was off-limits.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

John had promptly fallen asleep after.

While you were cleaning him up, he recalled what had happened.

Some kind of sudden shootout, he said. A bunch of bounty hunters came for him.

While you paced through the floorboards, washing the used cloths and the blood off your hands, your mind wanders again.

His body.

It was the most impure you’d felt in a long while.

You swore, once you saw his torso up to his chest — your soul left your body.

You’d seen something you weren’t supposed to. And your eyes have been replaying it again and again.

From his chest, to his shoulders, to his stomach — down his abdomen. His hips, his waist. A trail of hair leading down.

You’d bang your head on the wall if it wouldn’t stop soon.

And John’s words echoed in your mind, back and forth.

“I’m serious.” He says — you couldn’t find out if he was.

It was ridiculous, it should have been — the thought of kissing someone’s cuts and bruises.

Sure, it was poetic. Also unsanitary.

Your eyes scanned over his figure. All that covered him were his pants, cloths on his face, and the gauze you’d wrapped around him.

You moved along quietly, afraid to wake him from his slumber. The bed sunk slightly at your added weight as you sat beside him.

Like a paint brush moving across a canvas, your fingers grazed over his forehead softly.

His skin was rough, full of cuts and previous bruises.

This man had been through a lot, it was evident.

Your finger tips traced along the curve of his jaw, and then they stopped when it reached that bruise on the corner of his mouth.

You swore he was snoring softly. His eyes fell shut, adorned by his eyelashes.

You didn’t know what you were doing.

The way your head slowly lowered to look at his face, his lips.

When you came close, you could feel the warm exhales coming from his nose.

You convinced yourself it was nothing more than a mere curiosity — how it felt.

It was only a kiss.

However, you decided against it in the end, head leaning back to where it belonged.

It was only a kiss.

Those thoughts you had earlier that you initially pushed down began to float up to the surface again.

You did tell yourself you were going to answer him. But not like this.

Maybe it would just have to wait.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

The cold breeze of the night made you shiver ever so slightly.

While the moon was there to show, John had still not woken up yet.

He did need that rest, though.

You couldn’t believe what was happening, what had happened. Even if it was already a few hours ago.

He had barged in, bleeding, almost about to pass out. And now he was sleeping soundly, wrapped in bandages, in a bed — your bed.

Which was only one.

And hell was it cold.

But you wouldn’t even dare to wake him up from his slumber.

Then realization hit: you weren’t going to get any sleep. As long as John stayed here — an injured man, you were going to be up for days.

Your are on John again. This time, his eyes are more shut, his eyebrows are furrowed. He mumbled something incoherent, while he tried to move his body to rest on the other side — which had his injury.

“No, no.” You said, now holding him still. “You can’t sleep on that side.” You talked to him as if he could hear you.

“I hope you know how much trouble you’re causing me. You know,” You muttered, hands still on him. “that’s my bed.”

And he stirred, again. His facial expression was one you couldn’t quite discern.

But you could hear that quiet, raspy voice.

“So lay with me.”

He heard you, it seems. It was the least he could do.

The bed barely had space for two people. What he was asking for was absurd. What was more, though, was sleeping on a chair.

“You need to rest. I don’t want to disturb you.”

John looked at you with his eyes half-open.

“So lay with me.” He repeated.

Technically, you already did disturb him. And he already set his mind, the way his sleepy hands tugged yours. “C’mon. There’s enough space.”

There really wasn’t, as much as you looked at it. For you to fit, you would have to squeeze with him. Surely it would be bad for his injury.

And yet you didn’t fight back.

You’d be lying if you said the thought of sleeping on a chair was bearable.

But, oh, you couldn’t sleep like this, either. You had your arms on your chest, almost combining with the wall. You were frozen.

You faced the wall, on your side. John had to face your direction, too. The pain of his other side is unbearable, nor could you fit with your backs laid down.

It was quiet. You closed your eyes for mere minutes before they shot open again.

John spoke, quietly, whispering. “You awake?”

So you faced him. Your faces were in front of each other, at this point, your nose could bump into his.

“I’m giving you the bed.” You tried to sit up, before his hands stopped you and your body gently hit the soft bed again.

“No,” He murmurs sleepily. “can’t let you do that.”

“God, please. Jus’ stay with me.” He added, almost like a plea.

Your heartbeat quickened, the way his hands slid over to your back. You inched closer. Just this moment you’d do this.

John stayed close to you, while your head rested atop a pillow, feeling his hair tickling your chin.

He was warm.

Like autopilot, your hands slithered by his waist. You felt the gauze.

“Still hurt?” You ask hesitantly.

“Mhm…” He mumbles. “Hurts like hell.”

It wasn’t so hard to sleep pressed up like this, maybe.

The cloth of the gauze was soft, your fingers began to trace it gently. John’s eyes had closed completely then.

Your fingers traveled to his cheek.

What were you doing? You asked yourself.

Then John had snuggled closer.

“Thank you. Really,” He says.

“for… you know. Treating me.” His hands held yours, that were on his cheek. He looks away, and you could swear for a moment his cheeks tinged red, despite the dark room.

“It’s nothing. I…”

You did love him.

You wish you could say it out loud.

You really did.

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

John’s wounds haven’t healed as quickly as he thought it would, though he insisted he was alright the following day.

It was difficult to get up from your tangled limbs wrapped around him, though he was able to pull it off quietly.

He groaned quietly as he stood, and walked around to find the gauze and renew the the one wrapped around him.

He was stubborn like that.

He sat himself on a chair and carefully undid the bandages around him, wincing as it tugged against his still-fresh wound.

He started to wrap the bandage around himself, tightly doing so. He felt a sharp sting of pain momentarily before it faded.

He thought — he must really have been an idiot to get such a deep wound.

With a deep breath, the man stood up and put a shirt over himself.

Before he left, he wrote you a note.

One that you were reading currently with a frown.

I hope you slept well, missy.

I’m sorry I was not able to say goodbye to you. I had to go — and my wounds are fine. I swear I’ll make it up to you.

Love, John

You knew he was lying. You knew his wounds weren’t fine.

And yet, your fingers folded the note ever so gently and neatly, like a prized possession, like some kind of incredibly fragile fossil.

You sighed softly. You could smell his scent.

You smelled like him.

John Marston is possibly the most charming yet most reckless man you’ve met in your life.

The next time he tries to see you is a knock to the door.

He held two bouquets in his hands.

He knocked twice — maybe you hadn’t heard.

Then thrice. Then four times. Then he finally called out your name.

This was unusual.

His hands hovered over the door knob — seeing as it’s been broken.

Your home was a mess. Chairs, debris, and your belongings were scattered everywhere.

This was bad.

John had to hear your voice. He had to see you again. He had to.

He called out your name, again, and to no avail as he was met with a pang of disappointment and worry.

It looked recent enough. John could still follow the traces of what looked to be of several horses.

And you did you not like horses.

Grunting as he mounted his horse, he followed the trail like lightning. His hand clutched his reins with an iron grip, while the other rested on the revolver sitting by his hip.

He was going to kill them.

Nothing else mattered this very moment — not even the pain that worsened every minute. Not even if the cloth around him bled.

He’s been pushing himself ever since that wound. It had only worsened since then.

Truly, he did miss the way you cared for him and tended to his injuries. But he felt guilty for doing so.

After all that happened, he still felt unworthy.

And now that you were gone — the more his emotions clashed together.

He couldn’t lose you.

He didn’t have anyone else this way. He wasn’t somebody to anyone. Not like this — not like you.

The bouquets by the back of his horse rustled along the fast rush of wind.

Every second, every minute that passed, he only began to spiral further.

What were you doing? What had they done to you? He could only imagine.

John, an outlaw, started praying. He murmured your name under his breath along the tree-filled forest.

Only an idiot like him would come face first in front of fully-armed men.

Though he would argue that he pulled a gun fast enough before they could speak.

“You Goddamn animals!” He yelled.

A man who guarded the perimeter looked at him with hostility and turned the barrel of his gun to his face.

John’s bullet pierced through his head.

“Give her back, you fucks!”

He was going to get you back, even if that meant he’d commit a massacre.

You weren’t supposed to be here. It was all his fault — he knew that.

He was beginning to regret ever tipping his hat. Ever knocking on your door. Ever passing by your home.

If you were dead, he would surely die in his own guilt.

Every face had been blown off as soon as he saw them. The many men he killed didn’t matter, not until he had found you.

He saw those pictures of him, littered and scattered around the ground and walls.

“JOHN MARSTON”

$1,200 ALIVE — $400 DEAD

Like he was ever going to let them catch him.

He was John fucking Marston.

He didn’t even know what he was yelling so loud for. All he knew was he was going to lose you. He wouldn’t let that happen. Not in a million years.

Because he loved you.

He wouldn’t know how to tread this lonesome world without your touch, your words, you.

And to think the last thing he’d utter to you was a note of leaving.

John grimaced at the thought.

When he saw a figure come close to his vision, his eyes recognized you immediately.

You — sat on the floor with ropes around your wrists.

After he had practically committed a massacre, the only regret that filled his heart was this very sight of you.

“John?”

Oh, that sweet, sweet voice. His rough, calloused, and bloodied hands wanted to cradle you. He wanted to caress the skin of your face. He wanted to whisper all the words of comfort in your ears.

“I’m here.”

And he was. Even if that meant he, himself, would suffer in the process.

And yet, when he untied your hands, he didn’t expect what you did after.

The first thing you did was a kiss.

John melted in it, his body going limp the second your lips touched his.

His already fast heartbeat quickened every second it lasted. He could feel his mind going blank.

All he could do, all he could think about was you.

Your body went weak without support, as your hands went to grab anything under you. You stumbled until John fell on top of you.

And yet, the kiss still lasted — even if you didn’t know exactly how it worked.

You could feel the slight stubbles of his beard, his gloved hands reaching to place itself on your waist.

You whispered so quietly, so closely, like a confession of the greatest sin. You did in his lips as the kiss faded,

“I… haven’t kissed anyone before.”

His breath hitched. It took him by surprise.

“You… haven’t?” He looks in your eyes, full of sincerity and honesty.

So easy of you to say, as if so much pressure had been pushed on to him.

“Teach me how. I want to do it properly.”

John wasn’t much of a teacher. Nor a learner. But he could manage, definitely, especially if you asked like that.

He leaned in again, nose touching yours. “Yes ma’am.”

He kisses you again, this time, it’s more soft, more gentle, more delicate. It was as if John was afraid to push too hard it would stain your lips.

Those lips haven’t ever been touched by anyone else before.

And he thought, while this tasted like heaven, he was surely going to hell after.

Your lips were so right. It fit right into his — it drove him crazy. The way your head tilted ever so slightly.

All the while the kiss ended, John’s forehead laid against yours.

With a deep breath, he spoke.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

While you did appreciate his actions…

The second thing you did was slap him.

He felt the weight of your hand on his cheek, as his hands went to cup the area of hurt. “Ow, ow.”

What did you do that for? He thought, wincing.

“You’re bleeding.” You point out.

His wound. It had opened up again because of his brash self. You knew this was going to happen. He overworked himself and now the blood is seeping through the bandages and his clothes.

John’s adrenaline made him forget the pain. But now, it was slowly coming back to him.

“You didn’t have to do that, ya know,” He says.

“You’re a stupid man, John Marston.”

He lays there next to you, chuckling quietly. “I can’t help it.”

Your fingers graze along his drenched bandages. He sighed softly at the contact.

“This, you know,” He starts.

“I should be the one taking care of ya.”

His protests did not reach your ears. “Maybe you would if you stopped pushing yourself.”

౨ৎ 𖦹₊˚⊹

Fortunately, as John prayed, you had no serious injuries — unlike him. He helped you up, and his thumbs gently brushed along the skin of your sore wrists.

John gave you the bouquets stowed on his horse. “I know it’s a little late…”

This man.

“We could wait for a train, but the station’s pretty far from here.” He suggested. He knew you didn’t exactly like riding horses.

“No… it’s fine.”

“You sure you’ll be fine?” He asks again.

“You ask as if you aren’t bleeding yourself.”

This time John went as slow as he could. Your hands lay on his hips, again, gripping it gently.

At this point the sun had began to set. It painted a beautiful orange hue in contrast with the light purple and blue fading away.

“So… does that make me your boyfriend? Or not yet?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, yes.”

John’s heart leapt. “Your first?”

He could feel your nod in his back. “Mhm.” he

His hands gripped the reins until his knuckles turned white. It was hard to focus on the road with what he just heard.

“You know, John…”

“I haven’t said this to anyone before.”

“But I love you.”

He stopped the horse, as he looked at you behind with widened eyes.

“Darlin’…”

No one else knew how much he wanted to heart those words from your lips.

Really, he wanted to kiss you again.

“I… I love you too.”

He cursed himself for stuttering. He practiced it frequently, and yet he still did.

When you leaned to kiss him, he swore he died the day.

John Marston,

the Outlaw, the Cowboy, the Gunslinger,

The Boyfriend.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[penisbilt]

the bittersweet but absolute flood of relief that comes from admitting defeat at living independently, to have to move back in with parents. we tried! we gave it our best shot for almost 3 years! but living like this (being on our own) is just not possible for us at this time of our lives. we've finally proved it to ourselves that we can't do it. it'll be okay to let ourselves rest now

[imaginedisish]

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself. 

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time. 

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night. 

Or so you thought. 

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?” 

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?” 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth. 

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.” 

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head. 

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him. 

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game. 

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy. 

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks. 

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you. 

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer. 

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again. 

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.” 

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop. 

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone. 

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask. 

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. 

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?” 

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes. 

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.” 

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people. 

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks. 

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks. 

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly. 

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say. 

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below. 

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on. 

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts. 

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.” 

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts. 

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties. 

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. 

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you. 

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit. 

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly. 

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing. 

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. 

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst. 

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.” 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish. 

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming. 

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop. 

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp. 

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release. 

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively. 

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit. 

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist. 

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

[kyri45]

A final letter

Hello Everyone!

The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!

I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.

I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearm—unable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)

Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldn’t enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that I’ve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And y’all still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)

A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONE—

(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)

I have… a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like it—regardless of how bad the rest of the story is.

Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now I’m obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!

At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.

That was supposed to be it.

But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didn’t stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.

And

I

never

stopped.

A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to life—first through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.

So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.

I’ve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, I’ve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadn’t had the privilege to do for a long time.

Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.

Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, y’all were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j

But yeah—thank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)

I’m absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. I’m the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.

Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.

And yeah—at its core, this story has always been about love. Whether it’s platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.

At its heart, it’s a story about family.

And maybe, in the end… the real family wasn’t just the one in the comic, but the one we’ve found together along the way. 💛

See you all at the finale.

Love you all, freaks /affectionate

Jade

[damnyousubdermalirritants]

UPDATE: NOVAVAX NOW AVAILABLE!!!

Hi everyone, it's been about a year since I posted about updated COVID vaccines and it's time for another update if you are in the US:

THE BRIDGE ACCESS PROGRAM IS ENDING!!!!

If you are uninsured or your insurance does not cover covid boosters, please schedule a new booster appointment before the end of August because the Bridge Access Program (the way the government will still pay for your booster) ends in September. The updated mRNA boosters from Moderna and Pfizer are available now. Go Go GO!!!

Shitty, I know! If you can call your congressional reps, the FDA, the CDC, whomever to tell them you want this program to continue/be reinstated, that would be great. Also, while you're at it, call the FDA to tell them to expedite the approval for the updated Novavax booster (3017962640).

The new Novavax vaccine is designed for the JN.1 strain which is one of the most recent mutations of the virus going around. If you have insurance and can afford to wait, I highly recommend getting the Novavax booster when it becomes available.

We are currently in the largest Covid summer surge since 2021

If you haven't had a booster in the past six months you are essentially unvaccinated. New strains with different spike proteins keep evolving faster than vaccine development and distribution can keep up. All that said, getting Covid is not a moral failing. If you do feel sick, take a rapid test! If it's negative, test again a day or two later. It is better to know than not to know. Here's a refresh on how to take a rapid test correctly:

If you do get Covid, it is worth getting on antiretrovirals within the first week of symptoms to reduce the overall viral load your body has to fight. If your insurance doesn't cover Paxlovid or Remdesivir, here are other low/no-cost ways to access it:

If you get sick, rest radically even after you stop testing positive on rapid tests. Avoid exercising for at least eight weeks after the fact to reduce the risk of developing long covid.

Regardless of your vaccination status, masking with a KN95 or N95 respirator (or equivalent standards in your country i.e. FFP2/3 in the EU) is the most reliable way to protect yourself and others. If Covid protections are a financial burden, there is likely an active Mask Bloc near you doing free distribution of respirators and tests that would be happy to help you. Here's a global map of them from covidactionmap.org

Some quick tips: if you're wearing a bi-fold mask, flatten the nose-bridge wire completely, then mold it to your nose on your face for a better fit. The best mask is the one that you will actually wear regularly to protect yourself. I really like the selection of styles, sizes and colors from WellBefore:

As school is starting, getting you and your family boosted is one of the best things you can do to protect yourselves. Masking is perhaps even more important. If you can advocate for updating and regularly changing the HVAC filters at your local schools to MERV-13 or higher to keep the indoor air cleaner, that can also make a big difference. Better indoor air quality in schools helps protect kids from illness, allergies, wildfire smoke, and more per the EPA's website.

These are steps you can take to improve air quality at home as well. Corsi-Rosenthal boxes are low-cost and highly effective for cleaning the air indoors.

Here's a map of clean air lending libraries for getting access to air purifiers for events from cleanairclub.org

[bunny-jpeg]

thinking about older brother’s best friend!max who takes little innocent virgin you home after you got too drunk at a party. you trust him so much and he’s sooo dreamy but you can’t figure out how you ended up in his lap with his fingers up your miniskirt, other hand locked around your neck and skimpy lace thong stuffed in your mouth. but you don’t want to annoy him when he’s finally paying attention to you, so you furiously nod and drool when he tells you to be his good girl, his stupid little slut, and bullies his big, aching cock into your pussy. it’s soo wet and sticky but it doesn’t matter cause maxie promised he was wearing a condom…right? Right?

thank you so much for sending this to me! this is a crazy ass prompt and i love it. thank you so much! and for the people at home, send me your shit! i love insane prompts to write! give them to me, i need to write! i went with the tried and trued method of a leclerc!reader so add a little extra zest to it. i changed a few things around so i hope that's okay, all the pieces are still there just a few tweaks!! i hope you enjoy <3

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, leclerc!reader, drunk sex, dubious consent, lying, unprotected sex, size difference/kink, crybaby!reader, dark-ish fic, missionary position, fingering, (slight) choking, (technical) virgin!reader, filth(!!!)

"thank you so much for doing this. i told her not to go out tonight because i was out of town and couldn't get her if she needed help. you're a big help, mate. i owe you." charles' voice was clear on the other end of the phone.

max was grabbing his keys, "you owe me nothing, charles. i'm happy to help. wasn't up to much else tonight." he got his shoes on and headed out the door, "i'll let you know when i get her." then hung up the phone.

he got in his car and drove to the club you were supposed to be. max had known you for about as long as he had known charles, you were the curious little thing that liked being around your brother. you were close in age, but max hadn't seen you in years.

charles said that university had prevented you from ever really hanging around as much as you used to. which was a shame because max always thought you were cute, even if you were a little bit a cry baby.

he pulled up to the address of where you were supposed to be and got out of the car. it was late into the evening and there were a few people outside. the sight of him turned a few heads and some whispers. but he had to pick you out of the crowd.

he leaned against the car and did the tried and true method of finding a leclerc. he cupped his hands around his mouth and said, "hey! leclerc!"

and then as it had worked a million times with charles over the years, your voice rang out, "holy shit, max! what are you doing here?" and you got out of the crowd in front of the club.

that was when max's heart stopped.

he remembered you in your high school uniform and baggy t-shirts with various bands on them. he remembered when you had braces and that bad haircut in tenth year. but, now, are a twenty-something year old woman, you were beautiful.

you practically stumbled over to him, you tripped over the curb and against his chest. but you clung to the front of his t-shirt, "oh my god, it's you!" you howled laughter, "where's charlie?"

max steadied you back on your feet and looked over you to see the other people who were murmuring. he looked down at you, his hands still on your shoulders, "i'm going to take you back to my place tonight." even though charles said to bring you back to his place, there would be a slight detour.

plus, what if something happened? max needed to protect you, or at least he had self appointed himself with the role.

"god, i haven't seen you in like what, five years? still got those chubby cheeks though." you giggled drunkenly as you pinched at his face.

max could feel the heat rise in his face, didn't help that your plump breasts were pressed against him and he got a good view of your cleavage. he said to you, "c'mon, let's get out of here." he gave you a smile, "i think we're turning too many heads."

you nodded innocently before max helped you into the car. even going as far as to buckle to you in and closing the door. as he rounded the car he exhaled deeply, this was not what he was expecting.

you looked at him and giggled, "holy shit, it's actually you. why are you picking me up? i called charlie?"

max sighed and buckled himself in, he patted your knee, "how much have you had to drink? your brother is out of the country for most of the summer break."

a few seconds ticked by before you made an 'o' shape with your mouth, you snapped your fingers and pointed to max, "i was supposed to call lorenzo!"

max's eyebrows knitted together, "how much have you had to drink?"

you shrugged, "i don't know. there was this nice guy who kept buying me drinks and he was like super nice. but then, my friends kinda got me away from him and told me to call my brother and i said, 'which one?', because you know. i have three brothers and i don't very well want arthur to see me THIS drunk so i called charles... but i wasn't supposed to call charles, i was supposed to call lorenzo."

max wanted to kiss you really badly at that moment. and when he squeezed your thigh for reassurance, you moaned. then max's brain went silent for a moment.

you looked at each other and you felt the heat rise in your cheeks as you said, "sorry.... over sensitive." you licked your lips, "you can still hold my thigh if you want."

this was going to be a long night, and max wanted to see how deep this could go. after all, you both had about five years to make up.

"i hate being this drunk." you whined, as you padded across his home. you were out of the skimpy dress you wore to the club, much to max's pleasure. you looked better in no bra, one of his t-shirts and his socks that you pulled as high as they could go, "i wish i could stop being drunk the moment i got home."

he was on the couch, a glass of water and some tylonel was on the table. he patted his thigh and suggested, "i think i know something that can help." his brain had been trying to think of a clever way to get you closer to him, but you were too easy.

"water and rest?" you asked as you got closer to him. your arms across your chest.

he leaned back into the sofa a little and said, "no. why don't you come here to find out?" he could tell in the slight wave of your stance that you were still quite drunk. he chuckled as he watched you come over to him, were all leclercs curious like cats?

you perched yourself on his thigh and he pulled you into his lap. being so close to you made his cock throb in his jeans. you yelped and admitted, "i'm a virgin!"

"what?"

you looked at him so innocently it almost broke the driver's brain in half. you had your hands up near your face and your bottom lip was wobbling, "i've... i've never had sex before. i mean... i technically let a guy finger me." you swallowed, not knowing why you were admitting this, "but.. but he didn't even make me cum, i lied to him and faked it."

max's hungry gaze remained on you, "so... so no one's actually... had sex with you."

you looked like you were going to cry. you were in your twenties and a virgin (he wasn't going to acknowledge the curl of jealousy in his gut at the thought of some loser at your school poorly trying to finger you). that had all the lights going off in max's brain.

leclerc's little sister was a virgin, drunk and on the verge of tears in max's condo. shivering like a leaf. max never thought of himself in terms of animals, but at moment he felt like a big scary lion. and you a poor little deer. the signature leclerc doe eyes only added to his point.

"it's alright." he said, "how about this, you let me finger you properly. i don't think your technical first time should've been spent with you faking an orgasm."

you had to admit, you had feelings for max. when you were younger and your brother would race him, you'd follow him around afterwards asking about max. it annoyed the hell out of your brother.

even the guy who fingered you was almost an exact fit to max, the blond-brown hair, blue eyes and a big nose. but it didn't quite cut it. max had been the subject of your fantasies for years now.

you blushed, "i mean... i don't want to force you or anything. i don't want it to be a pity fuck."

he laughed and curled a strong arm around you, "no, no, not you. to make you cum would be an honour." catch more flies with honey than vinegar. catch the pretty sister of a fellow driver with soft words.

he got your panties off with a little help and put them in your mouth. the sight of your mouth full of your lacy thong made all the blood in his body pool into his cock. he brushed your cheek and chuckled at your lack of resistance, "aw, does someone like to be roughed up? i bet you're just so used to everyone treating you like glass. the only daughter." he cupped your pussy with his wide hand, "how would charles feel about this? or lorenzo? they'd have my head." he kissed at your neck.

you whined, liquor swam in your head still as you squirmed a little, "don't talk about my brothers while you're fingering me." you tried to say around the panties in your mouth.

max grazed his fingers across your pussy, "alright, alright." his breath was hot in your ear as his other hand came and was placed around your throat. he shuddered a little, oh you were just a perfect fit weren't you?

now max really had to make sure that you weren't going to run off to your private university and fooled around with other boys.

maybe a baby would have to do.

he held you close to him by the throat and played with your pussy. soon he sank two digits into you and you whined around the panties in your mouth. you felt a hot flash go through you.

this was totally different, you felt the pleasure bloom in your gut as he roughly fingered you. you held onto his wrists, but remained pressed to him as he occasionally rubbed his clothed erection against your backside.

"oh, you're beautiful." he said softly, "you are so painfully beautiful. i'm surprised you haven't made yourself a whore at school. why? scared that your brothers would kill whoever touched their sister?" he kissed your cheek as he heard your whimper.

your body felt loose and your brain felt like it was working overtime. it was beyond adorable, the little cry baby with tears in her eyes. don't worry, max will make it all better.

"but you don't want anyone else, do you? you wanna be my good girl? you know so little about sex, poor thing. but don't worry, i'll make you a nice little whore for my cock." he pressed on your throat a little harder as he really started to work his fingers inside of you.

you didn't know what to think, everything around you felt oppressive but the liquor and lust short-wired your brain. you nodded and tried to speak around the fabric in your mouth, but it all came out like a jumbled mess.

max could feel the heat rise in his body, his cock grew more stiff. he liked the sight of this. you in his clothes, letting him explore your body. you were untouched territory. all for max's taking.

you wanted to cover your face from the embarrassment of being finger-fucked by your crush. but max squeezed your throat a little tighter.

"don't hide yourself from me, i want to see it all." he pressed a hard kiss onto your shoulder and watched your shudder. your pussy clenched around his fingers which only spurred him to keep bullying them into you.

you whined something around the panties in your mouth and max continued his kisses. you felt amazing on him. he hissed against your back as you hit your climax and whined loudly. you coated his entire hand in your wetness.

max moved you by your neck and kissed you on the cheek, he said, "good girl. see, orgasms aren't that hard." he let go of your throat and took the panties out of your mouth.

you were panting heavily as you said, "holy shit." your heart was hammering and you felt hot all over. you felt his arms around you waist and his mouth in your ear.

"we're not done yet." he said.

before you knew it, you were on max's bed. the shirt you had borrowed was on the floor and your bra was right next to it. when max took off your socks, you whined and he pressed all his weight on top of you. leaving one sock left on you.

he was naked on top of you, his cheeks were pink and he felt hot all over. you could see your eye bug out a little from the sight of his naked body. he pulled away soon after and grabbed you by the hips then rubbed his hard cock against your slick pussy.

"i wish your brother brought you to the track more." he chuckled as he continued to rub up against you, "you would've been so cute hanging around, you were always so curious. but, i don't know if i could contain myself if you were around often."

you blushed, "oh c'mon, stop it, max. you're going to kill me!"

max was over you, "i would never do that. i like you very much alive. you're perfect. i think it would be the best strategy your brother ever did if he had you around the paddock. i'd have to fight off every other driver to get to you."

you admitted, "i'd only want you, max."

max grinned, "is that why you're letting me take your virginity? giving yourself over to me? i bet a part of you wished i showed up, maybe that was all the plan for you." he pressed the tip of his cock up against your entrance, "someone has a crush." he was teasing, but the look on your face showed that he had you all figured out.

you squeaked, "i do! i'm sorry! i've had one for years!" you looked like you were going to cry again.

max almost came from the sight before him, he swallowed to keep himself together as he reached for your face with one hand and looked into your eyes, "you like me."

in your inebriated state you replied, "more like love you."

he chuckled, "really now? after all the times i beat your brother, you had all these feelings for me." he pressed his chest up against you, as he guided his cock into your slick slit.

you clutched onto his shoulders and tried not too tense up too much. this was a wet dream come true. you croaked, "i've always have."

"well, aren't i lucky." he said as he kissed you gently, "taking the virginity of the most beautiful woman i've ever seen." he was a snug fit in you but, he peppered your cheeks with kisses to help relax you. thankfully you were painfully wet.

he felt a curl of possession in his gut. like he needed to have you by his side. it wouldn't be hard to convince charles to let the two of you date, even if he was protective of you. he knew that max was a good man, he'd be a loving, caring boyfriend. maybe even an eventual husband.

he moved his hips slowly, not to push too much on you at once. you were still painfully drunk, all of these were admissions under intoxication. the consent of the situation was murky at best, but the way you looked at he pushed his cock into you excited him.

"do you want this?" he asked.

you nodded, your gaze unfocused, "of course. why, why would you ask that?" you really were so cute. your brain was polluted with liquor and pleasure, maybe he should've put you to bed before this all got out of hand.

but in all fairness, max was a little too far gone. he always held feelings for you, he was just better at covering them up. but, as he thrusted into you, your legs around his waist as he rutted against you. it was like the little flame from his youth came alive into an inferno.

oh, this was the woman he was meant to marry.

he kissed you once more, and picked up the pace. he held your sides, feeling your warmth against him as he felt the intense feelings bloom in your chest. call him an obsessive freak, but he should've known all those years ago.

stupid teen max, look what was right in front of him! you two could've been married by now. had a family and everything. but as he was balls deep inside of you, he believed everything happened for a reason.

you were now in his arms, under him as he moved against you. the blunt end of his cock, hit against the beginning of your cervix. a promise of what was to come. that you'd get nice and pregnant by him.

by the time he was finished with you, you were going to be at least five percent dutch if not more, you two had a whole week together. this was just the start. you two lazily made out.

the lust throbbed in your head as the liquor still coursed through your system. your mouth felt dry but you couldn't do much else but lie under him. his kisses were domineering and strong. his cock was buried up inside of you like it belonged there.

he believed that you two were two halves of a same whole. he wish he had gotten a glimpse of you sooner. seen how much you matured, he melted a little at the feeling of you. beyond perfect for him.

the pleasure was getting to your head, even in your intoxicated state. you clung to him like a life line as he moved against you. your sweet noises and that your eyes were barely open.

"beautiful." he said, "and all mine."

you swallowed, "you're wearing a condom, right?"

he staggered in his pace for a moment, but he gave you best media smile as he lied through his teeth, "of course, can't have any accidents." he kissed you once more. and you just melted into it so easily.

you then let out a sweet noise as you felt orgasm grip you. you panted heavily as the lust flooded your brain. you held onto him tightly as he continued to move against you. this all felt like a dream, and the noises you made as you came had max panting heavily.

"please."

"i need you." you said with tears in your eyes. the orgasm has torn through you and you were left a sputtering, hot mess under him.

he continued to rut against you, his pace was erratic as he moved against you. his heart raced at the sight of you. he was fully gone for you, he wanted you. tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. he wanted his cock buried in your sweet pussy.

it was fine, obviously there was a connection. he just had to seal the deal, and with a few more strokes of his cock. he was putting all of his weight on top of him. he finished inside of you and you made a small pathetic noise.

"fuck." he groaned.

you whined, "please, max."

when he pulled away, he wasn't away long. he soon pulled you in for a searing hot kiss while he let his cock stay inside of you for a moment longer. to feel the closeness. you were a lucky girl, you were now max's newest obsession.

he licked the bead of sweat off your neck, his cock twitched inside of you. perfect.

he curled up beside you soon after, his grip on you was possessive at the least and obsessive at the most. he felt like a lion with prey between its jaws, not biting hard enough to kill it. but just to keep it still. you were a sweet little thing in his arms.

maybe it was smart for you not to be around the track as much because of school, because if max had gotten a glimpse of the little crybaby leclerc all grown up, you two would've already been married by now.

but don't worry, be a good girl and you'll have a pretty ring in your future. the thoughts pooled in max's gut and made his softening cock twitch a little.

before he could go another round with you, you were fast asleep next to him. your soft snoring could be felt in his chest. he may have had to a little lying and manipulating before, but he wasn't going to fuck that sweet cunt while you were asleep.

he wasn't a monster. but that didn't mean he got out of your sleepy grasp and grabbed his phone from his jeans pocket to take some photos. not to share of course, he doesn't share. they'll be for his personal collection when you eventually go limping back to your brother.

come morning you were wrapped up in max's arms. you woke up with a throbbing headache and the sun that came through the window made you want to die. when you tried to wiggle in his grasp, he held on tighter.

he kissed you on the back of the neck, "good morning."

the sound of his low voice was like a shock to your system as you woke up quicker. you looked over your shoulder at him and swallowed. last night was barely pieced together. but you were naked next to him under the covers with one of his cats scratching at the door demanding breakfast.

when you tried to pull away he only pulled you back to him. your back against his broad chest. he said, "you're not getting away that easily." he rested his head on your shoulder, his arms around you tightened.

"what happened last night?" you croaked.

"ah don't worry. just tell your brother your safe and sound. you can stay here until he gets back home." he rubbed his cock up against your behind, "a woman like you shouldn't be alone in a city like this. lots of bad men out there that could hurt you."

"but not you?" you felt something bloom in your chest. the familiar pang from your youth.

he kissed your jaw and said, "of course. i'll always keep you safe." as if his cum wasn't dried to your inner thigh. but don't worry, he'll freshen it up once that pesky headache of yours is gone. after all, your sweet older brother was gone for another week.

-

"you know." charles said sometime later, he was in max's drivers room picking at the food on the table, "i feel like i should kill you for fucking my sister."

max was seated across from him, one leg over the other. he smirked, "and what's stopping you?"

charles shrugged, "i don't have to hear her talk about you all the time. i mean, at least i can vouch for you. you are practically family, better than some random guy that she met at school." he looked at his fellow driver, "will not forgive you for getting her pregnant though. and outside of marriage too. you should've heard our mother when she told her." he rubbed his forehead.

max chuckled, "well that'll be dealt with after the season. it feels wrong scheduling it between races. she deserves a lovely wedding."

"good, good. and i better see my nephew! we live in the same city, you better not lock her away!" charles shook his finger at max.

max laughed, "don't worry don't worry. but i cannot promise that he race for monaco when he grows up." then winked at his fellow driver (and future brother in law).

in the end, max hobbled together a narrative of the night you spent together. which led to a week together, which led to you getting pregnant by him. no one could've suspected that he could ever hurt a hair on your head. he was too in love with you, almost to an obsessive degree. he took your virginity and now you were taking his last name. <3

[ctrlhope]

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 3

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Part 2 | Series Masterlist | Part 4

Chapter Summary: Tension is thick with you and Bucky as you two have lunch together.

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.2k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, bits of insecurity, sexual tension, kissing, reader ignores red flags like she's colorblind, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Next part of our lumberjack is here! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Since Bucky already unpacked the food, you helped set everything on a couple of plates. He said he was starving, and you didn't want to keep him waiting. You also didn’t know what kind of plans he had for the rest of the day. He could eat what you brought and send you on your way if he wished.

“This really does look delicious,” he commented, helping you carry everything to the dining room. “Especially the cookies.”

“I hope you like them,” you smiled, setting your plate on one end of the table. “Oh, thanks,” you added when he pulled the chair out for you.

“Did your ex not pull your chair out for you?” he asked, a hint of bitterness coming out when he said “ex”, but you may have been projecting.

You also swore you felt his fingers brush your shoulders when you sat down, but the touch faded immediately. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem surprised that I did that,” he replied, taking his own seat across the table.

“Oh. Well. He did it from time to time,” you said. Some considered it to be an outdated gesture, but you always thought it was sweet. Your ex did it at the beginning of the relationship, but that quickly faded. That should’ve been a sign that it wasn’t meant to last. No one should ever stop trying or caring in a relationship. “It’s nice that you do that.”

“Time to time. What kind of boyfriend is that?” he muttered like he hadn't heard the last thing you said, taking a large bite of his food. “A lot of men today don’t know how to treat a woman. Bet he never took you dancing or dressed up for you either.”

Your eyebrows shot up. The bitterness surprised you, but it didn’t upset you. There was no reason to defend your ex, and Bucky came from a different time. You were sure he treated women well and they likely felt lucky to date him.

“No, he didn’t really dress up for me or take me out dancing,” you confirmed. The more you thought about it, the more you wondered why you settled. Was it what you thought you deserved? “Which is fine since he wasn't really a good dancer.”

“I'm a good dancer,” he blurted out before he cleared his throat. “At least, I used to be.”

“I’ll bet you still are,” you smiled softly. He didn't quite smile back, but there was a tug in the corner of his mouth. It did break your heart a little to wonder when he last danced with someone he cared about. To be fair, you knew nothing about his dating history. It could’ve been years ago or recent. “Though most dancing today is just…”

“Grinding,” he finished for you, licking a bit of the food from his lips.

You swallowed your bite hard, proud of yourself for not choking. Picturing Bucky grinding wasn’t the best thing to do while eating. “Wow, did you make this table?” you asked. A change of topic was good, and if he caught on he didn’t call you out on it. Plus he mentioned that he made some of his own furniture. That was a safe and natural topic to discuss.

“I did,” he answered, running a hand along the table top. “One of the first things I made.”

“It’s gorgeous,” you smiled. He really had a talent, and he could probably sell furniture if he really wanted to.

“Thanks,” he smiled gently. “Not just for the compliment, but coming over. It's…” He tapped a finger on the table. “It’s really nice having company.”

You glanced around. There was a bench on both sides of the table instead of chairs, and it was easy for you to imagine his friends and members of the Avengers gathered around for a nice meal. But how often did that happen?

“I’m not much company,” you said before remembering he didn’t like you self-depracting. “But thanks for inviting me over. That was nice of you to do that.”

He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes locked deeply with yours. What was it about his stare that made you want to duck your head? Was it because he seemed to look right through you? “I think you’re great company,” he said, bringing a small smile to your face. “In fact, I think you should stay here with me.”

You blinked a few times. “I should… stay? You want me to stay here?” you asked. Exactly how long did he want you to stay?

“Yeah, after lunch. We can hang out for a bit longer and talk. Maybe play a game,” he suggested, finishing the food on his plate before he grabbed a cookie. “Unless you have somewhere else to be or have other plans?”

“I don’t really have anywhere to be,” you said. It wasn't like you had any plans either. Any excuse you came up with would've sounded lame if you tried. Spending more time there before you went back to your cabin wouldn't be so bad. “What games do you have?”

Bucky didn't answer since he bit into the cookie. With a groan he watched you watching him as he devoured the treat, making sure to eat up every single morsel. He licked his fingers and lips clean once he finished and you had to press your legs together, which did nothing to relieve the sudden heat there.

If that was how he ate a cookie, how did he eat… No, it wasn't good to let your mind wander.

“Y-You like them?” you asked, your voice breathier than normal.

“Like them? Do you have any idea how delicious your cookies are?” he rasped, the muscles rippling in his right arm as he helped himself to another. “So fucking sweet. Could just eat you up.”

The wave of heat flowed up to your neck. “I’m sorry?” you asked.

“Could just eat them up,” he replied.

“Oh, right.” Of course, he was talking about the cookies, and you hadn't heard him correctly.

“I went years without dessert,” he said almost more to himself than you, but he continued to stare when he finished his second. “Didn’t realize how much I missed it until I didn’t have it.”

Your heart went out to him. If you ever wanted a treat, you had the privilege to buy one or get the ingredients to make them yourself. He didn’t have either option and that wasn’t by choice. What he had to endure, at least the information you were privy to, you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.

“You’re more than welcome to eat the entire plate if you’d like,” you offered, chewing your lip as you thought more about it. “And, you know, if there’s something you’d really like or if you have a favorite treat or dessert, maybe I can bake it for you?”

“You’d do that?” He looked touched before his cheek twitched. “Even after I was an ass to you and you already made lunch for me once?”

“Well, you weren’t a complete ass to me and this lunch was for both of us,” you teased a little. “And I really don’t mind. I like to cook and bake.”

“Yet you do data entry,” he deadpanned.

You shrugged. “Data entry is a job that helps me pay my bills, and that’s why I do it. Nothing more.”

“So, you wouldn’t miss it if you ever had the chance to quit?” he asked curiously.

“I mean, I might miss it if I don’t have something else lined up, but it isn’t exactly a dream job. I don’t know if I actually have a dream job, but I could never be a professional baker or cook because those are things I love to do, and I want to keep enjoying them without pressure added to them,” you said. You respected people who went for their dreams, but you felt like doing those hobbies as a job would somehow taint them for yourself. Doing them for fun and spoiling those close to you made you happier.

“That makes sense. You want to keep the purity of it,” he said. You had to agree with that. “You know, I did offer to let you use my kitchen while you’re in the area. Maybe you can bake for me here or we can bake something together.”

Lunch and meeting his cat. Playing games. Baking together. Bucky must’ve been desperate for the company if he wanted you to hang out with him. What other explanation was there? “That would be nice,” you smiled. Using his kitchen would be amazing.

“But we can figure out what to make together later. You asked about games.” He licked his fingers again with a hum and you almost looked away. “I have a deck of cards, or I have stuff like checkers, chess, or Scrabble.”

Plenty of games for two. “I’m fine with…” you stopped talking when fur brushed against your leg, making you giggle. “Hey, Alpine.”

Bucky smiled softly. “Al, let her be.”

“Oh, she’s fine,” you smiled, reaching down to pet her. She was a sweet cat. “Is she strictly an indoor cat or does she ever go on walks or anything with you?”

“I carry her or put her in my coat if we venture away from the house. Not because I think she’ll run off, but because of some of the other animals in the woods. I don't want her to get hurt or worse.”

“That makes sense.” Your heart ached at the thought of something taking Alpine away, but it warmed at the image of the burly man carrying her around in his coat. “You said you came out to the woods with her. Did it take her a bit to get used to the place?”

He nodded. “It was a little bit of an adjustment, but she loved it once she got used to it,” he said, resting back in his chair and observing you as you ate. “I don't think she’d ever want to go back to the city since she loves this place so much. She has everything she needs here.”

Something flickered in his eyes and you weren't sure why his tone sounded strange. It was almost as if he was trying to convince you and himself that she loved it there. “Well, as long as she’s happy and you're happy and the place feels like home, that’s what matters, right?”

“Right,” he whispered.

“Though I imagine it must get a little lonely since you're so far from the city,” you commented, wishing you hadn't said so. He wanted to get away after the rough mission he experienced and didn’t need you commenting on his possible loneliness.

“It can be,” he said, leaning his arms on the table and gazing at you. “But it isn’t so lonely right now.”

“No, it isn’t,” you said, the conversation you had with Kenna popping up in your mind. Maybe he was lonely and you were, too, and he was still shirtless and he could make you forget that loneliness for a short while and help with your sexual frustration and… something was stopping you from going there. “I guess it's too bad I won't be around after a couple of weeks,” you smiled sadly.

Bucky frowned and abruptly stood up from his chair. “I’m getting another drink,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble. “You want one?”

You frowned a little, too, when you saw his eye twitch. Did your comment somehow upset him? “Sure, thanks,” you replied, watching him grab both glasses and walk out with heavy steps.

You sighed once he was out of sight. For a second you wanted to believe that Bucky was giving you an opening, but you didn’t take it. But what if you hit on him in return and flirting with you wasn’t his intention at all? How awkward would that be if he turned you down or told you to leave? You’d have to hide out in your cabin for the rest of your trip.

If Kenna were there she’d tell you to get out of your head.

Alpine brought your attention to her with a small purr, brushing against your leg again. “You really like it out here, huh?” you asked, giving her another pet. “I can see why. It’s beautiful, peaceful. Don't have to worry about noisy neighbors and traffic and crowds.” You paused and giggled. “But I guess you never had to worry about traffic and crowds. Only Bucky did.”

“Not anymore.”

You jolted when Bucky set your drink down. You hadn’t heard him come back in. At least he wasn't frowning anymore. “Sorry. I was just-”

“It’s fine. I talk to her, too,” he said, nodding to your plate. “You haven't finished your food.”

“Oh, I think I was just caught up in our conversation,” you said, going back to eating.

Instead of taking his seat at the head of the table he took a seat on the bench to your left. Alpine hopped in his lap and he rubbed her head, but he kept his eyes on you. “The bowl of stew you had yesterday was a small helping, too. Do you not eat enough?”

You coughed when you took your next bite and his hand went to your back since he was close enough. His hand was huge. Warm. Why were you thinking about that? “I eat plenty,” you defended yourself after you took a drink. He didn't remove his hand. “Three meals a day and snacks in between.”

“Sorry. That was rude of me to ask that way,” he said, slowly pulling his hand away. “Just making sure you're taken care of since you’re out here all by yourself.”

“It's okay.” The question surprised you, but you weren't at all angry or put off. It was actually kind of sweet that your well-being mattered. “But you don’t have to worry about me. Unless it involves chopping firewood, I can take care of myself.”

He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t quite believe you. “I know all about taking care of myself, but it’s tough some days having to go it alone,” he said, watching meticulously as you worked on finishing up your plate. “You shouldn't have to.”

Your well-being wasn't Bucky’s responsibility as flattering as it was that he cared. But the fact that a virtual stranger cared more about your safety or if you ate enough more than some who knew you for ages hurt. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. And once your getaway was over, you’d be back in the city and back to your routine and Bucky would be back to his routine, too.

“It is tough some days,” you agreed. That was why you wanted to have a good and caring partner to lean on so you could ask for help if and when you needed it. What you got instead was a cheater, but you were better off. “You shouldn't have to go it alone either. No one should,” you said, deflecting a bit so you didn’t focus on your thoughts and feelings.

Bucky sitting so close and watching you made it hard to think properly. Taking your next breath didn't feel natural either. The short time you spent together hadn't accustomed you to his lingering stares or being the center of his attention. It was a lot. Not bad, just a lot.

He hummed once you ate your last bite and took your plate for you. “We can play in the den.”

“You have a den, too?”

“Yeah. I almost thought the place was too big for me, but I like the space. Also has perfect lighting when I read,” he said.

“That’s really nice,” you smiled. It was also the perfect amount since he eventually wanted to have a family. “My apartment has this little nook where I curl up with a pillow and blanket when I read.”

“A reading nook,” he said, glancing behind him. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Everyone should be comfortable while they’re reading,” you said, Alpine hot on your tail as Bucky led you to the den.

It wasn’t as large as the living room, but still spacious and it had the perfect small table for you two to sit and play a game. “How do you feel about Scrabble?” he asked.

“I’m semi-confident in my skills,” you said, tucking your legs beneath you when you sat down. “Do Sam and Steve like to play games?”

“They don’t mind them, but these games have been sitting here collecting dust,” he replied, bringing the game out. “Now I finally have a partner to play with.”

Your brows furrowed. You assumed one of his friends would play a game with him if they stopped by, but maybe they did other activities. “Well, I hope I’m a worthy opponent.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m pretty good myself,” he said without a hint of bragging. “Winner picks the next game,” he added, more like a statement than a suggestion.

“Oh,” you said. He assumed you were staying for more than one game. You couldn’t exactly blame him since you confirmed you had no plans. “Yeah, okay. Winner picks the next game.”

He smiled triumphantly. “You’re not a sore loser, are you?”

“No,” you giggled, helping him set up the board. His fingers brushed yours when he handed you the letter pieces, tingles shooting down your spine. It was sad how starved you felt for some affection, and it felt selfish to indulge. But was it selfish when he was single and so were you? “Are you?”

“I try not to be,” he said, taking a seat to your left again instead of across from you. “Either way it’s a win though.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Because even if I don’t win this game, we’re still going to play another and there’s a chance I’ll win that.”

You tried not to smile. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

“I imagine that’s how you look at things,” he said, tilting his head. “A little bit brighter than most.”

You froze. Kenna said something similar yesterday. “I’m sorry, what did you say you did after you left yesterday?” you asked curiously.

“Spent most of the day and evening inside. It was uneventful. Why?”

“No reason,” you smiled. There was no way he was by your cabin after he left yesterday. No possible way. It was silly to even think that for a moment.

“You asked for a reason,” he said. “Why?”

“Well, I was chatting with a friend just outside of the cabin yesterday and I thought-”

“You thought what? That I was hanging around and eavesdropping?” he asked, your eyes rounding at the bite in his tone. It was reminiscent of when he discovered you attempting to chop firewood.

“No!” Why had you opened your mouth? “I just heard a couple of noises like branches snapping, but it was probably an animal or something. I don’t really know the surroundings here.”

He nodded after a moment. “There are animals in the woods, so it’s good to be on guard if you’re sitting outside. One of the reasons I have a security system is so I can see all angles outside of the place,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “Sorry if I sounded upset. I just…” His jaw clenched. “I thought this was going well, but you’re scared of me just like everyone else.”

Your face fell and his apology didn’t make the guilt you felt go away. If anything, you felt worse. Things were going well, and you blew it. “No, I’m sorry, and I’m not scared of you, Bucky.”

“You’re not?” he asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“I’m not,” you answered. You had no reason to be scared. If he wanted to hurt you or do anything else, he would’ve done so already. “But if you want me to go-”

He grabbed your wrist before you could move. “Stay,” he whispered, sliding his hand down to grip yours. It was a strong grip, but it didn’t hurt.

“You want me to stay?” you asked. A gorgeous hero wanted to spend time with you. He really was as desperate for your company as you were for his. But it had to be because you were the only person nearby, right?

“Yeah.” He nodded to the table. “I mean, we already went through the trouble of setting up the game,” he said, his voice lighter.

You smiled a little. It was a good sign that he wasn’t kicking you out. “You did,” you agreed, not pulling your hand away. It felt nice.

“And maybe the overall winner can pick dinner instead of another game. Could be something simple. I have plenty of stuff here to make.”

“Dinner? Wait, I’m staying for dinner?” you asked, confused. He hadn’t mentioned anything about dinner tonight. “I thought I was heading back to the cabin after a couple of games.”

“Why would you do that? I thought we were having fun,” he said, tilting his head. “What, you’d rather eat alone?”

“Oh, I am having fun, and I don’t want to eat alone.” It has been a fun afternoon so far. It continued to surprise you that he wanted you around. “You sure you don’t mind? It’ll be dark after dinner, and I wouldn’t want you-”

“I don’t mind walking you back if it’s dark. I’d prefer that, actually.”

“Okay,” you smiled. Dinner would be nice. “And I want you to remember what you said earlier because when I win so you can’t act grumpy.”

“You think I'm grumpy?” he teased, complete with a grumpy stare.

“From the short time I’ve known you, you do give off grumpy vibes,” you teased back, the tension fading away.

“I’m an old man. I think I’ve earned my right to be grumpy,” he said, carefully looking over his letters.

“Well, you don’t look like an old man,” you said. Not with the way he was built. “You look really good,�� you added, feeling the need to do so.

His thumb moved along your hand and you weren’t sure if he was doing it intentionally or not. “Glad you like what you see,” he said in a low voice, his eyes flickering to yours.

Before you could concentrate on the heat spreading in your body, he went back to the letters and carefully placed his tiles on the board. The room remained silent when he set the last tile down and you tried not to react when you read the word. It was almost impossible not to, especially with how he kept rubbing his thumb along your hand.

QUIVER

“Quiver.” You swallowed a little. “So, that’s 18 points. I guess I have my work cut out for me, huh?”

Your eyes stayed on the board when he moved a little closer, feeling the warmth that rolled off his body. He wasn’t lying when he said he ran warm. “I guess so,” he murmured.

Clearing your throat, you tried to concentrate on choosing a decent word. You couldn’t think of anything spectacular, and you were blaming that on Bucky since he was so close. You felt his eyes on you, too, and you dared to sneak another glance at him. He looked like he was two seconds away from devouring you. And you wanted him to.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, leaning in and pressing your lips against his.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss or anything over the top. Just a soft, chaste kiss to test the waters, to break the tension that you were certain at this point both of you felt. He didn’t kiss you back since you pulled away before he could, but he leaned forward like he was chasing your lips. And he refused to let you look away when he opened his eyes, cupping your cheek and silently demanding that you stare back at him.

If he looked like he wanted to devour you before…

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart racing when he brought his metal hand to your face, too.

“I’m not,” he whispered back, slowly leaning in.

A flash of lightning nearby illuminated the woods outside the window followed by a roll of thunder that made you jump back before he could kiss you, your heart racing again as the sudden sound of raindrops followed. “It’s raining?” you asked. You didn’t know it was going to storm today.

“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t seem to care at all since he was too busy staring at your mouth. “Supposed to rain through the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening, so it’s a good thing you’re here with me.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you said. There was no way you’d make it back to the cabin without getting caught in the storm, but that was the last thing on your mind when his thumb moved over your lips.

“What’s wrong? Were you scared I’d kick you out? Make you get all wet?” he rumbled, your breath hitching when he slid one hand to the back of your neck. “You don’t need to go outside to get wet for me.”

“Bucky,” you gasped.

His lips skimmed yours before he pulled away. “But why don’t we try to finish our game?” he suggested, your mouth falling open. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

Moving fast! Our poor girl. To be fair, this was meant to be a romantic vacation for her, and I'd ignore the red flags if a shirtless Bucky was paying attention to me. So, which one is going to break first? What do we think will happen next? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kenobers]

quid pro quo | jason todd x sionis!reader 18+

the official beginning of the jason todd x sionis!reader timeline you have an argument with your piss poor excuse of a father, only this time, it results in him draining your bank account. angry and freshly broke, you use the only logical coping mechanism; you fuck his rival's sexy son. tw: mndi 18+, problematic reader, daddy issues, oral sex, p in v sex w/ fem!reader, top!Jason, voyuerism (rooftop sex), brief daddy kink, jason is a little ooc but it's for the plot. reader doesn't know jason is red hood here. a/n: it's the prequel, baby !! quid pro quo | pride & periods | is this love? | tremble & shake | scorn to change my state

"Are you sober?"

"Am I what?"

You and Jason Todd were meant to be rivals. At least, you considered him a rival. He had never seemed to care. Granted, he was presumed dead for most of high school, taking any hope for legitimate academic competition with him. By the time he reappeared in Gotham, your father had already decided you weren't cut out to destroy anybody - although he hadn’t failed to remind you of what could’ve been the entire time Jason owned the Penguin’s hangout. 

You still hated the guy. His apparent death had killed all the worth your father saw in you. For him to have been alive this whole time was a major slap in the face. 

Secretly, you always thought your father wanted you to destroy Jason because he wished you were Jason. Was it really so fair that Bruce Wayne really had everything handed to him, including all the sons he could want. What was Roman Sionis stuck with? A squeamish daughter with no ambition, who couldn't even prove she was better than some adopted street kid.

Now you exist as more of a pet to him than anything else. Something for him to own, something he could keep leashed at his side, something he could brag about, as if he had any real pride for you. Which was why a single, sham threat to change your last name was enough to have your personal bank account closed.

Well, if you don't need daddy's name, you don't need his money either. It's just a lesson in responsibility.

Yeah, right. Like he wasn't going to find a way to keep you from making money of your own.

But, you could still prove your ownership over yourself. After several minutes of staring blankly at the wall when you realized your father hadn’t been bluffing, you dug to the bottom of your laundry to locate the cherry colored dress that got you into anywhere for free. You weren’t sure what it was you were aiming to accomplish, but the damn dress was going to ensure you didn’t need the Sionis money or name to get what you wanted. Your feet moved with a mind of their own right into your favorite bar, right into the perfect tall, dark and handsome ride. 

You hadn’t recognized him at first. You hadn’t seen him in person in God knows how long, not since you were 15, probably. There was nothing special about his jeans, Mickey Thompson t-shirt and leather jacket. He didn’t look like a prince with the lazy way he slouched against the counter at the far end of the bar. From the entrance, his face blended in with all the others, unremarkable and unimpressive. Until the slight tug of his upper lip suddenly had you back in freshman year English, pouting as the teacher praised your would-be rival’s take on Romeo & Juliet. 

Finally, a six-foot-something, Wayne branded plot began to formulate.

Of course, now you're rolling your eyes at him. You hate having to repeat yourself, even over the loud buzzing of the bar.

"I said, 'are you sober'. You look sober. Are you?"

Jason Todd blinks, like he still doesn't quite understand the question. He straightens his posture, jostling the untouched pint of something between his middle finger and thumb.

"I-yeah, I am. Are you?"

You cross your arms, roll your eyes again and ignore the question. Obviously, you're sober.

"Do you know who I am?"

He looks you over thoughtfully. His gaze conveniently lingers on the pop of your hip and the cleavage peeking out of your ruby neckline. Exactly where you want it. You snicker; so maybe he's a little slow, but at least he doesn't seem to be blind.

"You're Sionis' kid, aren't you? It's been a hot minute," Jason leans forward a little, magically more invested in the conversation. The ginger man standing next to him pauses his attempts to woo a brunette to raise an eyebrow at you.

"My dad hates you."

He scoffs, taking a half hearted sip of his beer.

"And bears shit in the woods, what else is new?"

You don't remember him having that stupid white streak in his too-well-tousled hair. It was sexy. You hated it.

"Fuck me."

IPA dribbles down his idiotically strong chin. His mouth goes a little slack as he blinks once again, harder and longer this time.

"What?"

Ugh, again with the repetition.

"Fuck me. Have sex with me," you reiterate as nonchalantly as if you're asking him to move over.

The redhead next to him starts cackling. Jason glowers at him, shoving the drink into his hand with one arm while pulling you closer with the other. It only takes him a gentle tug to pull your chest to broad chest. He leans down so his lips brush against your ear, his crooked nose nudging the side of your head.

"Hey, you sure you're sober?"

The warmth of his breath in contrast with his mouth, still cool from his glass, sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm dead sober."

"Okay, you see how I might doubt that given you just walked up to me and asked me to have sex with you."

You push him away and it's like pushing into a brick wall. A very muscular brick wall. "Look, Wayne-"

"Todd."

"Whatever. Even if I wanted to drink, I couldn't because my father drained my entire bank account."

Jason tilts his head, causing a lock of white hair to fall across his crooked nose. 

"And why'd he do that?"

You hum amiably, curling your pretty maroon nails around his thick forearm. 

"I'll tell you if you fuck me," you promise, batting your eyelashes as you place your other hand over his heart. Much to your frustration, his heartbeat is slow and steady. His sharp face has lost its earlier shock. He looks at ease, pleasantly entertained, with a slight smirk and a cocked slitted eyebrow. 

"I think that's called extortion, baby girl."

"It's only extortion if I'm threatening you," you snap back. You should know, your father's an expert in it. You take a small breath, smoothing out your tone again, "I'm just keeping my business to myself. So, I'd call this more of a quid pro quo."

"It's a quid pro quo if I'm getting something substantial out of it," he says this but at the same time, two large hands are sliding over your hips with a featherlight touch. His nails briefly press into your skin. 

Something in your belly tightens. Maybe he’s a more worthy opponent than you’d initially assumed. 

You tip your head up as you stand on your tiptoes and sneak your much smaller hands under his jacket, brushing up his warm sides. He sucks in a sharp breath. 

"If you really had no desire to fuck me, this conversation would've ended by now,” your voice is dripping in something venomously sweet. “And I'm not going to claim I have any idea of what's happening in your own business, but if I had to take a wild guess as to who in this room has the most to gain from fucking Roman Sionis' daughter, you'd be at the top of the list. Even if it's just for the bragging rights."

"You should know you’re worth more than just bragging rights, princess,” he says, rolling a fold of your dress between his fingers with a condescending shake of his head. You wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from underneath. 

"Prove it."

"...and you're sure you're sober?"

"Wanna test my breath?"

He snorts at your bad line, but his index and thumb are already caging your chin between them. He considers you for one more moment, then kisses you.

You can taste the single sip of beer, but it’s not as strong as the fading taste of a cigarette. His lips move against yours with intent, as if seeking out a falter in your sobriety. Their search comes up empty, leaving behind nothing but a thin string of spit and the overwhelming desire for more of him.

"What's your plan then? Risk it in a bathroom stall?"

You loath how utterly girlish the grin on your lips is.

"Nah, I know a spot upstairs."

***

"You're freaky, you know that?” Jason teases as you push open the roof access. 

"The cameras up here have a delay. My dad's people won't be able to snitch until tomorrow morning, so we have all the time in the world,” you smirk at the way his eyes bug out, tugging on the collar of his jacket with a sly wink. “Don’t worry. The cameras don’t pick up anything that happens on the ground. Plausible deniability.” 

He gestures to the roof set-up. The ledge comes up high enough to hide from peeping neighbors, but a string of yellow Christmas lights keeps the spot well illuminated.

"Yeah? And what about other prying eyes? You aren't worried Batman's gonna show up and scold us for public indecency?” 

The mental image is funnier than you let him think. You give him an amused little hum as you press yourself against his chest, walking two fingers up his ridiculously prominent bicep. 

"Hmm, technically this is private property and besides, this is Red Hood's territory."

"Red Hood? You really are freaky.” 

His lips are twinged ruby from being a human breathalyzer. A thin sheen of your lip gloss reflects the warm light surrounding you. Little scars decorate his hard face like freckles. You trace over a recent nick under his eye. 

"Please fuck me, Jason.” 

His arms are still at his side. His fingers twitch, either from anticipation or anxiety. 

"You're sure you want this?"

"Fucking positive. Do you?"

The green of his eyes are shadowed by his hooded eyes. His unflinching gaze is locked in on you. There’s a weight to it that seems to put pressures on all the right places. 

"Oh, fuck yeah, I do."

He doesn’t stop to think this time before he kisses you. It’s harder than earlier, his hands roaming your body. He had his moment to explore your cherry flavored mouth, now he’s taking what he wants. What you both want. 

There’s no shared breath between you as you suck on his bottom lip, ensuring your lip gloss is smeared everywhere. A large hand snakes its way up your spine to grip the back of your head. You gasp as fingernails dig into your scalp and Jason takes advantage of your parted lips to run his tongue over yours. 

You rack your nails over his stomach, catching the muscular grooves of his abdomen to make his shudder. You flatten your palm to sneak it downwards when he retaliates by grazing over your tailbone. You quiver under his touch, feeling that obnoxious smirk on his face. 

“Tell me,” he pants between wet smacks, “if”, smack, “if anything’s”, smack smack, “too much.” 

This gives you pause. What a chivalrous sentiment from a man who’s about to ram his cock into you on the dirty ground of a bar rooftop where Red Hood might see just to trifle with your father. Actually, you weren’t sure anyone had offered you that sentiment before. It has you rubbing your thighs together. 

Something unmistakable and hard pokes your belly as your hips meet. His tongue feels along the ridges of your lips before licking between them, once again filling your mouth with him. 

Cigarettes have never tasted so good. 

The arm around your waist slides to fill his free hand with your ass. You alarm yourself by letting out a muffled moan when he squeezes. He’s going to make a mess of you much quicker than anticipated. 

It’s just because the cameras are picking this part up, you think to yourself, I’m still in charge, Jason Todd isn’t going to get the best of-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the hand on your ass rounding your hip. Two fingers play with the hem of your short dress and pull the skirt up to reveal the skimpy thong underneath. Jason finally pries himself away from your mouth to get a good look, letting out a low whistle as he admires the coordinating colors. 

“You’re so organized, aren’t you?” He croons in a much gruffer voice than he’s been using. The rough pads of his fingers knead circles into your thigh, making you keen. “Daddy must really be stressin’ you out, baby girl. You’re so tight, need to unwind…” 

You let out a little breath as the hand on your head moves to cup your chin. Jason’s lips are satisfyingly swollen and a rash of scarlet has started to spread across his cheeks, although it’s nothing compared to the heat rising in yours. The fingers at your thigh skim inward, ghosting over the elastic of your underwear. 

“This alright?”

Later you’ll curse yourself for not saying something snarkier or dirtier, for not grabbing the outline of his cock and reminding him whose idea this was…but right now, there’s nothing in the world you want more than for this man to touch your pussy. 

You nod, “Please, Jason-”

“Please, what?”

Oh, this fucker with his little smug expression. 

“Please…Please touch me, Jason.” 

Although every time you say his name, his chest tightens up beneath your palms. 

He cups your sex, feeling along the thinning string keeping you covered. Your eyes widen as you realize it’s clinging to your lower lips. His index and middle fingers are cold against the thin fabric of your thong. It's a sharp juxtaposition from his hot breath on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. 

Dagger-like canines whet the skin of your throat. The tip of his tongue drags a straight line down your jugular while the tips of his fingers trace circles over your flimsy underwear.

“So wet,” Jason lets out a pleased hum, snapping the string with a thawk to make you jolt. “And in these pathetic excuse for panties? I wouldn’t be surprised if you left something behind in the bar.” 

Your natural instinct is to retort, but you don’t have a chance to get a word in before he’s pushing the flimsy fabric aside and swiping his middle finger through your slit. 

“Daddy makes you mad and the first thing you do is parade yourself around with your fucking pussy out. You just went out looking for trouble, didn’t you.” 

“Nuh-ah-uh,” you protest weakly, gripping his shoulders for support. He’s massaging your lower lips with false mercy. “Wasn’t looking for anything until I-ah-until-ahh-til I saw you.”

His canine bites down as his thumb presses your clit like it’s a button. Two fingers slip inside you with an embarrassing amount of ease and you whine as they scissor you open. 

“You really know what you’re doing,” you huff, a half hearted attempt at a joke. He pauses, as if he’s surprised to hear you say that. His fingers freeze up inside you, then start to pump in and out carefully - cautiously even.

“Maybe that’s just what you needed, hmm,” he muses into your skin, planting another wave of kisses along your jawline. “Someone who knows what he’s doing to help you loosen up.” 

He’s straining painfully against you. It seems unfair to let him do all the work when he’s also begging to be fucked to shreds. You reach for his cock, only for his fingers to retract from your cunt and curl around your wrist. 

You whine, both at the sudden lack of him inside you and your foiled attempts to gain some control. Your knees nearly buckle as he removes his arms all together to shrug off his jacket. But he merely tuts, “None of that, princess. Why don’t you lay back down? I think the cameras got enough.” 

Well, fuck it. You told him to treat you like a trophy, no point in confusing the man now. 

He drapes his jacket on the ground before twining his arms around your waist and shoulders to lower you down on top of it. The inside is surprisingly soft against the exposed parts of your back. 

“You just gotta let me take care of you, baby,” Jason coos, gently grabbing your ankles to move your legs apart. He takes his sweet time dragging your panties off, letting each callous on his hands hit your smooth thighs. “Look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ sweet.” 

Taste?

“What’re you-”

“Shh, trust me,” he says, coming up to kiss you. He pushes your dress up to your waist, stopping to rub your hip affectionately. “You’re gonna be glad I did this. We can stop if you get uncomfortable.” 

He kisses either thigh as he dips his head between your legs, his black hair tickling your skin. You suck in a breath of anticipation, but he steals it when he places an open mouth kiss on your slit. 

You crane your head to look at him. Not a single other person has done this to you before. You were beginning to think it was just some sort of myth, but the way Jason licks from your hole to your clit with a blistering, flat tongue is suddenly very real - and very good. 

He blows a harsh breath on your clit before delving back into your cunt. He licks his way into you, filling you with a new strange, wet sensation. His tongue is hot on your already burning core and you think you might melt into a puddle. You bite your lip, but it’s not enough to stop the pathetic cries that come out of you as Jason Todd, your alleged nemesis who never paid you any mind, the son of the dull pain in your father’s ass, eats you out. 

The sound is obscene and loud, masking your soft pants. The wet noise echoes off the high walls of the ledge while Jason works your cunt with a stupid amount of precision. His mouth is sloppy, engulfing you whole. But, his tongue is tactical, taking its time to draw out a map of all the places that make you moan and squirm. 

“Oh God, oh God!” You cry out, your hands flying to grab a fistful of black and white hair as he laps at you. His arms hook around your knees to yank you closer. He’s unreal, unrelenting in his dining. When he switches to deliver kitten licks to your clit, two fingers take his tongue’s place in your hole. 

You buck upwards as his fingers curl inside you, easily stroking at that sweet spot just out of reach of your own fingers. His free arm pins your twitching hips down, and that’s when you officially relinquish all control to him. 

“Jason, ahhh” you groan, every muscle and nerve in your body quaking. “Jason, I’m gonna…please let me…”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He sucks down on your button, letting his teeth graze the nerves in just the right way to send that unforgiving twinge up to your belly until it whites out your vision. Your orgasm floods his face, but he keeps licking until it stops. Only then does he pull away, giving you a shit eating grin dripping in more than just lip gloss and beer.  

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl, asking so nicely. And so damn sensitive, it’s cute.”

Your heart races at being called a good girl. You should be spent already, but something about the fact that he made you cum in only ten minutes makes you want even more. 

He rises to his knees and you stare at him in awe as his body towers over you, blocking out anything but the hungry gleam of his eyes, the carnivorous bite of his lip, the mounting sweat of his skin. Anything but him. 

The lights glow gold behind him, crowing your own personal Apollo with his halo. His pupils are blown out, but his stare hasn’t lost its cool. You, on the other hand, are trembling beneath him, your pussy clenching at the sound of his zipper coming undone. 

Your eyes bug out to match the size of the cock he pulls from his jeans. It’s stiff as it fills his grasp, already leaking into his palm. He grins proudly at your awe. 

“See why I wanted to warm you up, pretty girl?”

The adrenaline of the moment gives you the strength to sit up and press your worshipful lips to the ruddy head, revealing in the way it twitches. The remnants of your lip gloss add to its shine. Jason mixes it with his spit as he spreads it across his veiny flesh.  

“You’re a God, Jason Todd.” 

He bends down to reward your praise with a kiss, a briny tang replacing the burn of tobacco. Your hands come up to caress his jaw before dropping to his shoulders, proactively digging into his t-shirt. Your lips pull away from his to connect to his neck, repaying him for the bruises he decorated you with earlier. 

He hums in pleasure, tipping his head to give you better access. He smears your lipgloss residue onto his hand and lubes his cock with a Lime Crime Wet Cherry and spit cocktail. 

You’re so wrapped up in leaving a toothy imprint in the junction of his neck that you miss the hard switch in his expression. You yelp as he grips your thighs and hooks them over his hips, pinning you beneath him. Your torso flies back, but he reflexively catches your head before it can smack against the concrete. 

He continues to cradle you, steadying himself as he drags his tip along your slit excruciatingly slow. He tuts and taps your clit when you bite back a moan. 

“Don’t hold back now, beautiful,” he taunts, prodding your entrance with his blunt head. “What’s the matter, worried Red Hood might hear you?”

You try to grind against him and snarl when he pulls his cock away, “Don’t fucking tease me, jackass.” 

Jason slaps his cock against you, then rests it on your belly. He lets out an amused scoff, “Wasn’t I a God thirty seconds ago?”

“Forgot to mention I’m an atheist.” 

You cross your arms like you aren’t flat on your back with your legs up, but no poker face can hide the desperate squirm of your hips. 

The bastard shakes his head and the weight of him shifts over your gut, “You just can’t help being a brat, can you? And to think, you were being such a good girl f’me.” 

“Only because you were being nice-”

“I can be nice again, sweetheart,” his voice is low as he spits out the pet name. “But you gotta be patient.” 

“I wasn’t raised to be particularly- AH!” 

The head of his cock bullies its way past your labia and sits at the ready. You can already feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. It’s just the tip and it’s already bigger than anything you’ve ever had. 

“You ready?” He whispers. You nod with a strained whine, but it’s not enough for him. “Take a breath, I gotta hear your voice, pretty girl.”

“I-”

Your heart pounds so fast, it stops for the split second that those sharp greens irises soften. His thumb rubs a circle behind your ear. 

“Yeah,” you suck in one last breath. “I’m ready.” 

“Just - hmm - Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Your mouth falls open as he starts to push in. When you first saw his size, you had expected it to sting. But instead of sharp pain, he fills you with an instant and, based on the snail’s pace he’s moving at, neverending pressure. 

“Oh, baby…Oh, that’s it, that’s it, nice and slow.” 

It’s so much. It’s so good. Every bump and groove makes itself known as he buries himself inch by inch, rubbing against you. 

"Fuck, you have a big cock," you groan, letting your head fall back on his jacket. He has the audacity to snort as he sinks the rest of himself into you, until his hips finally grate against yours.

The hand holding your head slips out from under you and pulls down the strap of your dress. Your already stiff nipple becomes absolutely statuesque when it meets the night air. 

"Yeah? Well, you got a big fuckin' attitude, asking a man you barely know to come fuck you on a rooftop. You do this a lot?"

The edge of a callous catches your nipple. 

"No! Just f'you!" You squeak with a jolt. 

The callous turns into an entire paw, squeezing your entire breast harshly. You push upwards into the base of his palm, brushing your nipple against the defined lines. 

"Just for me? Just had to have me?"

Jason leans in closer, so you can feel each hot strained exhale.

"Had to have you!"

There’s little more than a hair between your noses. That big strong hand finds its way to your throat. 

"No one else pisses off your daddy as much?"

You have no explanation for what slipped out of you next. 

In your entire sexual experience, you had refused to speak them. And more determined men than this one had tried to squeeze it out of you. 

But something about the hand on your throat and the breath on your lips had you shouting, 

"You're my daddy!” 

Something flashes in his eyes and for a moment, you’re worried you fucked up. He freezes up. His face falls blank and his mouth goes taut as he considers your words. The hand supporting his weight jerks next to your head while you pant anxiously. You get the sense that this is a first for him too. 

Then he lets out a breathless laugh. 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right, baby. I'm your daddy.”

He pulls out of you without warning or sympathy. Your hips chase his blindly, your hole weeping for his cock to come back. He sits back on his knees and hauls your ass over his thighs, spreading you open on his wide lap. 

"You holding on tight, baby?”

You waste no time securing fistfuls of his shirt, the white logo distorting in your clutch. He lines himself up to your entrance again, brushing the sweat off your brow. 

"You tell me if it's too much, yeah?"

“Of course, daddy.” 

He grins, his sharp canines glinting. “Good girl.” 

He abandons his slow and steady routine to shove himself into you. He so graciously gives you a moment to re-welcome him with a little squeeze before he’s pounding into you, ramming in and out of you at an unforgiving pace. 

You make a valiant attempt to move with him. Really, you do. But the man is actively reducing you to a huffing and puffing ragdoll. The angle he has you at leaves you nowhere to go but the end of his cock. You want to say something, to egg him on, however all that tumbles out of your gaping mouth is a series of choked uhs and ahs. 

That is until he hits a spot you didn’t even know existed and you let out an honest to God scream. In your defense, the speed at which he fucks you is utterly inhuman. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was Superman taking his fill of you.

He slows, moving just enough to rub up against that sensitive point. He revels in the way your legs crush his sides, your trembling knees digging into his ribs. 

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it, baby,” he groans. He plunges in as deep as he can go, lifting your hips like you’re made of clouds. Something in you pinches and burns as you open up even more for him.  

He readjusts you with a grunt and sets a new brutal rhythm; fucking you fast and hard, then easing up when he strokes something that makes you shudder.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters, “Good girl…so good…so so fuckin’ good…”

Like clockwork, you gasp every time he slows down and drags his cock in or out of you. He lets you feel every minute detail, graciously allowing you to appreciate what he's giving you, before he's striking every sweet spot like lightning again.

“Come on, let Red Hood hear you.” 

White, red and gold flashes before your eyes. Your mouth falls open dumbly as you cry out for your former woud-be-rival. Although there was ecstasy exploding from your core to your belly, the best feeling was him gasping your name in turn. 

He pulls out of you just as he finishes, your name still falling from his swollen lips. With a heave of his chest, he rolls off of you and lands with a thump at your side. You pant together, waiting for the stars to pause their dancing. 

“Gonna tell me why your dad took your dough now?” He finally puffs out. 

“Fuck, I don’t even remember,” you laugh hoarsely. Jason snaps his head up to look at you. Dumbfounded is an adorable look on him. 

“So you lure me into making a sextape for you, then conveniently forget your end of the bargain?”

“It’s not my fault you fucked my brains out,” you shrug as you sit up. You take an agonizing moment to stretch so you can enjoy the glare on his face. “Why do you wanna know so badly anyway?”

He sits up next to you, running a hand through his thoroughly tousled hair, “I’m gonna need another deal if you want me to start revealing my secrets.” 

Jason Todd’s a quick thinker, you have to give him that. You consider him, consider the possibility of extending this hook-up into a full fledged thing. There has to be more to gain than lose. If you play your cards right, maybe you can beat your father to destroying the Wayne legacy. Or…maybe you can get your revenge by weaving yourself into it. Either way, you’ll ensure you come out on top. 

“Tell you what,” you say, standing up and trying to ignore the way your legs shake. “I’m free tomorrow night. Do that thing with your tongue again and it might jog my memory. I’ll do something with my tongue and see if that doesn’t inspire you to share.” 

He scoffs, “You’re a little business mongrel, y’know that?” You roll your eyes, but extend your hand out to help him up. He looks at your hand for a moment, narrowing his eyes. Then he accepts it, cautiously wrapping his large hand around your smaller one like he’s handling a snake. “No more rooftops,” he decides. “And no more up close cameras.” 

You nod, “Fair. But I’m not calling you daddy again either. That was a one time thing.” 

Jason laughs. It’s just a short bark, but it’s genuine. “No problem. It’s not really my thing either. I just appreciated its dramatics for tonight’s purposes.” 

The corners of your lips twitch upwards. 

“So…We have a deal?”

He gives your hand a firm shake, although it doesn’t betray the suspicion in those unnerving green eyes. 

“I think you said it best yourself, princess. I think we have a quid pro quo.” 

Something heavy settles in your chest like a weighted blanket as you shake his hand. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, it’s just that you sense Jason Todd is going to be around for a long time. And you’re going to get everything you can out of him. 

[norrisjpg]

ceilings

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summary: in which, she was always an afterthought, an accessory, just his plus-one. but the british boy in the apartment above her was about to change everything.

content: broken relationship, mutual pining, aerophobia, end of a relationship, sad/comfort, slow burn, swearing, making out, implied sexual activities, fluff

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: i am literally so in love with lando's suzuka helmet thus this piece was born, even though it has nothing to do with it at all really! i hope you enjoy, and don't forget to comment and interact, i love hearing your thoughts!!

════════════════════════

THERE WAS a comforting stillness about the apartment, a tranquil air settling around the practically bare space.

monaco was different to italy, it was somewhat quieter, peaceful in the evening, but contrastingly bustling at around mid-day. the air smelt richer, the kind of rich you could get sick on, but never get tired of, never get bored of.

she was excited, there was this new-found buzz around her. it was a fresh start, everything was new, nothing was familiar, and she was totally and utterly in love with it.

the monegasque sun had a way of dressing everything in an angelic amber light at sunset, boring white walls turned to sleek expressions of beauty in the fading beams.

goosebumps rippled across her sunkissed skin as the moon rose, scattering the prettiest of constellations across the deepening black sky.

but, as usual, lily's night was spent alone.

the mattress on the floor on her not-yet bedroom felt lonely, meant to be filled by some form of warmth only another person could bring. that kind of feeling, the one that resembled belonging, a person that felt like home, was absent in her life.

the man she called her boyfriend, raphaël carson, wasn't exactly relationship material, per-say.

and no, she definitely didn't love him. and yes, the feeling was almost certainly mutual - but unspoken between the two of them. they were just in a relationship, an agreement, somewhat of a contract.

lily and raphaël had been together for the worst part of two years, and their relationship had been rocky, to put it lightly - but we didn't need to get into that.

hey lily going to have to take a rain check on tomorrow sorry x

a sigh left her lips as the messages popped up on her screen in quick succession.

tomorrow was supposed to be the day lily went shopping for the new apartment, for a new everything. she couldn't not go, but now she'd have no one to help her carry all of her new things up to her apartment, on the second-to-top floor of the fontivielle building.

well, she would just have to make do.

• • • •

SHE WAS about to commit a crime, she thought at least.

lily had opted to order online, after the absence of her boyfriend's help - not that he would have been much anyway.

it was on her third trip that she started to feel the ache in her arms, and the humbling experience of being denied help by the delivery driver that had delivered her furniture sent her mind into a slight rage too.

when the fifth trip she had made came around, she was exhausted. people, who she assumed to be her neighbours, had passed with kind smiles and polite mutters of greeting, with no offers of help - not that lily expected them to, of course.

there was this one man that passed her, clad in a grey nike tracksuit, airpods in, and a chain with four golden lines as a charm. what caught her attention was the way he smelt.

he carried an aroma of polo red, lynx, and a hint of vanilla - he was enticing.

his quick glance at her lingered a little too long, and he sent her a small, warm smile as he passed.

great.

lily resumed her previous activity, trying to carry four moderately large plants in through her front door, almost smashing three of them in the process.

"would you like some help?" a british voice spoke up from the hallway as she finally managed to place the plants down.

the girl turned around, met with the same vanilla-smelling man from earlier - oh, so he was british too.

"um... yes please, if you don't mind." she replied with a polite smile, nodding as she walked toward him and out of her apartment once more. "all of my stuff is down in my car, and the delivery driver couldn't help, so... yeah."

"oh, i'm pretty sure i had the same guy when i got my living room delivered, he's such a dick." the man responded as they made their way toward the elevator.

"agreed." lily nodded, glancing at him as they entered the lift together. "i'm lily, by the way."

"lando," lando said back.

"as in the star wars character?" she asked, eyebrows knitted together with a small smile on her lips.

"nope, i think my mum just liked the name." he shrugged with a laugh. "so, you've just moved in, yeah?"

"yeah, yesterday." the italian explained. "how long have you lived here for then?"

"uh, 'bout four years now, i think?" lando tilted his head to look at her, down a little bit as she was shorter than him. "i moved here before the twenty-two season, so... yeah, four years. so, where are you from?"

"florence, in italy." lily nodded softly. "you're from the uk, right?"

"yeah, yeah." he nodded as the elevator dinged open. "born in bristol, which is in england."

"oh, never been there, is it nice?"

"bit of a shithole, to be honest, london and surrey are much nicer - you should go sometime." he suggested as they approached her car.

"yeah, maybe."

• • • •

LARGE HOTELS always had a way of draping everything in velvet and beauty, silk whispers travelling through trees and settling in the expensive air.

"you actually look nice," raphaël commented, lips briefly pressing to her temple as if it was a chore. "i mean, at least you tried, right?"

a quiet hum came from lily's lips as she nodded, trying to eye the bar as they entered the venue. she arrived on his arm, looking effortlessly gorgeous and faintly smelling of the perfume her mother had gifted her last year for her birthday.

her dress was nothing short of divine - silky fabric clinging to her, hugging the subtle dips of her hips and cascading down to her ankles. the louboutins on her feet were just tall enough to be uncomfortable, but padded enough to be bearable - if anything, more comfortable than she felt on the man she called her boyfriend's arm - so, she excused herself to the bar.

"boyfriend, then?" a familiar voice said, as the feeling of a warm body behind her crept up to her skin.

"oh, hi lando." lily smiled softly. "yeah, that's raphaël."

"well, his shoes seriously don't go with that suit." lando raised his eyebrows. "and he sounds like a mutant turtle."

"a mutant turtle?" she audibly laughed, mortified by the insult.

"yeah, the um... teenage mutant ninja turtles thing."

"sounds ridiculous to me." lily shook her head. "and i did try to tell him about the shoes, but well... he didn't listen to me, clearly."

"so, you're a model then, miss ainsley?" lando asked, leaning against the bar as lily was handed her drinks.

"oh, you've been doing some stalking then, have you?"

"and you haven't?" he laughed, "you're very... yeah."

"well, mr mclaren formula 1 driver, yes, i am a model." she said matter-of-factly. "i can't believe you didn't mention that you're a literal f1 driver too."

"i try not to mention it, like... it warps some peoples' opinions of you, you know?"

"understandable," lily was about to say something else, but an arm snaked it's way around her waist.

"alright?" raphaël said, fingers digging into her hip. "was wondering where my drink got to."

"yeah, here." she said bluntly, sliding the drink to him. "this is lando, he lives above me."

"nice to meet you, mate." lando nodded, sticking a hand out toward her boyfriend.

raphaël mumbled something in response, before walking off with the drink and completely ignoring lando.

"sorry about him, he's a twat sometimes." she replied, slightly embarrassed by the behaviour of her significant other.

"i can tell," lando breathed out, laughing a bit. "it's fine, don't worry."

and just like that, the anxious edges of the night softened into uncontrollable giggles and a lack of silence between the two. no pauses, just lovely, unserious chatter between the pair.

they had found a sofa, overlooking the pretty ocean and away from the boring talk of the event, not that either of them could remember why they were there anymore. it was too natural, every laugh was genuine, every look lingered with unspoken affection and a newfound interest in getting to know someone - the first either of them had experienced in a while.

"liliana?" raphaël's voice was heard, and dreaded by the italian girl. "i want to leave, let's go - oh, there you are."

"we're leaving?" lily tilted her head, a look of subtle disappointment in her eyes.

"yeah, let's go." he spoke bluntly.

• • • •

"LILY?" A VOICE yelled from the pitlane, a tanned hand shielding his eyes from the sun beaming down in the direction of the woman leaning over the balcony.

"lando!" lily replied, smiling at the young driver waving up at her.

it was the monaco grand prix, the weather was warm, the breeze was light, and the aura around the mclaren garage was one of confidence and subtle smugness - they were leading both championships after all.

the roar of an indescribably loud engine blocked out what the brit was hollering up to her, but he was jogging up the stairs to her hospitality within seconds.

"fancy seeing you here, miss ainsley." lando laughed as he approached the girl, his race suit hanging low around his hips with a black fireproof clinging to his torso.

"can't say the same for you, mr norris." she smiled in response, easily reciprocating as he lightly hugged her.

"so, how are you?" he asked, so casually cool as fans swarmed around them, nerves creeping on lily's face. "i haven't seen you since... the mastercard event, where your boyfriend stole you away from me."

she audibly laughed, if anything it was lando stealing her attention from raphaël - which didn't take much, actually - but there was something about the way he did it so effortlessly.

"i'm good, yeah, i'm good." she nodded, visibly a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people around them, listening in on their conversation as they waited for lando's attention. "how are you?"

"i'm feeling good, yeah, this weekend looks good." he nodded, leaning against the balcony. "hey, do you want a tour of the garage?"

lily laughed again, this time at the sheer randomness of the question.

"uh, yeah, sure." she replied, glancing around the crowd of people for her boyfriends. "i just need to let raphaël know where i'm going."

"do you not have a nickname for him or something?" lando asked, noticing the constant full use of his name.

"he likes to be called by his actual name, no nicknames." she pursed her lips, realising how ridiculous it sounded once she'd said it out loud.

"oh right, i see." what a prick, in other words. "he sounds... yeah."

"don't even," she huffed with a breath resembling amusement. "actually, he probably won't even notice that i'm gone, so... yeah, let's go."

"perfect." lando smiled, holding his hand out, which earned a confused look from the italian. "for your safety, of course."

she shrugged and placed her slender hand into his, letting him quickly lead her through the myriad of different people, and down the stairs, through the 'mclaren team only' barrier on the stairs, then into the papaya garage.

"these," lando said as he let go of her hand and skipped over to the headsets on the wall, picking up the one that had a '4' neatly printed onto the side. "are for you."

he padded over to where she was waiting, and gently brushed some stray hair behind her ears and shoulders, before pulling the headphones apart and placing them on her head. she caught herself gazing at the almost perplexed look on his face as he adjusted them to fit her, before he placed them around her neck instead.

"you should feel privileged, you know? you're getting a deluxe tour." lando began. "they're the set i'm given for my plus-one. if i had one, that is."

"no girlfriend then?" the words slipped from her mouth before her brain had even registered the question she wanted to ask.

"wouldn't you like to know," the driver teased as they walked down the corridor together. "but no, no girlfriend, no nothing - i've been single for a while."

"ah, i see." she nodded, going to say something else, but her expression turned to one of a deer in headlights as the hallway opened up into a bustling garage of papaya and collected precision.

"come on, i'll show you the car." lando smiled, catching his lower lip between his teeth happily as he grabbed lily's hand once more, tugging her toward his championship-leading car.

the model hurried behind him, laughing as he practically ran toward his car, pretty in papaya with a silver '4' etched into the carbon fibre.

lando was explaining all of the delicate intricacies of the machine, lily was lost in awe of how much there was going on in one vehicle, but enticed by the admirable look in his eyes. the way he was talking about this thing most considered to be a metal monster, the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his face.

god, what was happening to her?

• • • •

CARLOS AND LANDO inhabited a small white table in the corner of the golf club's brunch bar, chatting about the brit's plans for a vacation to greece, and the spaniard's plans to possibly propose to rebecca over the off-season.

"so, who was the girl you were with in monaco?" carlos asked, taking a drink of the cocktail on the linen tablecloth. "i saw you in the garage with her, the brunette?"

"oh, she lives above me, her name is lily." lando began, a smile spreading to his lips. "she's a model, from italy. but she has this boyfriend and he's such a prick."

"you've got it bad." he pointed out, chucking at him. "you've got it real bad."

"i've got what?"

"you so like her, camarada." the spanish man nodded, tapping his fingers on the table. "and she has a boyfriend, so you are screwed."

he didn't even bother to deny it, carlos knew him too well.

so what? maybe he did like her? it wasn't like he could do anything about it either way, she had a boyfriend - a shit one at that. but, he was no homewrecker, and she seemed stable, financially at least, not that it would be any different with him.

LILY HAD made a friend, and her name was alexandra saint mleux.

alex and lily had met each other at the monaco grand prix, hitting it off immediately.

after her little adventure with lando around the mclaren garage, he had taken her to the ferrari garage, with the hopes that he'd slowly but surely integrate her more frequently into his life - so why not better introduce her to a close friend?

"so, raphaël then?" alexandra asked, sipping on the small cup of coffee on the tiny wooden table between them.

"yeah, we've been together for two years, now." lily replied, nodding.

"are you happy with him?"

and for the first time, she hesitated.

no, of course she wasn't happy with him. he was arrogant, and mean, and uncaring, and selfish, and downright rude.

"yeah, i am."

truthfully, it sounded like she was trying to tell herself that more than the art student across the table from her.

"i may have only met you a few weeks ago, but i know when someone is lying, lily." alexandra raised her eyebrows. "so, what's the deal then?"

"i don't know, alex." lily sighed gently, pinching the bridge of her nose. "he's just... yeah."

"come on, explain it." she pressed, sensing there was something deeper.

"it's just sometimes he acts like i'm an inconvenience, like... like i'm the last thing on his mind." the model began. "and i'm not saying i want to be the first, but-"

"no, no, you should be the first thing, lily." alexandra interrupted. "you're his girlfriend - whatever he does for a living, whoever his friends are, you should be priority number one."

• • • •

AEROPHOBIA means the irrational fear of flying, and lily ainsley was definitely an aerophobic.

"just get over it, you travel all the time, lily." raphaël commented, rolling his eyes as his girlfriend squeezed his hand for some sort of comfort.

"it doesn't mean i like flying." she replied, frowning as he dropped her hand.

"whatever." he huffed, walking onto the jet before her.

the sleek mclaren jet was filled with engineers and mechanics, coaches and technicians. despite the number of interesting and vaguely familiar faces she could interact with, lily was hoping to see one face in particular - but he didn't seem to be there.

raphaël had spotted some buddies from his old marketing firm, so before the plane had even taxied to the runway, he had moved seats and lily was alone.

"is this seat taken?"

she didn't even have to look up at the person asking before a smile spread onto her lips, it was lando, of course.

"depends on who wants to sit there." lily teased, raising her eyebrows.

the british driver laughed and sit down, cramming his hand luggage under his seat.

"where's the mutant turtle then? i heard he was on this flight." lando asked.

"over there with some friends from his old job." the model shrugged casually, and she was about to speak again, but the plane started rumbling forward.

lily inhaled sharply, gripping the sides of the chair tightly.

she had always hated flying. when she was little, she and her father had watched one to many of those 'air crash investigation' episodes on the national geographic channel, which is probably where the fear stemmed from in the first place. but then, on a holiday to paris with her family, the plane had to touchdown and take off again, which gave her a little bit of trauma.

so therefor, lily ainsley was a chronic aerophobic - not that her boyfriend seemed to care anyway.

but lando noticed.

he noticed the way her breath quietly hitched, the way the grip of her small hands tightened on the armrests, the way her torso tensed as the plane trundled forward.

and he noticed the look on her face when he placed his hand over her own stressed one.

"you okay?" lando asked softly, looking at her with nothing but concern and a hint of something else in his gaze.

"i hate flying." she mumbled, taking a deep breath.

he gave her hand a comforting squeeze, earning an affectionate smile from her.

"you'll be okay, i'm here." he reassured the italian woman.

lily glanced at him, an appreciative expression on her face. there was something else in her eyes, pining maybe? whatever it was, the feeling was entirely mutual from lando.

"thankyou, lan."

the nickname that tumbled from her lips made his heart stutter and his tummy flutter - fuck, there was no way he was getting this flustered over a simple nickname.

god, what was happening to him?

• • • •

SATURDAY WAS always lily's favourite day of the week.

it brought relaxing tranquillity in the daytime, and usually glamourous party in the evening - the perfect contrast.

singapore managed to make the evening fizz with the clink of non-alcoholic champagne in pristine glasses, and hum with excited chatter in the heat of the night. the country had the best way of painting a sky in the navy tones of an alive night, and making prestigious parties sound like something out of a millionaire's dream.

however, the saturday in question hadn't exactly gone to plan for lily.

"there's no point in you going, it's not like you actually have any friends," he shrugged, splayed out on his couch at his apartment in singapore. "well, there at least."

the off-hand comment from raphaël had sent her practically mental at him - screaming, shouting, two years of built-up frustration all released at one moment.

what was he talking about?

the mclaren team had invited lily as a guest to singapore, and raphaël insisted he come as her plus-one, even though he definitely wouldn't have invited her if it was the other way around - not that lando liked the guy enough to have him stick around for the week before one of the most gruelling races on the calendar.

and just like that, almost two years of hidden glares and stolen eye-rolls was over.

alexandra was in monaco with charles still, so she went to the only person she knew well enough to show up at his room unannounced.

the door opened and so did her tear ducts, salty streams of water trickling down her face as the dazed man in front of her pulled her immediately into a hug.

"we don't have to talk about it," was the first thing lando said. "you don't have to tell me."

"we broke up," she mumbled into his chest. "i broke up with him."

it may have sounded sick, but he smiled. lando fucking smiled.

a weight had lifted off of both of them in that moment - lando the guilt of falling for someone in a relationship, and lily the stress of being in an unhappy relationship, and some other things too.

an eternity passed, worlds died and were reborn - the sun could have imploded for all the two cared.

"you still going to the gala tonight?" he asked gently, hands resting on her lower back.

"i don't know," lily mumbled. "i don't have anyone to-"

"go with me." lando said simply.

she smiled weakly, "yeah, okay."

• • • •

"SO, JUST FRIENDS?" oscar pried, taking a swig of the almost nice zero-percent champagne.

"just friends." lily replied, shaking her head politely.

the younger australian's company was refreshing, someone who didn't know of her now ex-boyfriend, where there was no subtle judgement for staying with someone as mentally tiring as him. she'd only met oscar around an hour ago, but she would definitely consider him a friend, he was sweet, funny, and completely and utterly in love with his girlfriend, who also happened to be called lily.

lando was entertaining some sponsors, boorishly talking away with elderly investors like his livelihood depended on it - because he knew once he was done, it was oscar's turn, and he could have lily to himself for the rest of the evening.

"i find that hard to believe, you know?" the australian shrugged, nodding his head in response. "i've never seen lando like this, i mean this is only my third season with him, but he's just different when he talks about you."

"he talks about me?" she tilted her head, a small sheepish smile raising to her lips.

"he doesn't shut up about you, lily." oscar told her, laughing breathily. "it's annoying actually, he always finds a way to bring you up, even andrea knows at this point."

she smiled, a soft pink heat spread across her cheeks, she was blushing. the girl glanced over at lando, who was deep in conversation with an older man in a smart suit - but he still managed to send a kind smile over to her.

oscar and lily held a steady conversation, but it was soon interrupted by two gentle hands on lily's waist, mindful of the delicate fabric holding her dress together.

"osc, you're up, buddy."

the younger mclaren driver rolled his eyes, politely leaving lando and lily on their own together.

"fuck, i need to sit down." the brit said, spinning her around to face him. "come with me?"

she nodded, humming as her cheeks heated up upon making eye contact with the taller brunette. he replaced the hands on her waist with a singular one sprawled across the bare skin of her lower back, guiding her toward the high stools and tables.

a chair was quickly pulled out for her by his free hand, and she thanked him quietly, before lando himself sat down opposite her.

"i'm sorry, i ditched you." he began, resting his head on his palm. "stupid sponsors and media shit, honestly."

"it's okay, don't worry." lily shook her head, a reassuring look on her face. "oscar's lovely, by the way, why have you never introduced us before?"

"i don't know, i didn't want to be too forward, you know?"

"well, for future reference, mr norris," she cooed. "nothing is too forward, with you at least."

it was his turn to blush, the tips of his ears tinging a pretty pink colour as the heat rose to his cheeks.

he smiled shyly, "i'll um.. i'll keep that in mind then, lils."

"good, good."

• • • •

MONACO WAS starting to feel like home, so the salty air was a relief to her when she stepped off of the jet and onto the runway.

"still want to come over for dinner?" lando asked, wheeling two suitcases behind him - and one of them wasn't his, but he insisted he carry them.

"promise me you're not cooking?" lily teased, climbing into the sleek black jeep, shuffling over so lando could clamber in next to her.

"oh, you'd be privileged to experience my culinary expertise." he rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"and experience violent nausea? oh, yeah, count me in."

"nasty girl, you are, ainsley." the british driver joked, laughing with her.

"and you wouldn't have it any other way, norris."

lando just smiled, internally agreeing with her, externally humming sarcastically.

the rest of the drive was filled with warm laughter or comfortable silence, a one where the sound of their beating hearts could be muffled by the sheer weight of the affection between the pair.

they stole quick glances at each other through the extremely short drive, catching the eye of the other once or twice and smiling softly.

lando's apartment always smelt warm, like a heated blanket on a winter's day. it made her body relax and any stress melt away with the icy barrier society formed around her mind. it was also always surprisingly clean for a constantly travelling man in his mid-twenties - maybe he had a cleaner, maybe he did it himself - but either way the effort was there.

"lily?" her name sounded angelic when it came from his mouth.

she turned, soul stuttering as her face was met with the close proximity of his chest. before she could even look up at him, his hand was on the side of her neck, thumb tilting her head to meet his gaze.

his eyes softened, gently lighting up. he looked at her like she'd stepped out of heaven itself, sighing affectionately as if she was part of a dream he'd not been able to shake from his mind.

"have i ever told you how pretty you are?"

lip caught between his teeth, eyelashes long and half-hooded eyes, pupils as large as they could grow. he was a sight for sore eyes - she felt sorry for anyone who was visually impaired.

"oh shush." she brushed it off, laughing, quiet and real.

"don't do that," lando shook his head. "don't dismiss yourself, you're gorgeous, lils."

"thankyou, lando."

"please." he murmured, eyes flitting over her face.

"please what?" she asked, wanting to recoil in the best way possible as he looked at her like that.

"let me kiss you, please."

there was pause in her expression, easily noticed by her lack of response, so he started talking again - "i've been falling for you since the gala, since the plane, since the stupid mastercard event, ever since the plants. and i really-"

within an instant, her arms were around his neck and her lips were on his. soft, hesitant, tentative, and borderline nervous - but it felt like home. the shape of his darker lips fit perfectly against her own soft pink ones, and his hands moulded into the dips of her hips like they were sculpted from the same soul, split into two.

his eyes widened a little, before fluttering closed easily, melting into the shorter girl's touch. her dainty fingertips tugged at the base of his mullet, humming into his lips as his hands pulled her closer into him by her lower back.

his tongue softly pressed at the seam of her lips, politely asking for entrance, to which she quickly obliged - parting her mouth enough for him to slide in.

a groan vibrated from the back of his throat and his grip tightened, before he walked her backward until she was pinned up against the wall. once her back hit the wall, he pulled away for air, lightly panting, hot breath hitting her face as he hooked his hands under her thighs.

"up," he mumbled lowly, signalling for her to come up to him.

in a few seconds, she was wrapped around him, legs squeezing tightly around him.

"fucking hell." lando breathed out, biting his lip as he gazed at the breathless girl in his arms.

her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and that was it.

it was messier, hungrier, filled with more desperation than before. he pushed his hips up against her, teeth nipping at her lower lip teasingly before he slid his tongue into her warm mouth with no gentle press of permission this time - making it all the hotter.

fuck, it was going to be a long night.

• • • •

i do not give permission for my works to be re-written, re-published, or published on any other platform.

© norrisjpg 2025

[jezebelblues]

𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐘𝐍 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐂𝐖: requested exrry blurb (thank u anon!), slight angst, happy ending, fem!reader, actress!reader, unedited.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 5k

❏ HI ! it’s been such a long time :( but i’m hoping i’m finally through with writers block. i feel like this doesn’t exactlyyyy fit anon’s request but i hope u liked it even a lil bit! i’m not 100% happy w this but i really wanna get something out so this will just have to suffice. missed yall <3

masterlist

there are moments in every love story when the world rearranges itself, tilts just enough to change the course of everything. it's the way a cigarette burns unevenly when the wind interferes, how a misplaced step shifts the dancer's rhythm, or the way a train leaves the station one minute too soon. for harry and YN, their love had been both a symphony and a storm, a masterpiece constructed on fragile scaffolding. in its final act, it had unraveled quietly, with only the sound of two hearts breaking in unison.

they hadn’t spoken in two years. two years of silences punctuated only by the occasional headline, the brush of a photo on a magazine rack, his voice threading through the speakers of a café. the world, it seemed, refused to let her forget him. but there he was now, not a photograph or a memory, but him. real, palpable, standing at the edge of her periphery like a ghost who hadn’t yet decided if it would haunt her or let her go.

YN leaned against the balustrade, clutching a glass of something that tasted more sour than it should have. the event itself was a haze of champagne flutes and low conversations, an industry soirée dripping in muted opulence. her dress was a deep shade of dusk, clinging to her like a second skin, and she felt beautiful in it—had felt beautiful in it—until she saw him.

harry was dressed as he always was: an effortless mosaic of contradictions. the suit was tailored to perfection, but his hair, unruly curls with the hint of rebellion, softened the sharp edges. there was no mistaking the tilt of his head, the way his eyes skimmed the room with an almost reluctant ease. she wondered if he’d seen her yet, if he’d feel that same quiet thrum in his chest when he did.

as if on cue, his eyes met hers.

the evening wasn’t designed for heartache. the sky, opalescent and blushing, rippled with the soft hues of twilight. lights strung through the manicured gardens of the estate flickered like fireflies caught in some eternal dance, glasses catching the shimmer like constellations in orbit. laughter rippled through the space, every corner alive with movement and conversation, yet harry could feel only the staccato of his pulse, sharp and relentless.

he wasn't supposed to see her tonight. it wasn't part of the plan—then again, plans were always shaky things when it came to them, built on the hope that tomorrow wouldn't bring a gust strong enough to dismantle it all.

it wasn’t a moment of cinematic epiphany. there was no gasp, no clinking glass slipping from trembling fingers. it was quieter than that, heavier. their eyes had met, and the weight of two years folded between them like a tide coming in—inevitable, undeniable.

his gaze dropped to her hands, searching for a ring, as though her life might have accelerated in the time since they'd parted. nothing. his chest tightened with something unnamable—relief? regret? both?

the last time they’d been in the same room, the air had been filled with shouting and static. their words had ricocheted off walls that had once heard laughter. they had been too much and not enough, two meteors colliding, destroying everything they touched in their desperate attempt to remain whole.

she loved him. god, how she had loved him. loves.

their love had been big. not in the way people tell stories about epic romances, but in the way it consumed everything around it. they fought like gods waging war. they loved like the first spring after a century of winter. they tore each other apart and put each other back together, over and over, until they couldn't remember what they had looked like before.

they stood like that for what felt like hours but must've been seconds, suspended in a quiet kind of agony. the people around them blurred into shapes, the air alive with the hum of champagne-fueled conversations and the laughter of people who had no concept of loss beyond the polite kind—misplaced keys, a delayed flight, the end of a film they'd rather not have finished. the only thing that seemed real was the chasm between them—filled with every moment they'd ever shared, every word spoken and unspoken, every touch and tear and promise.

he was walking toward her now. she could feel it in her chest before she saw it—the air shifting, the atoms around her realigning themselves to make room for his presence.

YN was radiant, in the way she always had been— light incarnate. her eyes, the same shade of longing he remembered, tried not to meet his own, but of course, they did. she's only human, and humans have always been drawn to the things that ruin them.

“YN.” he breathed when he was close enough, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he wasn’t sure he was allowed to utter.

“harry.” his name tasted unfamiliar on her tongue, like a word spoken in a foreign language after years of disuse.

there were too many things she wanted to say, too many memories fighting to rise to the surface. she remembered the way his hands had once mapped her skin like a cartographer desperate to chart every inch. she remembered mornings spent tangled in sheets, the sunlight spilling over their laughter. she remembered the fights, the nights spent in separate rooms, the echoes of their own voices loud in the spaces between them.

“you look—” he started, then stopped, as though the right words had slipped through his fingers.

“so do you.”

silence bloomed between them, heavy and awkward, like a third presence neither of them invited. she takes a sip of her drink to fill it, but the taste is sour, bitter. or maybe that's just her.

he couldn’t tell how long they just stood there. time had a way of folding in on itself since her, the days bleeding into nights, the minutes stretching and collapsing all at once. einstein once said time was relative, but harry was sure he hadn't meant this.

his lips parted, “i didn’t think you’d be here.”

“neither did i.”

the truth was, she almost hadn’t come. it was only her publicist’s insistence that had dragged her out of her apartment and into this room filled with people who didn’t really know her. but now, standing here in front of him, she wondered if some part of her had known—had hoped.

there was a question hanging in the air between them, not uttered, but loud enough to fill the silence. had they made a mistake?

he remembers how they agreed it was for the best—right person, wrong time. they'd parted with a kiss that tasted of salt and regret, a mutual agreement born not out of lack of love, but out of too much of it.

but how could it be for the best when the air at home still smelled like her, when her name was stitched into the fabric of every song he wrote? he thought of the way she used to rest her head against his chest at night, the way her fingers traced lazy patterns along his skin, as if she were memorizing him in braille. the intimacy of it—the quiet kind, the kind that felt like forever—had undone him. no one ever teaches you how to live without forever.

the first time they met, they were children pretending to be adults. a festival in the desert, both of them younger and wilder, sweat-soaked and sunburnt and drunk on music. they danced in a crowd of thousands, but it felt like the earth shrank to the size of a postage stamp, and they were the only two people left. he had kissed her that night, tequila and the promise of something infinite lingering on his tongue.

“i’ve missed you,” he admitted, so softly she almost didn’t hear it.

her heart stuttered, the words settling into the cracks she hadn’t known were still there. “me too.”

and just like that, the world rearranged itself again.

it had been three days, but the memory of her face still lingered on the edges of harry’s consciousness like the afterimage of a camera flash. no matter how many times he blinked, it refused to fade. he felt haunted—not in the dramatic sense of ghosts rattling chains, but in the quiet, insidious way grief lingers, reshaping the air around it. she had looked beautiful, devastatingly so. and when their eyes had met, he swore he felt time buckle under the weight of something he couldn’t acknowledge, not yet.

it was morning now, or what passed for it in january—a hesitant kind of light filtering through the clouds, pale and thin like it didn’t quite belong. harry sat at his kitchen table, a cup of tea cooling between his hands. the mug had been a gift from gemma years ago, the words world’s okayest brother faded from too many cycles through the dishwasher. he liked its imperfection, the way it felt worn and familiar. it reminded him of things that didn’t change, which was a comfort on days like these.

the newspapers were spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading them. his eyes kept drifting to the same headline over and over: YN stuns at charity gala, sparking reunion rumors. there was a picture, of course. she was outside, her dress a shadow clinging to her frame, her gaze distant and heavy with thoughts he couldn’t begin to guess at.

it was cruel, he thought, how the world always seemed to capture her in a way that felt so achingly intimate. even in the stillness of a photograph, she looked alive, as though she might step off the page and straight into his arms.

but she wouldn’t.

he hadn’t expected to see her, not after all this time. the last two years had been a lesson in avoidance—of places she might be, of mutual friends who still spoke her name with a fondness that made his chest ache. he had buried himself in work, in music, in anything that might fill the spaces she had left behind. and for a while, it had worked. or at least, it had felt like it did.

until three days ago.

“you’re brooding.”

the voice startled him, and he looked up to find jeff standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in one hand and a knowing look in the other.

“morning to you, too,” harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

he raised an eyebrow. “you’ve been staring at that paper for the better part of an hour. do you want to talk about it, or should i just pretend i don’t notice?”

“not much to talk about, yeah?”

“uh-huh.” he set his coffee down and slid into the chair opposite him. “you saw her.”

“yeah.”

“and?”

harry sighed, “i dunno. s’like… seeing her again made everything i’ve been trying to forget just resurface. two fucking years of nothing and then—” he gestured vaguely, another sigh falling from his lips.

“you still care about her.”

“‘course i do,” harry said, almost sharply. “but that doesn’t mean it changes anything. timing wasn’t right—we missed out.”

jeff studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “you know, timing’s a funny thing. but things do change, harry. don’t lose something you never needed to lose in the first place.”

the words hit harder than harry wanted to admit. he didn’t respond, instead lifting his mug to his lips and taking a long sip.

the tea had gone cold.

–

the email arrived in the late afternoon, slipping into her inbox like an intruder she hadn’t invited. YN stared at the screen for a long time, her tea cooling on the windowsill beside her. she didn’t open it right away; instead, she just sat there, the glow of her laptop casting faint shadows on the walls of her living room.

harry’s name stared back at her, bold and impossible to ignore. two years of silence, and now this.

the day had started out quiet. she’d spent the morning working through a script, her highlighter uncapping and capping in time with the low hum of the music she had on in the background. a storm had rolled in sometime around noon, the sky turning the color of damp stone. she liked storms—their chaos, the way they reminded her of things bigger than herself.

she didn’t like this.

her thumb hovered over the trackpad, indecisive. opening the email felt like a betrayal of all the walls she’d built, but leaving it unread felt equally unbearable. the memory of seeing him at the gala, standing there like something carved out of memory and moonlight, tugged at her resolve.

so, she clicked.

subject: reaching out

from: hs@—

to: YN@—

i wasn’t sure if this was still your email. if it’s not, i guess someone else is reading this, which would be… awkward. but if it is you, then: hey.

i know it’s been a while. seeing you the other night caught me off guard. in a good way. you looked beautiful. not that that’s news or anything, but still. it felt worth saying.

i’ve been thinking about you. not in a way that expects anything, just thinking. like in the way you’re in the lyrics i write without thinking. or when i see a blank sheet of paper i think of the origami you’d make on a whim.

this probably sounds ridiculous. i don’t really know what i’m trying to say. maybe just that it was good to see you.

for old times sake: all my stars and moons,

H.

all my stars and moons.

he used to say it with a lopsided smile, his voice soft, reverent, like it was the only way he could capture what she meant to him.

it wasn't just an i love you—it was a promise, a vow that she had been his beginning and his end. her reply had always been equally unorthodox, a kind of shared language only they understood.

she read the email twice, then a third time, the words tumbling through her mind like loose change in a pocket.

it wasn’t much. it wasn’t an apology or an admission or even an invitation. but it was something—a crack in the silence, a thread pulled loose from fabric.

her fingers hovered over the keyboard, her mind a cacophony of what-ifs. she didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if she should say anything.

the cursor blinked at her, patient and unyielding. YN rested her chin in her hand, staring at the blank reply box as if it might conjure the words for her. the storm outside continued its symphony, wind rattling the windowpanes in uneven bursts. it felt fitting—this chaotic, uncertain moment mirrored by the world beyond her walls.

she had typed and deleted half a dozen responses already, each one feeling either too much or not enough.

harry, she’d started, but even his name felt loaded, like a weight she couldn’t quite lift.

it’s good to hear from you. no, too polite, too distant, too not them.

why now? the most honest question, but also the one she didn’t have the courage to ask outright.

she leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. part of her wanted to ignore it. to close her laptop, pour another cup of tea, and pretend she hadn’t read it. but that wasn’t who she was—not with him.

because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much they had broken each other, there was still that small, stubborn part of her that believed in the rightness of them.

she let her fingers hover over the keyboard, her thoughts coalescing into something that felt almost like clarity.

harry,

it is still my email. though if it weren’t, i’d like to think whoever got this would’ve found it endearing.

i don’t know how to describe how it felt seeing you again. unexpected doesn’t feel like enough. i wasn’t ready for it, i guess. not that anyone’s ever really ready to run into their past like that. believe me when i say that you looked even more beautiful.

your email was nice to read, though i’m not sure how to respond to it. i don’t know if i have the right words anymore, or if i ever did. but i’ve been thinking about you too. i’m not sure that ever really stopped, if i’m honest. it’s strange, isn’t it? how someone can take up so much space in your mind, even after so much time has passed.

it’s hard to know what else to say. part of me wonders if we made a mistake. you’re making me remember paper cranes on your coffee table, of mornings where the sunlight always seemed brighter on your side of the bed. remembering makes it harder to pretend like none of it mattered.

but it did. it still does. in ways i can't always explain, and maybe that's why i don't know how to respond. anyway, i guess i just wanted to say that it was good to see you, too.

forever and a day,

YN.

her finger hovered over the send button, her heart hammering in her chest. there was no taking it back once it was gone, no undoing the vulnerability she had laid bare. but she clicked it anyway, the whoosh of the email sending ringing loud in the quiet of her apartment.

forever and a day.

it had been her answer to him, her way of telling him that love wasn't bound by time or space, that it was infinite. it had been their secret, the thread woven through the chaos of their lives.

she didn’t know what would come next. maybe nothing. maybe everything. so, she waited—which only let things unravel further.

the emails became their lifeline over the past few days, a tenuous thread bridging the gap between the past and whatever they were doing now. it had started cautiously—polite acknowledgments, carefully chosen words that skirted too close to old wounds. but as the hours and days wore on, their messages grew longer, softer, laced with the quiet intimacy of people rediscovering the shape of each other.

harry had spent more time staring at his screen than he cared to admit, his fingers hovering over the keys as he tried to balance honesty with restraint. they wrote about everything and nothing—her latest film, a quiet piece shot in the polish countryside, his afternoons spent in the studio, the strange emptiness of passing the time during a break.

sometimes, they slipped into the past. little anecdotes laced with humor or wistfulness, as though they were tiptoeing around the weight of what they’d once shared. he’d told her about the tulips he passed by in the shop one evening, how it made him think of her, if he’d ever buy such a thing for her again—and she’d replied with a teasing remark about how he’d always overthought these things.

it felt natural in a way neither of them had anticipated, like a rhythm they’d rediscovered without meaning to. but beneath the easy flow of words, there was a tension—an unspoken question threading its way through every sentence: what now?

and then, her last email.

he’d read it three times before he noticed the address tucked neatly at the bottom, like an afterthought.

subject: RE: late night thoughts

from: YN@—

to: hs@—

h,

i don’t know why i’m telling you this, but the tulips? i would’ve liked them :)

anyway, you’re right! it’s easier to write like this, but it also feels a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it? like we’re pen pals in some old novel. maybe we should talk.

here’s my address. i’ve moved since before everything happened between us. if you’re ever around, stop by. no pressure though.

YN

harry had laughed aloud when he saw it, shaking his head in disbelief. she hadn’t given him her number, but her address? it was such a maddeningly her thing to do.

he stared at the screen for a while afterward, debating what it meant, whether he should go, what he’d say if he did. and then, as if fate had decided for him, he found himself standing in another flower shop the next afternoon, staring at a display of tulips.

the shopkeeper had been kind, if a bit amused by his indecision. “you can’t go wrong with red,” she’d said, handing him a bunch wrapped in simple brown paper. “everyone likes red, yeah?”

he’d nodded, though his mind had been elsewhere, spiraling through a thousand scenarios of how this meeting might go.

and now, here he was, standing outside her building with the flowers clutched in one hand, his other hand shoved into the pocket of his coat.

he felt ridiculous. what was he doing here, showing up like this? but the thought of turning back felt worse. he buzzed her apartment, his heart pounding as he waited for her voice to crackle through the intercom.

“hello?”

“oh, YN. hi! it’s harry.”

a pause and the breathiest giggle, so quiet harry wasn’t sure if it was her or the crackle of the intercom. “come up.”

once up, she opened the door before he could knock, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of her apartment. she looked different and yet entirely the same—her hair pulled back, her sweater falling loosely over her frame, the kind of effortless beauty that had always undone him.

“hi.”

“hi,” he echoed, offering her a tentative smile.

she glanced at the tulips in his hand, her lips twitching into a small, knowing grin. “you brought flowers.”

“yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “thought about daisies. or lilies. but tulips–”

“you overthought it.”

“probably,” he said, handing them to her. “but you said you would’ve liked them.”

she took the flowers, her fingers brushing his briefly. “i do.”

he hesitated, shifting on his feet. “you didn’t give me your number, but you gave me your address. thought that was funny.”

her laugh was soft, almost shy. “guess i figured if you wanted to talk, you’d show up.”

“and here i am.”

“here you are.”

she stepped aside, letting him in, her apartment warm and inviting in contrast to the chill outside. the space was a bit small but full of character—books stacked haphazardly on shelves, a record player in the corner, the faint scent of tea lingering in the air.

“s’bigger than the last one.”

she hummed, setting the tulips on the counter and reaching for a vase. “it’s cozy.”

he watched her move, his chest tightening at the familiarity of it all—the way she tilted her head when she was concentrating, the slight curve of her mouth as she arranged the flowers.

“i’m surprised you actually came over.”

“‘course i did,” he said, his gaze steady. “you asked.”

“i didn’t think you would.”

he frowned slightly, “oh,” he paused, “why not?”

she shrugged, turning back to the flowers. “it’s been a long time, i guess. people change.”

“how much d’you think changes in two years?”

her hands stilled, her fingers brushing against the edge of a petal. she didn’t look at him, but he could see the way her shoulders tensed, the way her breath caught.

“i don’t know what this is,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“s’just us talking. that’s all.”

they settled at the island in her kitchen eventually, stools drawn close but not close enough. it wasn’t purposeful—not exactly—but the gap between them felt intentional in its own way, a hesitation they hadn’t yet learned how to breach.

the space was quiet, save for the soft hum of the rain outside and the faint creak of the wood beneath them. the overhead light pooled in warm, golden tones across the countertop, casting long shadows that blurred the edges of the moment.

YN fit into the space like she always did—carefully, like she was trying to take up less room than she was owed. one knee tucked against her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around it, while her other leg dangled from the stool, her toes brushing just lightly against the floor. she turned slightly, her side leaning against the edge of the island, her eyes steady but unreadable.

his own body had never been built for this kind of furniture—too long limbs, too much of him for the delicate frame of the stool. he had to spread his legs wide, one foot braced against the floor to keep himself steady, his elbows resting on the countertop. his fingers toyed with the lip of a glass left abandoned,something to keep them occupied, something to keep them from reaching for her.

and then she said it.

“you’ve written songs about me.”

a statement, not a question. a fact pulled from the quiet places of their past, dusted off and placed between them like an offering.

harry felt the heat climb his neck before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth betraying him with the telltale pull of a smile. a man of twenty-nine reduced to something pink-cheeked and bashful, like a schoolboy caught in the act. his dimples carved deep, his fingers tightening around the glass as if he could pour all of his flustered energy into the curve of it.

“see that head of yours hasn’t gotten any smaller.”

his voice came easy, light with humor, a well-aimed deflection meant to soften the truth. but the truth was written all over him, in the way his gaze lingered, in the way his body angled toward hers as if he couldn’t help but close the distance.

she laughed, and the sound curled into his chest, tucked itself between his ribs like something meant to live there. her cheeks had gone pink too, though whether from the warmth of the room or the warmth of his attention, he wasn’t sure.

she pressed her temple against her knee, a slow, knowing smile stretching across her lips before she murmured—“red wine and ginger ale.”

it was enough to knock the breath from him, to make something stir deep in his gut, something familiar, aching, unshakable.

his grip tightened around the glass, knuckles going white. because of course she remembered. of course she had caught that line, plucked it from the verse and turned it over in her palm like a rare coin.

it had been a memory—hers, theirs, tucked into the lyrics like a secret, hidden in plain sight.

a dinner in chiswick, years ago, where he had ordered exactly that, red wine with ginger ale, because he liked the way the bitterness and sweetness met on his tongue. she had looked at him like he’d just confessed to some great crime, her nose scrunching, her lips parting in that wide-eyed, incredulous way.

“you’re disgusting.”

he had laughed, offered her a sip, only for her to recoil in mock horror. and later, in the taxi home, when he had kissed her, her lips had curled into a smile against his, and she had whispered against his mouth—

“m’never letting you live it down, baby.”

and she hadn’t. for months. for years. because she had hated the drink, but she had loved him, and that was enough.

and now, here she was, saying it back to him, plucking the words from a song meant for millions and holding them up to the light, a knowing glint in her gaze.

“you remember that?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.

“i remember everything.”

the words settled in his stomach, warm and heavy. he stared at her for a long moment, the air between them stretching thin.

he could still taste the memory of her, even now. and he wonders if she knows she’s still his favorite lyric.

time continued to stretch around them, hesitated words and heavy pauses, stolen glances and knuckles that barely grazed each other in fleeting touches.

they moved after that, standing from the stools as if a forced step back would be enough space to stop what hummed between them.

she turned to face him, her eyes searching his. for a moment, the air felt electric, heavy with everything they weren’t saying.

she lingered there, before her body angled toward the window as though she might drift outside. the soft light overhead caught the lines of her face, the curve of her shoulders.

she was beautiful in the way the stars were—distant but unmistakably present, a quiet inevitability against the darkness.

and just like the stars, she had always been there, even when he couldn't see her.

he crossed the room slowly, as though afraid that the floor might give out beneath him. his hands were empty now, his thoughts stripped bare. she turned slightly as he came closer, her eyes meeting his, and he could feel the pull of her, the way she seemed to realign the very fabric of the air between them.

YN could feel it, the frequency only the two of them could hear, a static that crackles in the air between bodies too familiar to be strangers, too distant to be anything else. the static that translated into pins and needles along their lips. the static, buzzing heat in their chest, not fire, not yet—but the ember that never fully died, flickering in the place where love was buried but never truly laid to rest.

"you came back.” she echoed from before, though it was less saturated in disbelief but rather dripping with solace.

he looked up, his throat tightening—the ache of déjà vu wrapped in silk. his body remembers before his mind does—remembers the press of his palm against the small of her back, the weight of his mouth against hers, the way her breath used to tremble when she whispered his name.

you never left he wanted to say, but the syllables tangled in his throat, thick as honey, heavy as grief. because she hadn’t—not really. she lingered in each pause between heartbeats, in the empty quiet of rooms too big and beds too cold.

so, he keeps his mouth shut. he leans in, nose barely grazing hers. she can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek as his head tilts, he can feel the tremble of her breath.

he was merely a shipwreck, his body leaning toward the tide even as his mind screamed to stay ashore. but the tide is warm, and the tide is her, and oh—how easy it would be to drown again.

the collapse of distance, the death of restraint.

the air between them is thick with ruin and remembrance, a graveyard of every night they spent apart, every moment they spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

but the body is merciless in its remembering.

her breath stutters again as his fingertips ghost over her jaw, tracing the path of old devotion, the map of a love that never truly faded. it’s not a hesitation, not a question—it’s reverence, the final breath before a prayer is spoken. and then—

then he kisses her.

it’s not soft, not gentle. it’s every unsaid word, every agonizing hour, every night spent staring at the ceiling wondering if the she felt it too. it’s the pull of gravity, of fate, of something written into constellations.

his mouth slants over hers like a plea, like an apology, like a man succumbing. and she—she meets him with a hunger that borders on violent, fingers fisting in his collar, dragging him closer, closer, as if she could consume him, as if she could crawl inside his ribs and carve her name there all over again.

it tasted like champagne and ripe fruit, like summer bursting behind teeth and getting stuck there. peaches, maybe, or strawberries picked in the height of july. his tongue slid against hers like silk against satin, heady—red wine drunk too quickly, the dizzied sweetness of berries crushed between thumb and forefinger.

it didn’t seek, did not demand; it reclaimed, a vow remade in flesh.

his tongue curled, coaxed, tangled in the wet heat of her mouth. it was slow, decadent—the first pull of opium in the lungs, the hush of velvet being drawn through greedy fingers.

and when he deepened it—when he pulled her flush, let the kiss bleed into something savored, something syrup-thick, cursive against the roof of her mouth—she tasted it:

forgiveness, the hands of a clock rewinding.

not spoken, not granted, but exchanged in the language of tongue and teeth. of breath shared between gasps, of bodies rediscovering the art of belonging.

when they part, it is not for lack of wanting.

it’s for breath, for sanity, for the simple fear that if they do not stop now, they never will. she licked her lips—not to rid herself of him, but to commit him to memory.

"YN.” he murmured, her name nothing more than a breath, a vow, a benediction.

she swallowed, throat tight, her pulse a bird trapped beneath her skin. she wanted to say something, anything—wanted to capture this moment in words before it slipped through her fingers like sand.

but there was no language for this.

there was no word for what it meant to be kissed like that—like time had never moved forward, like they had never parted, like the years apart were nothing more than a cruel trick of the universe. no word for the way his tongue had found hers, the way he had kissed her not just with his lips, but with the sum of his longing, the marrow-deep ache of missing her. no word for the way she had melted into him, the way her mouth had answered his like it had been waiting all this time.

so she didn’t speak.

instead, she pressed her fingers against his mouth, feeling the shape of his lips beneath them, like trying to hold onto a dream before waking. and maybe he understood, because he only smiled—soft, knowing, his hands still firm against her skin.

all my stars and moons, he had said once.

forever and a day, she had answered.

[fallingformatt]

SINCE WE’RE PLAYING GAMES M.S.

Matt x fem!reader

summary: what happens when you try to cheat your way to win a game of twister?

warnings: SMUTTTTTTTT! unprotected sex, slight bdsm.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: Yall are some freaky fucking fucks… over a thousand notes on my post? Yall are insane, im so thankful for yall dirty minded ass people. I truly did not expect that to happen on my second post ever. And thank you all for almost 300 followers yall are the GOATS!!!

Let me know if I should write a pt. 2 for FIRST GLANCE M.S. available here

post is not proofread

➽───────────────❥

I'm currently at the triplet's house. The sun is setting, casting a beautiful orange hue to the living room where we all are sitting, drinking some drinks, and just talking. The music in the background isn't loud but I can hear it clearly.

"I'm bored, let's do something fun," Matt says looking down into his half-empty cup. "Well I don't have any ideas," Chris shrugs his shoulders. "I have an amazing idea," Nick yells, startling me. "Nick, you scared me, I almost spilled my drink," I say out loudly slapping his shoulder. "Please ask me what my idea is, please, please, please," Nick tries to plead to make us ask him what his idea is.

"So what is ur 'amazing' idea?" I ask looking at him with a serious face. "We're all gonna play twister," Nick says ecstatically clapping his hands together like a kid. "No Nick, we are not playing twister, we're not five," Matt says annoyed. "Oh look I'm Matt, I'm so tuff and boring, I don't like to have fun," Nick mocks Matt, making me and Chris laugh.

"Well I don't know about y'all, but I'm tipsy, there's no way I could play twister right now," Matt says tugging on the collar of his black t-shirt, his eyes from across the room to meet mine, sending butterflies to my stomach.

I've always had a little crush on Matt, but I never really did anything about it, because I didn't want to ruin the friendship between us. I mean yeah, sure I would sometimes tease him, wearing something revealing, making his eyes wander to places they shouldn't, for example, today, I was wearing short, low-waisted shorts and a small leopard print baby tee, but I knew that, me doing something with Matt would probably change the dynamics of the group as a whole, so I left it as is, hoping my crush on Matt would sooner or later die down.

"You're just scared that you'll lose, so I have a proposition, whoever loses takes a shot of vodka," Nick says proudly. "That's the dumbest thing I have heard in my life," Matt says crossing his arms. "Well, as far as I know, five-year-olds can't drink vodka, so who's the five-year-old now huh?" Nick defends his idea. "We all are a bit tipsy so the chances of you winning are fair, you're just a pussy," Nick says trying to provoke Matt. "Yeah Matt, don't be a pussy," Chris joins in. "Okay, that's it, we're playing, and I'm going to win," Matt says and smiles confidently. Nick claps his hands excitedly as he stands up and walks to the pile of board games that are stacked on a shelf above the TV.

"Found it! Y'all are going down, I hope y'all like the taste of losing, because y'all are gonna be licking the L's shortly," Nick says with a devious smile. "Okay, this one's clearly had more than enough to drink," Matt says as he facepalms.

Nick sets up the game, laying the playing pad down on the floor and placing the spinner next to the mat. "So, who wants to go first?" Nick says grinning. "I'll go," Chris answers and bends down to spin the indicator. "Right foot on red." He says out loud and steps on the playing mat. We all take our turns and the game is starting to get intense.

"Nick you are going to lose," Matt says his voice getting higher at the end of the sentence. The poses we are in are criminal. We are four, grown adults standing on this little mat, meant for children. At this point in the game, the slightest movement could make us all fall down. "Chris, you look like a deformed frog," I say as I'm laughing, almost snorting. Chris's right foot is still on red, his left foot is on blue, his right hand on blue, in front of his left leg, and his left hand is in front of his right leg. Nick is chilling in a comfortable position, meanwhile, I'm stretched out, so close to fall.

We all spin a few times. When all of a sudden Chris loses his balance and falls. "Hah, it wasn't even your turn, you're out, take a shot," Nick yells, happy that he's still in the game. "This is so annoying, 100 bucks on Nick falling next," Chris says as he takes a shot of vodka. I'm now in a compromising position, both of my hands are on red and my feet are on green and yellow, my position is leaving my ass high up in the air. Nick is now barely staying in the game.

"Nick it's your turn," Chris says out loudly, the alcohol he's had, making him unaware of the volume he's speaking in. Nick spins the spinner, "right hand green," Chris says. As Nick tried to move his hand, he lost his balance and fell. "Fuck," he yells out as he stands up. "Where my money at?" Chris says as he hands Nick a shot of vodka.

"Spin it," I say to Matt, and he does. "Left hand red," I say and Matt starts to move his left hand. Now both of his hands need to be on red and the only place in order for him not to fall is on either side of my hands. As he moves over me he brushes against my ass making me lose my balance slightly. Placing his hand next to mine, his head is now next to mine, "sorry," he says quietly, his hot breath brushing against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

It's now my turn and if I don't think of something quickly, I'm going to lose. I look over my shoulder to see what Chris and Nick are doing, they are currently in the kitchen getting some drinks. My lips move making a small grin, this is perfect.

As I reach for the spinner, I pop up my ass, making it brush against Matt's crotch. "Right hand red, looks like I'm safe for now," I say as I turn to Matt, a smirk appearing on my lips.

After taking my turn, I move back, again brushing against his crotch, now feeling something hard. "Don't do that," Matt says in an almost moaning tone. "Do what?" I say looking at him. "Don't try to act all innocent," he says in a serious tone. "It's your turn," I say, a smile plastered on my face.

Matt takes his turn and spins the spinner, "left foot green," He says, looking at the spinner. As he tries to move, I once again pop up my ass, making him brush against it once again, the tension on his crotch getting too much for him, making him lose his balance and he falls. "Ha, I win," I say as I stand up clapping my hands together. Nick and Chris rush over to the living room.

"Did Matt lose?" Nick asks. "Yeah because she cheated," he says, anger and frustration can be heard in his voice. "What did I do, that counts as cheating?" I ask, raising one eyebrow, as a smirk creeps on my lips again, knowing he can't say anything without explaining him further. "Nothing," Matt murmurs. "What's that? I couldn't hear you," I tease him. "I said, nothing," Matt raises his voice, standing up and storming off to his room.

"I am too drunk for this," Chris says throwing up his hands as he turns around and heads to his room. "Can you help me clean this up?" I ask Nick, and he nods kneeling down.

We cleaned everything up and put the game back in its place. "You ready to head to bed?" Nick asks. "You go, I'm going to come later, I'm going to check on Matt," I say as I start walking to Matt's room. "Goodnight Nick," I say smiling. "Goodnight." He answers.

Without knocking I open the door to Matt's room. "Hey, you okay?" I ask as I look at him. He's sitting on the edge of his bed looking straight at me. "I was waiting for you to come in, want to play a game?" Matt says. "Sure, what game?" I ask unsure what game he had planned.

"Since we're playing games, let's play a game you can't cheat in," he says a smirk creeping on his lips. "Simon says, close the door," Matt says. Oh shit, we're already playing. I close the door not moving an inch. "Simon says turn around and lock the door," his voice getting deeper. I do as he says. "Simon says turn back around and stand in front of me," he says. As I turn around, about to walk in front of Matt, my eyes meet his, his eyes grow dark and his lips form a slight grin.

"Simon says strip," he says his tone getting even deeper, a hint of lust accompanying his voice. "What?" I ask, my voice slightly trembling. "You heard me, Simon says strip," he repeats. I start off by taking off my baby tee throwing it on the ground leaving my upper body fully naked. I slip out of my shorts, letting them fall to my ankles before stepping out of them. I pick up my head to look at Matt, he stares me up and down licking his lips.

He stands up and walks closer to me, his hands move my hair to one side of my shoulder, then proceeds to leave a wet kiss on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. His hand reaches over my body, touching my neck as he stands behind me "Left hand red." He says as slides his hand down my neck stopping at my breast. He massages my boob, pulling on my nipple making me moan.

"You like that?" He whispers in my ear. I don't answer. "Simon says answer," Matt says as his other hand slides down into my panties, pressing his finger against my clit before rubbing circles, making me moan. "Yes Matt I like that," I say as I throw back my head resting it on Matt's shoulder. He pulls out his hand, "Simon says turn around," Matt says and as soon as I do, he smashes his lips onto mine.

Matt wraps his hand around my waist taking small steps, leading us to his bed without breaking the kiss. I brush against his clothed cock, rubbing it slightly before I feel a slap on my hand making me break the kiss, I look up. "Nuh uh," Matt says shaking his finger, "Simon didn't say," he smirks and pulls his black t-shirt over his head throwing it to the ground next to my clothes.

He removes his belt, sliding it out of the belt loops of his oversized jean shorts, making them slide down a little, revealing the band of his boxers. He looks at me before moving his gaze to my hands.

"Simon says, extend your hands." His voice was demanding, I brought out my hands, and he grabbed them and put them together before wrapping and tying them together with his belt.

Matt puts his hand on my hips pushing them back, guiding me backward. As I take steps backward, I eventually fall on his bed. He crawls on top of me, spreading my legs with his knee, making space for himself.

He yanks up my hands by the tied belt, pinning them above my head, immediately, Matt attacks my neck with his lips, leaving a trail of kisses from my neck to my breasts, he kisses softly, slipping in a few bites. His hand slides up my thigh, stopping at my heat, his thumb starts to draw circles on my clit.

"Matt," I moan out. "Shhh, we don't want Nick or Chris hearing us do we?" He says looking up at me, taking his lips off of my breast. I shake my head in response and he smirks, "good girl," he says as he continues to rub circles on my clit his lips now moving back from my breast to my collarbone to my jaw before meeting my lips.

"Matt," I moan out as I try to pull my hands out of his grip. "Matt what?" He says as his hands push harder on mine, making sure I can't move. "Please, I need you," I whimper. He lets go of my hands and pulls away from my clit, making me let out a whimper from the loss of contact.

I immediately bring my hands down to my clit and start rubbing circles on my clit, pleasuring myself. As he unbuttons his jeans, he notices my hands, he grabs and pins them above my head again. "Are you gonna make me punish you?" He says his voice filthy and dark. "No," I say, shaking my head and looking at him. "Yeah, be a good girl for me," Matt says practically growling.

I move up and down my hips trying to get some relief as I watch him undo his jean shorts pulling them down, his boxers with them making his cock spring out, hitting his lower abdomen, precum glistening on his tip. Matt looks at me, "see what your little strategy to win did to me," he says raising his eyebrow.

"Please Matt, I can't take it anymore," I say as I scoot closer. Matt moves on top of me pinning my hands again, his other hand sliding my panties to the side before aligning himself with my heat. He pushes his cock in slowly before pulling it out almost completely, then pushing back in hard. "Oh- my- god- Matt-" I moan out between thrusts, his hand moving over my mouth to muffle my moans.

Matt fastens his thrusts, with each thrust going in deeper, making me moan out loud, he leans into my ear. "That's it, sweetheart, take my cock so good," Matt growls, pushing in me deeper than ever, his tip hitting my g-spot with every thrust. "Mmmm Matt you feel so good, I'm close," I moan out feeling my climax creeping up tension building in my stomach.

Matt moves his elbow next to my head, positioning himself so he's able to thrust even deeper. I arch my back as the pleasure takes over my body. His quiet moans landed in my ear, his hot breath sending me over the edge.

"Matt, I'm about to cum," I moan out. He smashes his lips onto mine in order to contain my moans as he plants a few more thrusts before I feel my walls tighten around his length, feeling the knot in my stomach releasing, my climax coming over me, I moan into the kiss. His hips continue to move as he thrusts in me a few more times before planting his cum inside me groaning, breaking the kiss.

He pulls out falling next to me, turning his head to look at me. "Who won?" He says smirking. "I did," I answer smiling, knowing this will piss him off. "Can you untie me?" I say as I shake my hands. "You didn't say Simon says," Matt answers teasing me back. "Simon says round two," I say as a devilish smirk appears on my lips.

I guess I won't be heading to Nick's room tonight.

[grudgecollector]

hii queen! i saw that your requests are open, could you write something with daryl and a reader in the earlier seasons who are dating in secret? (they dont want no one to know because daryl is new to relationships and i believe he would be more reserved a little in the beggining), however the group ended up noticing how soft he is to her and how he always keep an eye on her😩 and also i just wanted to say that i read some of yours writtings and they are amazing💕💕

Gimme Shelter | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Tags: Swearing, twd typical violence, kind of slow burn, fluff, lightish angst, half proof-read

Words: 4.4k

A/N: Fank you so much nonny 💖😭 I've been really enjoying writing for Daryl, he was one of my biggest obsessions as a teenager, and that obsession will continue to prevail.

And this is such a cute request, I love secret relationship tropes so much. I decided to do Prison era!Daryl if that's okay, I assume you probably meant for like season 1 or 2, but I felt like it would be cute in the prison.

I know that a slow burn wasn't requested BUT the thoughts just kept coming the more I wrote. Also sorry this took so long to post.

Growing up people would always say you will find the one when you least expect it. Whether it’s in a grocery store, at the park, in a museum. That one person you’re bound to spend the rest of your life with will be there. As if they were waiting for you, and you for them. It was a fairytale dream, one that you lost faith in long ago. 

There were moments you had thought that maybe you finally found that person. Until disappointment would strike time and time again. Your experience with relationships had been less than ideal, never lasting longer than a year. Cheaters, liars, and worst of all abusers. Those types of men had always been the most drawn to you. Making you feel as if you were cursed somehow, unlucky. 

After a while and a slew of pity attempts, you gave up on dating for your own benefit. Deciding it would be best to focus more on yourself. Not allowing yourself to succumb to the societal pressure of getting married by twenty and popping kids out by twenty one. 

That was the dream of a delusional small town teenager, too young to think for themselves let alone plan a future family, and that had been your dream once upon a time. Maybe you read too many stories about young girls finding their prince charming and living happily ever after.

You started to value your alone time. Enjoying the feeling of not having to walk on eggshells in order to keep the other party happy. Things were smooth sailing for about two years. You changed your life around, got a new job, a new car, and a new apartment all within a few months. 

A newfound happiness was settling inside of you, you were beginning to find yourself again. You became more confident in who you were as a person, allowing yourself to actually live your life instead of just simply being alive. 

But life had a twisted sense of humor. 

Things started with frantic breaking news segments on the news. Reporters talking about the horrifying developments coming out of France. In the beginning you had hoped that things wouldn’t escalate past that, hoped that this would be an isolated incident. But things just got worse the more you watched. An unknown virus wreaking havoc across the entirety of Europe, spreading like wildfire across each country. 

After the first case of the virus was reported in Ohio, you started to worry. Things were getting too close for your liking, and with the details they were releasing it wasn’t going to get any better. With each new segment that aired your mother would call, urgently telling you to come back to live with them until this sickness blows over. You knew that it would be your best bet. 

Once the local grocery stores started getting raided, you found yourself being thankful that your family was full of survivalist nuts. Growing up hearing them praise people like Jim Baker, and other televangelist hackjobs like him that weaponized fear mongering for profit. 

Your parents home was stocked full of all the essentials thanks to your aunt Jess. First aid kits, canned food, water to last just a little over a month. It was everything you needed and more. 

“Y’always gotta be prepared, honey.” Your wine-drunk aunt had told you after a week, the both of you lounging on the sofa as you watched the news. “You don’t know how long this crap’s gonna last.” 

It all went by so quickly. The news stations eventually stopped airing not long after the first report hit Georgia, they were urging everyone to evacuate to Atlanta, leaving the streets a mess of honking and dead-stop traffic right outside of your parent’s home. 

And for a short while you had settled into this false hope that you were safe there with them. 

That was until you came back from a short trip to a ransacked Dollar General just down the street. 

The house was oddly quiet when you walked inside. The TV was muted on a flickering static screen, your dad’s recliner was empty, a blanket on the floor. The backdoor that led to the porch was ajar, the sun shining through the crack onto the wood flooring. You remembered that feeling in your stomach as you walked closer, fingers slowly curling around the doorknob. 

When you walked outside it felt as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head. The horrifying sight of your mother’s body being gutted by your own father and uncle, fresh blood dripped down the side of the RV next to your aunt’s already mangled corpse. Your hands were trembling fiercely, a nauseating coppery smell filling your nose. 

All you could remember was running. Packing whatever you could get your hands on before taking your mother’s minivan.  

Not long after the death of your family, you were taken in by a small group of five. They were unstable, barely hanging on by a thread, with almost nightly arguments tilting them further over the edge. 

It made things harder for you. The tension starting to make you too nervous to sleep without a knife tucked securely under your pillow. 

The self appointed leader demanded too much, wanting more than half of the rations to himself. He was a cruel hearted individual, mind diluted by the atrocities you were all forced to witness. A dangerous man who was quick tempered, and ruthless to anything or anybody you came across. 

After a month of running with them you made a mistake. You hid a portion of your findings from him. Food that he would have taken the majority of. But you were starving, at the point of hardly caring about your survival if it meant you could eat just a little bit more.

Other members had found out though, outing you quickly. As a punishment he tied you up, stole everything from you. Photo albums, your weapons, your food, bandages, it didn’t matter what it was. After beating you he left you in the supply closet of a convenient store you were temporarily camping out in. 

Part of you half expected them to come back, but you knew better than to think positively now, that could get you killed nowadays. 

The minutes blended into hours into what felt like days. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles dug harshly into your skin, biting into the raw bleeding flesh as you struggled to free yourself. Eventually it got to the point where you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your body exhausted and dehydrated. You were sure you would die there. 

But, much to your surprise, your luck hadn’t run dry just yet. 

In your haze you could hear the sound of once shuffling corpses hit against the door with a heavy thud. Hushed voices barely graced your ears through the door, two men talking to each other. 

Your voice was hoarse as you pathetically attempted to call out. Your throat was dry from the lack of water, forcing your words to come out as a croaking squeak.  

The door had been opened cautiously, the beam of a flashlight assaulting your eyes. You attempted to focus on the man crouching down above you, his blurred features obscured by the baseball hat he wore. 

“Rick!” The man called over his shoulder, another figure coming into view. He was wearing what seemed to be a police officer’s uniform. Whether it was stolen or actually his, you didn’t care, you just wanted out of this damn closet. 

Both men were quick to cut your binds and hauled you to your feet. The quick motion was all it took for you to finally pass out. A thick blanket of exhaustion pressed into you, forcing your eyes to flutter closed and your body to go completely limp. Unable to cling onto consciousness any longer

In those last moments you almost thought that they would just leave you there. Not wanting to bother helping a now passed out stranger, and you wouldn’t have blamed them if they did abandon you. 

Instead when you woke up you were laying on a couch, an older man with short white hair standing over you. 

At first you had almost believed you dreamed it all, the outbreak, the group. That you were in some sort of comatose state and the world was not overrun by flesh eating monsters. But the stinging pain deep within your wrists proved otherwise, the gashes covered by white gauze and medical tape. 

The white haired man, Hershel, ran you through your current state. Malnourishment, dehydration, feverish temperatures. It was evidently clear that you had been through the wringer, and if Glenn and Rick had not found you when they did, you would have died within the day. In fact he had said it was a miracle that Hershel himself could have saved you. 

You figured you had always been stubborn, though, you never gave up easily. 

Hershel had been kind enough to allow you to stay in his house until you got better. Providing you with enough water and food to get you back on your feet. 

The family allowed you to use their shower. When you looked at yourself in the mirror you understood why they were so insistent. A thick layer of grime and blood coated your skin, your hair was matted, your clothes ripped beyond repair. 

You couldn’t help but cry, realizing just how quickly you lost yourself out there. Your humanity has faded so much in such a short amount of time, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. You looked like a stranger to yourself.

Over the next week Rick’s group urged you to stay. They knew you had nowhere else to go, no family to run back to. 

You were hesitant, though. You didn’t want to continue to be a burden, you were a stranger infiltrating an already close knit group. The closeness they had made you feel even more lonely than you did in your previous group, because at least when it came to them, you didn’t crave that companionship. 

Gone were the days of blind trust, knowing that everything always came with a price these days. So your knife stayed tucked beneath your pillow, fingers clutching onto the handle as you kept an eye on the zipped up entrance of the tent. 

On many sleepless nights, which were frequent, you would sit yourself in front of the dwindling fire outside of your tent. Mind wandering to everything that’s happened to you in the past three months, the things you’ve done to stay alive, the permanent scars you would carry with you for life. 

You stewed in your bitterness. Chewing ruthlessly on the skin around your fingernails. 

Your tent was further away from the rest of the group’s, tucked away in your own area. You found yourself watching the rest of them at first. Thoughts of running away while everyone slept crossed your mind more times than you could count. 

Until one night you heard a twig snap behind you, your knife quickly unsheathed and pointing towards what you thought to be a threat, 

“Geez. You’re almost as bad as Daryl.” One of the older men from Rick’s group, Dale, chuckled as he walked closer to your secluded camp, his hands up in surrender. “But I can go if you want.” He smiled softly. 

“Sorry… Bad habit.” You said quietly, setting your knife back down next to your thigh. 

He shook his head, taking a seat in front of the fire, “No need to be sorry. I can’t blame you for still being a little paranoid.” 

Dale quickly became a source of comfort for you, sporting an almost fatherly personality when talking to you. He was kind, and realistic which was exactly what you needed after everything you’ve been through. Over the course of a few nightly visits he was able to get you to open up a little, telling him about your former group, he was sympathetic and understanding. 

“The world has truly gone to hell.” He grimaced, taking his bucket hat off of his head. “But, we have good people here. Believe it or not.” His smile was reassuring. 

After a few days you started to come around more. Helping the women with laundry, listening to the stories they told about their lives before, anecdotes to keep themselves sane. 

It wasn’t hard to understand why they were so close. The tragedy of their former camp just outside of Atlanta, the C.D.C, Lori’s son getting shot, the people they’ve lost along the way. 

Slowly you felt more like yourself again.

Every so often they would mention that same name Dale did, Daryl. The only member of the group you had yet to meet personally. 

You had seen him walking around the camp, or tucked away in his own tent, further away from the group much like yours was. He was gruff looking, intimidating to the eye, and his occasional temper didn’t help much. But with how insistent he was on finding Carol’s missing daughter, you could tell there was warmth beneath his rigid exterior. 

The first time you talked to him was less than ideal. You were attempting to set up a snare trap in the woods, wanting to try and contribute a little bit more. The frustration quickly turned to embarrassment when he snuck up on you. Your feet got caught in your own trap and caused you to trip and fall. 

“Looks like y’caught somethin’.” Daryl attempted to joke, walking past you and deeper into the woods with his crossbow pointed towards the trees. 

You cut yourself free of the poorly made snare and ran to catch up with him. Choosing your words carefully. 

“Daryl, right?” All you got was a grumble in response, “Listen I know you don’t know me or anythin’... But could you teach me how to hunt?” 

“Teach yourself. I ain’t got time for babysittin’.” His response stung a little, harsher than you had hoped it would be. 

You figured you should have expected that, though, the conversation him and Shane had this morning was heated. An argument almost leading to a full on fight. The tension was growing higher and higher as the days dragged on with no signs of Sophia. 

Then the group found out about what was inside the barn.

One day when Rick was out helping Hershel, Shane took it upon himself to break the chains on the barn door. Walker after walker spilled out, being shot down ruthlessly by some members of Rick’s group, while the Greene family cried out for them to stop. Their worst nightmare coming true, as well as Carol’s. 

A little girl limped out, skin grey and beginning to rot. Her hair was matted with leaves, eyes a milky grey color, and a rasping snarl emitting from her. There was a large gash on her shoulder, a bite. It was devastating to see a child fall victim to such a death. But even more so for Carol, coming to realize that each day they restlessly searched, she had already been dead.. 

The safety that the farm provided didn’t last long after that. 

Shane was quickly losing his grip, Dale was killed by a lone walker, and eventually the fields were overrun by walkers. A massive hoard stumbling onto the property, drawn in by the frequent gunfire. 

You had lost quite a few on that night, good people that had helped you come out of your shell, people that didn’t deserve what they got. In all honesty you didn’t think you would have made it out either if it wasn’t for Andrea and Daryl. 

After the fall of the farm, you were all lost. Hershel and his family had lost their home, and the entire group was left to search. 

But you had to bury your sadness for the time being, winter was quickly approaching. The leaves were changing into a crisp orange color, and the wind had a bite to it in the mornings, leaving you shivering as you huddled closer to the fire. Daryl had been kind enough to let you borrow his poncho some nights, insisting you probably needed it more than him. 

Daryl seemed to warm up to you after a while too. He would subtly make sure you ate by leaving a half eaten can of vegetables next to you, or would occasionally sharpen your knife for you after doing his own. It was a kind gesture, letting you know that he was starting to trust you. 

Eventually it got to the point where your group finally ran out of canned food. There were no stores around, and everyone was too cold or tired to go anywhere. So Daryl decided to take you out to the woods, finally going out of his way to teach you how to hunt. 

“Y’know what you’re trackin’?” He asked one day, slowly walking beside you, following a small winding trail in the woods. 

You were quiet for a second, thinking as you analyzed the tracks next to your feet, “Could be a deer, whatever it is, it’s got hooves.” 

“Obviously.” He huffed, resisting the urge to smile when you glared at him. 

“Shut the hell up, man.” A small sigh came from you, “Could be a hog.” You crouched down and moved the leaves out of the way to get a better look, “The prints are close together, if it were a deer they’d be further apart, right?” 

Daryl just shrugged, “You tell me.” 

That’s how your hunts would usually go, Daryl providing frustrating nonanswers as you attempted to close in on your prey. He wasn’t going to babysit you, as he had originally said when you first asked, you had to figure it out yourself. You knew that was the only way you’d be able to learn, even if it was mildly annoying. 

The winter finally started to melt into spring, temperatures rising and falling occasionally until settling into an in between. And soon enough your restless searching came to an end, the high chain link fences surrounding a prison with walkers meandering the expansive field calling your names. A soon to be shelter for your group and many others. 

The fight against Woodbury had been a painful ordeal, with Maggie and Glenn getting taken hostage, and Daryl leaving with his brother. The group was briefly left in shambles, hanging on by a thread as Rick slowly faded away, losing his way after Lori’s untimely death and the birth of her daughter. 

When Daryl left it broke your heart a little. The two of you had bonded over the course of the harsh winter, often seeking each other out as a heat source. Whispering stories of your families filling the silence as the biting wind wrapped itself around you. But you could never blame him for leaving, knowing you would do the same thing if you could. 

The first attack from the Governor was when Daryl finally returned, his mouthy brother in tow. They had rescued Rick on the outskirts of the fence, luckily finding him just in time before he was overpowered. 

It made you happy to see your friend again, a hand squeezing his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It had been a lot less awkward than you expected, his arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing softly, reassuring you that he was okay. 

“Well, ain’t that just cute.” Merle had teased, pinching his little brother on the cheek. 

But the tragedies were never ending, your group seemed to constantly be one step away from death’s doorstep. 

The Governor decided to make his way back to the prison, armed gunmen following behind him. 

They wanted to execute every last one of you no matter what it took. Your group had laid out traps, pretending to have left as requested, lulling them in with a false hope that you were gone. Until the shrill sound of the prison sirens started, smoke grenades being thrown down at their feet in the darkened hallways. 

The armed militia of men, mothers, and teenagers the Governor recruited had run away in fear, knowing that their fates would be sealed if they stayed any longer. 

As the weeks continued after the attack, things started to look up. That once forgotten positivity slowly makes its way back into your heart, along with a smile as you allow yourself to get to know the former residence of Woodbury. Your community was slowly forming, a home being made out of the prison. 

It was easy to become comfortable. 

And as your fondness grew for Daryl, you remembered what your mother used to tell you. 

“You will find the one when you least expect it.” 

Who knew that the world had to end in order for you to find him. With every soft touch, lingering whisper, and a quick stolen kiss in the shadows of your cell, it grew increasingly more obvious that your mother may have been right. 

Daryl was the only person you felt safe enough to be vulnerable around. His gentleness towards you breaking down the walls around your heart, settling himself deep within it. And you gladly let him. You both decided to keep your relationship a secret. Enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, while also avoiding any teasing remarks that would come from your group. 

You knew that this was Daryl’s first serious relationship, so you wanted to allow him the grace of warming up to the idea. You wanted him to become more comfortable with himself, taking his time with you, soothing any anxious wandering thought he may have. 

But you knew that the group would notice eventually. Hell, they already were. The small teasing remarks being thrown your way would make Daryl stiffen. He would pick at the strings on his denim jacket as he huffed and grumbled something in response. 

“You want me to slip her a note or somethin’?” Carol teased him, nudging her elbow into his side, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She laughed quietly when he rolled his eyes, “Come on Daryl-” 

She was cut off by someone running up to him, Glenn’s frantic eyes meeting Daryl and Carol’s before quickly sputtering out your name, “I don’t know what happened but-” 

The poor boy could barely get the words out before Daryl ran off towards the cell block. 

You were laying in your cell, blood covering your shirt as your side bled profusely. Hershel was quick to try and stop the bleeding, urging everyone to give him room to work. 

“If you want her to live, get out, now!” 

The blood drained from Daryl’s face as he looked at you. Bruises were beginning to bloom on your face and arms, your nose was bleeding and there was a slash on your cheek. Your boyfriend directed his anger towards one of the new members you had taken on a run, pinning him roughly against the concrete wall with his forearm. 

“The hell happened out there?! Huh?!” Daryl shouted in the scared man’s face, shrinking in on himself as Rick and Maggie tried to pull Daryl off. “Talk!” 

“We-” The man gulped, “We got attacked by a small group…” There were tears in his eyes as he tried to explain, his swollen lip trembling. He didn’t look much better than you did honestly, his eye was almost swollen shut, and there was blood coating his hairline, “She said- said she knew them, some group she was with. I thought they were gonna k-kill us.” He swallowed harshly, “They shot her…”

Daryl swore he could see red. His shoulders heaving as he started to pace, fingers running through his hair as he tried to process what the man had said. His face was hot, body pulsing with anger as he glanced back into your cell to see you lying there motionless. 

He stalked back up towards the man, his gaze hard and threatening as he spoke in a gruff voice, “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.” He pressed his finger hard into the man’s chest, pushing him harshly back into the concrete wall before stalking towards the exit of the prison. 

It took the entire council to talk Daryl out of hunting this group down himself. Carol telling him it was a suicide mission, and he would die if he left like this. Going into a situation blinded by rage was never good for anyone, especially now, with you lying unconscious in your cell. 

Luckily for you the bullet went straight through, and all they had to do was wait for you to wake up. 

Daryl didn’t dare leave your side, a rag gently dabbing across your forehead as he whispered softly to you. Unspoken words that he had wished he had told you sooner, words that only you were allowed to hear him say, something he had never dared utter to another person. Not even his own family. 

“I love you.” 

The time seemed to drag on slowly as he waited, his watchful not leaving you for more than a few seconds. His gentle fingers traced patterns on your skin, ignoring the occasional staring that would come from someone passing by your cell. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the secrecy, not now. 

“That fuckin’ tickles.” He suddenly heard you rasp, your eyes fluttering open and glancing down at his fingers on your forearm. 

Relief washed over Daryl like cool rain on a hot summer's day. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help but lean his head down to rest on your arm, a long sigh being released from his lungs. 

“Daryl…” You whispered, making him look at you, “It was my old group.” 

The look on your face was similar to the one you sported when they first found you, terrified, lost, confused. You didn’t know what to do with yourself knowing that not only were they still alive, but a lot closer than you would have liked. 

“I know.” He replied, his hand holding onto yours, “You don’t have t’worry about that right now.” 

Even though you were able to find happiness in the apocalypse, tragedy never ceased to sneak up from behind every corner. And you guessed that it had become easy to forget that life had a cruel sense of humor. 

It always would.

[imagine-you]

Think I Only Want You Under My Mistletoe [Logan/Reader]

Summary: In which you need a fake date to your parent's Christmas party, Logan volunteers, and you realize that maybe your unrequited crush isn't so unrequited after all. May include: Fake Dating, Real Feelings, Meddlesome Friends, Terrible Parents, and Mistletoe. Word Count: 5.5k Author's Notes: Part of my In Another Life, Perhaps 'verse. In which they're stuck in a Hallmark Movie Universe??? Either way, Merry Christmas, y'all! 🎄

Read on AO3

"Ugh," you groaned, letting your face fall into your hands. You figured it was better than hitting your head against the table in the hopes that your situation would suddenly change.  

"What's wrong?" Ororo asked, studying you across the break room table.  

“My whole life,” you grumbled, knowing you were being childish, but glad that none of your students were around to see it.  

You had managed to get a brief moment of respite from the teenagers roaming the halls of the X-Mansion by retreating to the makeshift teacher's lounge located in a room tucked away near the kitchen. All of you had worked to make it your own space.  

Hank had lugged in a refrigerator and at some point a microwave had shown up on someone's repurposed nightstand. Charles had offered to pay for whatever the staff might have wanted, but all of you seemed to want to fill the room with personal touches and effects. So, someone had dragged in an old table that must have been stored in the attic and other people stole desk chairs from unoccupied rooms. Over time, a coffeemaker had been added along with a small cabinet full of snacks. There were also photos along the wall, candid and professional shots of the staff.  

Your favorite was a group shot where most of you were making a goofy face. Your eyes were always drawn to Remy doing bunny ears behind Logan’s head and Logan in the middle of snarling at Remy to cut it out, but there was just the tiniest bit of a grin peeking at the edges of Logan’s mouth.  

He swore he hated you all, but you knew better. He was part of the family and there was a reason he had stuck around despite his own protests.  

The lounge was one of your favorite places to be and it was even better when you were joined by your fellow teachers and friends. It was a bonus perk knowing that none of the kids were allowed. You loved teaching and you loved all the bright, young students taking up residence in the mansion, but it was nice to get a break from time to time.  

 Especially when you needed a safe place to vent your frustrations about every wrong turn your life seemed to take.  

“No, really, what’s wrong?” Ororo asked again.  

"My parents," you sighed, sliding the invitation you received earlier that morning across the table so she could read it.  

"What's the big deal, sugar?" Rogue wondered, leaning over Ororo’s shoulder so she could read the paper as well. "Sounds like a good time." 

"Every year, it's always the same," you explained, reaching out to grab the invitation when Ororo handed it back. "My parents invite me to their Christmas party and I go because I love them, but I end up having a miserable time." 

"If it's so miserable, why bother going?" Logan asked from where he was leaning up against the table that held the coffeemaker and microwave. He was sipping a beer and looked relaxed in a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. You had a fleeting thought that Logan looked really good and you hoped Charles or Jean hadn't managed to catch that.  

Charles had only grown more meddlesome in his old age and you certainly didn’t need him trying to set you up with Logan. And Logan had been infatuated with Jean for as long as you had known him. You really didn’t cherish the idea of her knowing she had something you desperately wanted.  

"It's complicated," you tried, but rolled your eyes when Logan simply arched a brow at you, unimpressed with your attempt at deflection. "My parents aren't so fond of mutants," you finally conceded, unsurprised at Logan's snort and shake of his head.  

"I might be missing something here, but you're a mutant, aren't you?" Remy asked as he dropped down into the chair at Rogue's side. He let his arm stretch across the back of her chair and you noticed the way she leaned into him, careful not to let her skin brush against him.  

You hadn't noticed Remy enter the room, since you had been so focused on Logan. You shrugged your shoulders, staring morosely at the rest of your sandwich. "Yeah," you sighed, meeting Remy's gaze. "They love me. They do," you insisted at Remy's incredulous look. "But they want me to be normal. I only see them a couple times a year, since I'm usually here with the X-Men, and every year at Christmas, without fail, I show up without a date like an idiot. And then my parents try to set me up with some normal human guy as if that will make me somehow more acceptable to them." 

"That sure sounds a lot like conditional love, sugar," Rogue mused, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Why don't you just skip out on the party this year? Save yourself the hassle?" 

"Because as much as they've royally fucked me up with all their anti-mutant bullshit, I still love them. I can't help it. So, if I have to suffer through another year of trying to ward off some random jackass' advances while my parents stand there smiling as if they can't see how uncomfortable I am? Then I'll deal with the torture if I can make them happy for a few minutes." 

Silence invaded the room and you suddenly got the sense that every person in the room was staring at you. You didn't realize until you said it out loud just how fucked up your situation with your parents really was, but you were so deep into it that you didn't know if you'd ever be able to claw your way free.  

"Well," Ororo started, leaning forward across the table and placing a hand on your arm, as if trying to offer you comfort. "If you want them to stop meddling, then show up with a date. Break the cycle." 

"But that's the problem," you protested, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'm not dating anyone, so I don't have a date." 

"Well, it's not like it's got to be a real one, darling. Why I'm sure Remy would love to go with you. Your parents will sure get a kick out of him," Rogue offered, reaching out to settle a gloved hand on Remy's shoulder.  

Remy offered you a smirk before holding out his hand with his palm turned up. You furrowed your brow as you rested your hand in his and laughed when he pulled your hand close and kissed it.  

"It would be my pleasure," he vowed with a wink.  

You glanced from Remy to Rogue and then back again, realizing they were completely serious. You knew your parents would flip when they met Remy. He was charming, but chaotic, and sure to piss your parents off. If his red, glowing eyes didn't give away that he was a mutant, then you were sure it would only be a matter of time before he blew something up.  

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad showing up with a date. Remy was your friend and you knew that he would do whatever it took to make sure you weren't cornered by some asshole who had been misled by your parents into thinking you were on the market. You felt safe with Remy and maybe for once you might actually enjoy one of your parent's Christmas parties.  

 "Alright," you decided, nodding your head as you drew you hand back. "Yeah, that sounds like--" 

"I'll do it," Logan interrupted, startling you.  

You had completely forgotten he was practically standing right behind you. You turned in your chair to look at him. You were surprised to see him studying you, expression intent.  

"What?" You blurted, sure that you had misheard Logan.  

"I'll be your date," Logan offered before casually raising his beer and taking a sip, as if he hadn't sent your heart into a frenzy.  

"You don't have to," you assured him, not sure how you would be able to handle Logan as a date to your parent's Christmas party. It wasn't that you didn't want to go with Logan, because you absolutely did. The problem was that you had had a pathetic crush on him the moment you first laid eyes on him, but Logan was notoriously head over heels for Jean. 

 Even though she was married to Scott, you had heard time and again from practically every person on the X-Men that Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he met her. So, you wouldn't be able to handle a fake date with Logan, because you would spend the whole time desperately wishing that it was real.  

"I want to," Logan insisted, finally standing up out of his slouch against the table that had been converted into a coffee bar. He rolled his shoulders, like he was preparing for a fight, and you wondered why he was being so adamant about being your date.  

"That's sweet of you, Logan, but Remy already offered, and--," you tried before you were cut off by Logan again.  

"I'll do it," Logan stressed, a hint of a growl in his voice as he stared down Remy like he was challenging him to something.  

You glanced from Logan to Remy to Logan again.  

"What the hell is going on," you muttered, shooting a bewildered look at Ororo and Rogue to see if they were as confused as you were.  

Rogue looked amused and Ororo was watching Logan with an arched brow. But neither one seemed to be questioning the events that were playing out before them.  

After what seemed like hours of intense eye contact between the two, Remy finally held up his hands in surrender. He shot you a wink, ignoring Logan's grunt of protest.  

"I'm sure our Logan will do a fine job playing your paramour," Remy added, reaching out to run his fingers along your arm. "But if it doesn't work out, you know where to find me." 

Logan grumbled something under his breath before he strode over. He snatched the invitation off the table, succeeding in separating you and Remy, before he skimmed over the page.  

"How long will it take to get there?" Logan asked, glancing down at you.  

"It's about a three-hour drive from here," you told him, trying not to focus too much on the fact that Logan was so close to you that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. The fabric of his sweatpants was dangerously close to brushing against your arm and you had to force yourself to stay absolutely still, because you weren't even sure what you would do if you allowed yourself to move.  

"Be ready to leave by four tomorrow, then," Logan ordered before he placed his empty bottle of beer on the table between you and Remy and left the room.  

You stared at the door for a moment before finally turning your gaze on the three people patiently waiting for you to break free of your stupor.  

"What the hell just happened?" You wondered, still trying to catch up.  

"What happened," Remy started, leaning back in his seat and placing his arm along the back of Rogue's chair again, "my beautiful, clueless friend, is that Ororo here owes me twenty dollars." 

"What," you muttered, watching helplessly as Ororo handed Remy the money she evidently owed him.  

"It was only a matter of time," Remy continued, tucking the money away in his pocket. "Logan's wanted you for years." 

You scoffed, ready to deny it, but shut up at Ororo's eye roll.  

"I thought he would never make a move, but Remy had far more faith in Logan than I did." 

"A move? What move? There wasn't a move," you insisted.  

"Swooping in and stealing you away from a fake date with my Remy? That was a move," Rogue assured you, grinning at you. "It was only a matter of time. Everyone knows about Logan's feelings except for you."   

"There are no feelings, because he's been pining for Jean for years," you reminded them. You stood up, grabbing the invitation off the table, and fixed them all with a determined look. "You're all wrong, you know that? Nothing's going to happen between Logan and me," you told them before leaving the room.  

You clutched the paper in your hands and tried to ignore the fact that you really, really wanted something to happen between you and Logan.  

The next afternoon, you were nearly done getting dressed when someone knocked on your door. You glanced at the clock, realizing it was nearly four, and rushed to pull on your jacket as you walked to the door.  

You opened the door and stood, stunned, at the sight of Logan dressed in a dark t-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. This was as close to dressed up as Logan got and you didn't get why he was going to all the effort just for you or your mutant-hating parents.  

"Did you shave?" You blurted, noting that his usual scruff was a little more contained than usual.  

Logan shrugged his shoulders, stepping to the side and gesturing for you to lead the way. You narrowed your eyes at him as you passed him, making for the front door of the mansion. Logan reached out and stopped you with a hand on your elbow, steering you towards the garage instead.  

"Are we taking your bike?" Temperatures were quickly dropping outside and you didn't exactly want to freeze your ass off even if you would be pressed up against Logan.  

"Nope," Logan answered, not bothering to clarify until he was standing right beside Scott's car.  

"Are we stealing Summers' car?"  

Logan held up the keys, flashing you a quick grin. "Asked for permission this time," he informed you before rounding the car and pulling open the passenger side door. He stood there, watching you expectantly, before you finally forced yourself to move.  

"Thanks," you told him, gifting him with a smile, before settling into the passenger seat.  

Logan gently closed the door for you before moving towards the driver's side. It wasn't long before he was pulling the car out of the garage as you put your parent's address into the navigation system. Christmas music faintly played, filling the silence between you, and you kept shooting nervous looks over at Logan. His shoulders were tense and his hands periodically clenched the steering wheel tight. You couldn’t tell if he was regretting his decision or feeling just as anxious as you were.  

The silence began to feel excruciatingly awkward, but you didn't know how to fill it. You spent so long staring resolutely out the window that you didn't even notice when you began to drift off, your head lolling back against the headrest as your eyes closed.  

"Y/N," Logan called, his hand on your shoulder cautiously shaking you awake.  

"What?" You grumbled, reluctantly opening your eyes and squinting over at him.  

Logan looked enraptured, a soft smile on his face as he studied you.  

"We're here," he told you, prompting you to look out the windshield to the sight of your parent's home. Logan had parked the car in the long, winding driveway. There were already several cars parked along the side of it, which only made the driveway seem longer. "So, your family's loaded, huh?" 

"Yeah," you groaned with a grimace. "Why do you think they keep trying to marry me off to all their rich friend's sons? They want their legacy to continue or whatever bullshit goes on in their heads." 

"Damn," Logan sighed, shaking his head. "Good thing you won't have to worry about that this year, huh?"  

You nodded your head, finally making yourself look at Logan again. You reached out, tentative, and placed your hand on his arm. "Logan?" 

"Yeah?" He asked, staring down at your hand before turning slightly in his seat to face you.  

"Thanks," you said, pulling your hand away when you realized you had been touching him for way too long to be normal. "For doing this," you clarified, ignoring the way your cheeks flushed at his attention. "You really didn't have to, you know." 

Logan stared at you for one drawn-out intense moment and you fought the urge to look away. You inanely felt like you were in a predator's sights, which was stupid because Logan would never hurt you, but you still felt like you were being hunted. 

"Yeah, I did," he finally responded, his gaze lingering on you before he glanced away.  

Before you could question him, Logan got out of the car. You stared at the closed driver's side door for a moment before you took a deep breath and opened the passenger door. Logan met you just as you were getting out and he closed the car door for you.   

He held out his arm and you linked yours with his as you headed up towards the house. You had to stop yourself from swaying into Logan's side. There was a feeling rising within you that you weren't sure how to contain. It was anticipation and longing and fear, because if you fucked this up, then what would you do? It would be awkward living and working in the same place as Logan and you hated the idea of avoiding him all to save yourself some dignity.  

Before you were ready, you were standing on your parent's doorstep, hesitant to announce your arrival.  

"What's wrong?" Logan asked, nudging you in the side with his elbow.  

"We can leave," you blurted, avoiding his gaze. "We can leave and just skip this year and they never have to know I was here." 

Logan sighed before unhooking his arm from yours and wrapping it around your shoulders. "I've got you," he promised. "Now ring the damn doorbell." 

"That was almost sweet," you muttered, grinning at Logan's snort of amusement.  

You reluctantly reached out to ring the doorbell, wincing at the chime you had heard throughout all your childhood. It meant you were home and not where you really belonged at the X-Mansion. You were still debating the merits of just making a run for it when the door opened and you were met with the sight of your mother.  

She looked genuinely happy to see you, which was really one of the only things that was keeping you rooted to the spot. But then she realized you weren't alone and she turned her attention towards Logan. The warmth in her smile faded into something more polite and suited for company.  

"Oh, you brought a friend," your mom observed, the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval.  

"I brought a date," you corrected her, trying not to startle when Logan dropped his hold on your shoulders and instead grabbed your hand. Feeling Logan lace his fingers through yours felt like the greatest thing ever and you hated that he was only doing it for show.  

"And who is this?" Your mom asked, already dismissive of Logan despite knowing nothing about him.  

She knew one thing, you thought, doing your best not to scowl at your mom. She hadn't picked Logan for you, so of course he wasn't good enough.  

"Logan, ma'am," he introduced with a nod of his head.  

"And how do you know my daughter, Logan?" Your mom interrogated, staring him down as if she could make him disappear if she concentrated hard enough.  

It was then you realized your mom was refusing to move until she got her answers. Your mom hated being perceived as rude and you knew she must really not want Logan there if she wasn't even going to pretend to welcome him.  

"Y/N and I work together and--" Logan cut himself off and shot you a wary look. You shook your head, letting him know not to tack on that you practically lived together as well. "We work together," he settled on with a small shrug of his shoulders.  

"Are you one of those?" Your mom asked, gesturing briefly towards you.  

You felt Logan tense up at your side and knew that trouble was fast approaching. Logan smiled at your mom, practically baring his teeth, and cocked his head to the side. "A mutant?" He supplied, practically not blinking as he met your mom's unimpressed stare with one of his own. "You could say that, sure," he added with a dangerous smirk that sent warning bells ringing in your head.  

You tightened your hold on Logan's hand, lending him your own brand of moral support while also hoping to shut him up. "Mom, it's cold out here," you hinted, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you should invite us in.” 

"Right," she muttered before stepping aside. "Why don't you and your...date," she practically sneered, "come in?" 

"Thanks," Logan told your mom, offering her a wide, unsettling smile. "Your hospitality is appreciated." 

You had never really seen Logan like this before. Maybe once or twice when he was in the same room as Scott and Jean and he wanted to get under Scott's skin. But this was somehow different and terrifying and just a bit thrilling.  

Logan was doing his damnedest to stand up for you while also pretending to respect your mom. You could tell your mom was disappointed in you, but you didn't even care. You found yourself wishing that bringing Logan as your date was real, but you would take what you could get. You would just have to enjoy Logan's attention for as long as you had it. 

Logan urged you forward with a hand on the small of your back and then helped you shrug out of your coat. “You weren’t kidding,” he muttered under his breath, sounding irritated. “You’ve put up with this shit your whole life?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, knowing it was starting to look really pathetic on your part.  

Your mom had retreated into the living room. You could see her talking to your dad and she pointed towards you and Logan. Your dad scowled before schooling his expression into something more neutral.  

"Shit," you hissed, before grabbing Logan's arm. "Let's go somewhere else," you suggested.  

"I go where you go," Logan promised, letting you lead him towards the dining room where you knew you would find a buffet-style spread of food.  

At the very least, this was something your parents always got right. Logan looked exhilarated as he piled a plate with all kinds of food, ranging from strips of steak to scalloped potatoes to slices of honey glazed ham.  

“Now this is a spread,” he approved, taking a bite of stuffed mushroom.  

“Eat up,” you told him, grinning at him. “You’ve earned it.” 

After eating and then drifting from room to room in a bid to avoid your parents, you realized that Logan was intent on keeping his word. He stayed right there at your side, letting you introduce him to your parent's friends and their kids with a smile on his face and a hand on the small of your back. 

You were beginning to feel flustered having Logan in your space, so you retreated to the one place you knew you could drop the facade for just a little bit and gain a tiny bit of your sanity back.   

You ended up hanging out with the children that had been left in a room near the back of the house. You had always hated being a kid at your parent's parties, because it meant you were stuck in a room with other kids and basically ignored for the rest of the night. But now, as an adult, it was the only true refuge to be found at your parent’s house during a party. 

You ended up entertaining them with your powers. You helped some float using your forcefields and you turned invisible and let them try to find you. All the while, Logan stood at the entryway of the room, watching you with a fond little smile that set off a fluttering in the pit of your stomach.  

After half an hour of Logan's undivided attention, you decided to give yourself a break. You planned on staying with the kids, so you doubted your parents would even find you. The plan was foolproof and would give you the time to calm your racing heart.  

"Hey, would you mind getting me a drink?" You asked Logan, glancing up at him from where you were crouched on the floor and letting Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter draw what you thought might be a unicorn on your arm.  

Logan nodded his head, pushing off the doorframe he had been leaning against. He looked so fond and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

"Any preferences?" 

"Surprise me," you told him with a grin, feeling just the slightest bit bold and playful.  

“You got it.” Logan winked before leaving the room, doing nothing to help you feel any more in control of the situation.  

"Are you and Mr. Logan getting married?" Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter asked you, adding what you assumed was blood beneath the unicorn's hooves. Either that, or she had run out of green for grass and was making do with what she had on hand.  

"Mr. Logan doesn't like me like that," you told her, obediently turning your arm over when she tapped it and shook a blue marker at you.  

"Yes, he does," she answered, as if it was that simple. She started shading in a sky and you hoped it would be easy to wash off later.  

"Well, isn't that adorable," someone drawled from the doorway.  

"Fuck," you breathed, instantly recognizing the voice.  

"That's an uh-oh word," Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter reprimanded you.  

"Sorry," you told her, patting her on the shoulder before standing up. You reluctantly turned to see your ex standing there. "What're you doing here?" 

"Your parents invited me," Timothy told you, studying you. "God, you look great." 

"Shit," you groaned, realizing that Timothy had been the person they were going to try to set you up with this year.  

"That's another uh-oh word," Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter informed you with a disapproving frown.  

"Right," you agreed before walking towards Timothy. "Maybe in front of the children isn't the best place for this conversation."  

You brushed past Timothy, hating that you were in the same room as him, much less signing yourself up for a confrontation. You had been convinced for three years that Timothy was the one until he told you that he would rather adopt children than risk you passing on any of your 'mutant genes' to them. It had crushed you, realizing that Timothy didn't fully love you at all, and you had packed up all your things and joined the X-Men.  

If anything, it should have made your parents hate Timothy for driving you away. Instead, they seemed to think he was the one who got away for you and you would never do any better.  

You stopped in the entryway of an empty guest room and turned to face him.  

"Look, I don't know what my parents told you, but I'm here with a date. I'm taken, alright? I don't want to get back together." 

"Oh, come on," Timothy said, moving forward until he was in your space. "There's no date. You don’t have to lie to me to make me want you more. I want you. I always have. And now we're here and there's a really good reason why I should kiss you right now," he continued with a quick glance up.  

You tried not to wince as you also took a chance and looked up at the frame of the doorway. "Mistletoe," you observed, hating that you had the worst luck. "It wasn't on purpose." 

"I already told you that you don't have to lie to me," Timothy claimed before bringing a hand up and cupping your cheek. "I'm all yours, babe. Just say the word." 

"Leave," Logan growled, approaching the pair of you from down the hallway. He had two wine glasses in his hands which he quickly set down on a table displaying family photos.  

"Who the fuck are you?" Timothy asked, barely even budging from his spot in front of you.  

"My date," you helpfully informed him just as Logan unsheathed his claws.  

"What the--" Timothy started just as you pushed him away with a forcefield. He went stumbling back, shooting you a look of betrayal. "You swore you'd never use that against me." 

"When we dated, sure," you reminded him. "But we're not together anymore. And we never will be again," you stressed, hoping he would get the message.  

When Logan kept coming towards the two of you, not bothering to put away his claws, Timothy's eyes widened.  

"Move it, bub," Logan snarled, looking like he was moments away from sinking his claws into Timothy. 

"Okay, okay, I get it, whatever. Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry," he rambled, practically scrambling to get away from you and Logan.  

You watched him scurry away, a grin tugging at your lips. "That was great," you exclaimed, turning back towards Logan. You nearly jumped when you realized that Logan was now standing right in front of you.  

He packed the claws away and reached up to frame your face in his hands.  

"What are you doing?" You whispered, your heart suddenly pounding so hard you were sure Logan would be able to hear it going crazy.  

"There's mistletoe," Logan reminded you, his voice soft and intimate. 

"We don't have to," you assured him. "I mean, it's just a dumb tradition, right? It's--" 

"What I want," Logan finished for you, expression intent and serious. His thumb gently swept along your jaw and you didn't even have time to process the fact that Logan wanted to kiss you before his lips were pressed against yours.  

Your brain went haywire trying to figure out what to do. You brought your hands up, unsure where they should land, before you settled them on Logan's shoulders. You were worried you would fuck the moment up by not responding, so you poured all your feelings into the kiss. You had wanted Logan for so long and if this was the only kiss you got from him, then you wanted it to be something you remembered for years to come.  

Logan's touch remained gentle, but his kiss was searching and all-consuming. You nipped lightly at his lips, testing for a reaction, and shivered when Logan moaned and reeled you in closer.  

By the time you pulled away, you felt like Logan had thoroughly claimed you. You nearly couldn't catch your breath, torn between giddy anticipation and fear that this was all about to come crashing down around you.  

You met Logan's eyes, unsure of what you would find there. You froze for a moment, sure that you were wrong, but you let yourself take the time to really look at him. You couldn’t afford to mess this up. There was way too much at stake. 

Logan was watching you like you were the only thing in the whole world. He was looking at you with affection and want and something that looked a lot like love to you. It was exactly what Remy, Rogue, and Ororo had claimed Logan had been doing all along.  

"I've really got to thank Remy," you muttered, realizing that he had been right that Logan had been making a move by agreeing to be your fake date. Except, Logan did have real feelings for you, but you were the only one who hadn't been able to see it.  

"What?" Logan growled, his grip briefly tightening on you. "You're really thinking about Remy right now? After what just happened, he’s what’s on your mind?"  

You shook your head, smiling at Logan. Logan had absolutely no reason to be jealous, because even if he might not be aware of it, there was no one who could ever compete with him. No one else had ever made you feel the way Logan made you feel. You felt like there was a warmth taking root in your chest and it was lighting you up inside. It was all Logan. His touch, his kiss, and his affection had you feeling invincible.  

As long as you had him, you truly could do anything. Including deal with your parents and their intolerance and shitty choice of suitors for you.  

Logan had volunteered to be your date and had spent a whole evening putting up with your parents and their snooty, prejudiced friends all for you. Logan had run off your ex and then kissed you like he wanted nothing more than to keep doing that for the rest of his life. Logan wanted you just as much as you wanted him and you felt like you were on top of the world.  

You didn't care that this had started out as fake, because now it was real and there was really only one thing you wanted to do now that you knew you had Logan.  

"You've got nothing to worry about. You're all I want," you assured him before reeling him back in for another kiss underneath the mistletoe.  

It wasn’t exactly the Christmas you had expected to have, but it was turning out to be the only one worth celebrating. 

Logan was truly the best gift you had ever received. 

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The Misus said so | T. Owens

Tyler Owens x wife!reader

A/N: so I’m obsessed with Glen Powell and of course I had to do a little something with Tyler Owens because Glen looked so good in that movie. Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY : After chasing a tornado, Tyler suggests the team take a break in his hometown—a place none of them have ever visited, except Boone. To their surprise, they discover that Tyler shares his home with a pregnant woman he refers to as his wife and a young boy he calls his son.

WARNINGS : fluff, Tyler being head over heels for his wife, cuteness, some inaccuracies regarding tornadoes

3.4k words

The sun was just beginning to set as the red truck and van rumbled down the dusty back roads of the Arkansas countryside. Tyler Owens was behind the wheel, relaxed but focused, his hands steady as he navigated the familiar terrain. In the passenger seat, Boone sat with an easy grin, the kind only a best friend could wear, fully at home in the quiet camaraderie of the ride. He occasionally glanced at Tyler, clearly anticipating something more than just a pit stop.

In the back seat, Lily was hunched over her tablet, reviewing footage from Cairo, her drone. “The inflow jets were insane,” she murmured. Boone snorted, swivelling to glance at her.

Boon leaning towards Tyler with a raised eyebrow whispered so only Tyler could hear him. “So, when are you gonna drop the act? I know where we’re headed.”

Tyler chuckled, but his eyes stayed on the road. “Guess it was hard to slip one past you, huh?”

“You think?” Boone replied with a smirk. “What gave it away—oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’m Jake’s godfather?”

Tyler shushed him, not wanting Boone to spoil the surprise. Of course Boone knew about your existence and of your son. Boone had been Tyler’s best friend for years, even before they started YouTube. He had been there when you guys met, started a relationship, got married, had your son and the last time he was there was for your gender reveal.

Lily leaned forward and turned toward Tyler, a crooked grin plastered across her face. “Alright, Ty, spill it. Where the hell are we going? You’ve been suspiciously quiet since we left the highway. And now you’ve got Boone whispering stuff into your ear. When has he ever been this quiet?”

Tyler chuckled but kept his eyes on the road. “Relax, lily. I told you, we’re heading to my hometown. Figured we could all use a real bed and a home-cooked meal for a change. Motel breakfasts are starting to taste like cardboard.”

Dani, who talked from the radio given that she was behind in the Van, raised an eyebrow. “Your hometown? Tyler you’ve only ever talked about it once, what is there to do here really? Is there some sort of catch?”

“No catch,” Tyler replied smoothly. “Just thought you guys deserve something better. And I figured it’s finally time you meet someone really important to me.”

The rest of the team stayed curious and said nothing more. They trusted Tyler—he had proven himself time and again in the chaos of the storm-chasing world. If he said they were in for a treat, they believed him.

After another twenty minutes of winding roads and open fields, Tyler turned onto a long gravel driveway lined with vibrant green grass. The farmhouse at the end of the drive came into view, its white paint glowing softly in the golden light of the setting sun. Animals roamed nearby, adding life to the picturesque scene.

The team climbed out of the Truck and Van, stretching their legs and taking in their surroundings. The farmhouse was surrounded by rolling fields, with a red barn off to one side and a small garden near the porch. The air was warm and smelled faintly of wildflowers and fresh hay. There was a small lake in front of the farmhouse surrounded by fences.

“Wow,” said Dexter, the least chaotic team member. “It’s… peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Tyler said softly, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “It is. Home sweet home,” Tyler said as he approached the house more.

Boone followed his pace, grinning. “Ah, the Owens family ranch. Been too long since I’ve been here.”

“You’ve been here before?” Lily asked, surprised.

“Sure have,” Boone replied. “I’m practically family.”

The front door creaked open, and you stepped onto the porch, wearing a white top stretched slightly over your rounded belly and a pair of jeans. Tyler’s cowboy hat sat snugly on your head, the one he hadn’t worn in years. Your face lit up the moment you saw him, a smile breaking across your lips.

“There’s my troublemaker,” you said warmly, your accent as sweet as honey.

Tyler’s grin widened as he climbed the steps, pulling you into a gentle hug careful not to press too hard against your belly. “Hey, darlin’. You look beautiful.”

Boone didn’t hesitate. “Y/N! Look at you, glowing as always. How’s my niece?,” he said, bounding up the steps to greet you. He hugged you warmly, then ruffled your hair affectionately. “And still stealing hats, I see.”

You laughed. “Good to see you too, Boone. Baby’s fine. And yes, it’s mine now.” You turned back to your husband and hugged him once again. The hug felt like home. After days worrying for your husband he was finally back home and in your arms.

The team hung back awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Dexter was the first to break the silence. “Uh, hi. I’m so confused right now.”

You laughed loudly, your eyes twinkling. You knew the team must be confused, as Tyler had never spoken about you unless it was with Boone. “Y’all must be Tyler’s team. I’m Y/N. The wife.”

Upon the reveal, the team let their mouths hang open in shock. They never imagined Tyler out of all people would be married with a kid on the way. He was always the reckless one, the first to jump into danger. Nobody ever really thought about him potentially having a family, with the way he was. They also didn't expect Boone to have known and let this a secret for so long. That man can never shut his mouth.

Tyler turned back to his team, gesturing for them to come closer. “Everyone, this is Y/N—my wife. Y/N, meet the crew: Boone you already know, This is Dexter, Dani, and Lily.”

You smiled warmly and waved them inside. “Y’all must be starving. Tyler called ahead, so I made enough food to feed an army. Come on in and make yourselves at home.”

As the group filed into the house, Lily glanced at Tyler, her eyes wide with surprise. “You’re married? And… you’re going to be a dad?”

Tyler grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I never mentioned that, huh? Meet the real reason I get back in one piece after every chase.”

The house was cosy, filled with the comforting smells of roast chicken, fresh bread, and apple pie. The dining table was already set, you had clearly gone out of your way to make the team feel welcome.

“This is incredible,” Lily said, taking a seat at the table. “You really didn’t have to go all out for us.”

You waved her off with a laugh. “Oh, please. Tyler told me how hard you’ve all been working. Besides, I saw the live stream of that last tornado. Y’all are insane, by the way. I thought I’d reward your bravery or, well, craziness with a good meal.”

Boone leaned back in his chair, grinning, finally happy to be home. “It’s both, Y/N. And that tornado was a beauty, wasn’t it?”

“Did you see the way the funnel shifted when it hit that open field? Classic EF-3 behaviour.” Tyler suddenly asked as he turned to you. You smiled at the excitement in your husband's voice, nodding towards him. Despite dropping out and never finishing his career in meteorology he was quite well educated in the field of tornadoes.

Dexter nodded, his voice animated. “And the inflow jets—did you catch those? Perfect conditions for a multi-vortex system.”

You chuckled as you started serving the food. “I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, but I could tell y’all were thrilled. It was like watching kids on Christmas morning.”

As the conversation flowed between all of you, a soft noise interrupted. From the staircase next to the dining room came the sound of small, hesitant footsteps.

Everyone turned to see a little boy, about three years old, standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was rubbing his sleepy eyes with one hand, clutching a worn stuffed bear in the other. His curls were tousled from sleep, and he blinked at the group with a mixture of curiosity and shyness.

“Daddy?” the boy said softly, his voice thick with sleep.

Tyler’s expression melted. “Hey, bud,” he said, getting up from his chair. He crossed the room in a few strides and knelt down to scoop the boy into his arms. “What are you doing up? Thought your momma put you to sleep for the afternoon.”

The boy rested his head on Tyler’s shoulder and mumbled, “I Had a dream.”

Tyler kissed the top of his son’s head and held him close. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy 's here.”

Boone chuckled, leaning back in his chair at the sight of the small kid. “There 's my boy. Come here, kiddo.”

Jake squirmed out of Tyler’s arms and ran to Boone, climbing onto his lap. Boone greeted him with a fist bump. “What’d I tell you about staying up past your bedtime, huh?”

Jake giggled. “Uncle Boone!”

The rest of the team stared, dumbfounded. Dani finally blurted out, “Wait you knew about this?!”

Boone shrugged. “Of course. I’m his godfather and uncle. Perks of being Tyler’s actual best friend.”

“Everyone,” Tyler said, turning back to the group, “this is Jake, our little man.”

Jake lifted his head from Boone's shoulder and looked at the team, his big brown eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces. “Hi,” he said shyly.

Lily smiled warmly. “Hi, Jake. I’m Lily. It’s nice to meet you.”

You walked over and gently ruffled your son's curls. “Jake, these are Daddy’s other friends. They’re going to stay with us tonight.”

Jake’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Yep,” Tyler said, bouncing him lightly. “And you know what? I think they might even make pretty good aunts and uncles, don’t you?”

Jake giggled, his earlier sleepiness forgotten. “Yeah! Now I have more people to play with!”

“That’s right buddy.” Boone smiled, hugging the kid one last time before he jumped out of his lap and went back to his fathers embrace.

The meal progressed with a light-hearted warmth that settled over everyone like a blanket. Boone and Dexter were animatedly recounting their most chaotic storm-chasing moments, while Dani and Lily chimed in with their own tales. Jake sat on Tyler’s lap, happily munching on a slice of buttered bread, his small hands gripping the edges of the plate to keep it steady.

You observed the scene with a soft smile, your hand resting on your growing belly. Tyler caught your gaze as he let his free hand rest on top of the one holding your belly. He smiled down at you. He was happy to be home.

“You’ve done good, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low but full of admiration.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Ty.”

The team exchanged subtle glances, sensing the affection radiating between the two. Lily, unable to resist, leaned over to you. “You two are adorable. What’s your secret?”

That caused a laugh out of you. “Oh, it’s no secret. Just a lot of patience and knowing when to call him out on his nonsense.” You shot Tyler a teasing look, and he feigned innocence.

“Hey now,” Tyler said, grinning. “I’m a perfect angel.”

Jake looked up from his plate, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin. “Daddy’s silly!”

The table erupted into laughter, and Tyler tickled Jake’s sides, eliciting a burst of giggles from the little boy. “Come on Bug, eat all your food. Don’t want you to be hungry later.” You looked at your son as you gently grabbed his bread and gave it to him. Gently caressing his forehead and kissing his cheek lovingly. All while Tyler stared at you with adoration in his eyes.

As the evening wore on, You excused yourself briefly to check on the dessert. Tyler took the opportunity to follow you into the kitchen, leaving Jake to sit back on Boone lap and be entertained by the team.

The kitchen was warm and cosy, filled with the comforting aroma of apples and cinnamon as you carefully pulled the steaming pie from the oven. You moved with practiced ease, placing it on a cooling rack, when suddenly you felt a familiar presence behind you.

“Now, what do I have to do to get my hands on a slice of that?” Tyler’s voice was low and teasing, the grin audible in his tone.

You smirked, not bothering to turn around. “Depends. Are you talking about the pie or me?”

Tyler laughed softly and stepped closer, slipping his arms around your waist, his front pressed against your back. “Both, but let’s start with you.” He leaned in, brushing his lips along the curve of your neck.

“Ty,” you said, your voice half a warning, half a giggle. “We have company, remember? We don’t want Boone to catch us again do we?”

“They’re busy stuffing their faces and trying to keep Jake from giving Boone another black eye,” he murmured, his lips trailing to your ear. “Besides, I don’t get moments like this nearly enough.”

You sighed, leaning back into his embrace. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re gorgeous,” he countered without missing a beat, his hands sliding up to rest gently over your growing belly. “And carrying my baby girl? That makes you even more irresistible.”

You carefully turned in his arms, bow facing each other as you rested your hands on his chest. “You’ve got a silver tongue, Mr. Owens. Has it ever gotten you into trouble?”

He grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Only when I’m not careful. Lucky for me, I married a woman who keeps me in line.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re not so cocky now, are you?”

“Only with you,” he said, leaning down until your foreheads touched. “Well, and maybe with Jake when he gives me that little puppy-dog look. Kid’s got my heart wrapped around his finger. Can never say no to him.”

You laughed softly, holding his figure even more, not wanting to let go. You leaned your head on his chest, looking sideways outside the window to the sun that illuminated your home.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he murmured as his chin rested upon your head.

“And you’re a shameless flirt.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But seriously, I just wanted to thank you for this. For all of it. I know it’s not easy having me running around the country chasing storms.”

You turned in his arms, eyes meeting his. “Ty, I knew what I was signing up for when I married you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, you always come back to us. That’s what matters.”

His expression softened, and he placed a hand gently on your belly again. “And soon, there’s going to be even more reason to keep coming back.”

You placed your hand over his, your smile tender. “She’s going to love you just as much as Jake does. Maybe even more if she inherits your stubbornness.”

He chuckled. “Let’s hope she gets your patience instead.”.

Your expression softened as you traced a finger along his jawline. “You’re a good dad, Tyler. I see it every day in how Jake lights up around you. And I know you’re going to be just as amazing with our daughter.”

He kissed you softly, a lingering tenderness in the way he held you close. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. Keep coming back to you, Jake, and this little one. Always.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud crash from the dining room.

“Jake!” Boone’s voice carried through the house. “Why am I always the bad guy?”

“It wasn’t me!” Jake shouted back, his voice ringing with childlike defiance.

You groaned, pulling away with a reluctant smile. “Guess I’d better rescue Boone before Jake recruits the others against him.”

Tyler laughed, giving you a playful smack on the ass as you walked away. “Don’t take too long, baby. I’m still waiting on that pie—and you.”

You threw him a teasing look over her shoulder. “Behave, Ty.”

When you stepped back into the dining room, Jake was perched on Dexter’s lap, gleefully recounting how Boone had “knocked the chair over all by himself.” Boone stood nearby, arms crossed and feigning offence.

“For the record,” Boone declared, “this kid’s already mastered the fine art of scapegoating.”

“I learned it from Daddy!” Jake said with a giggle, earning a roar of laughter from the table.

You sighed, shaking your head as you started slicing the pie. “I see Jake’s picking up all your best habits, Ty.”

Tyler grinned shamelessly, taking a seat next to you. “Can’t blame the kid for wanting to be like his old man.” He reached over to ruffle Jake’s curls, then turned to you. “But if you want to keep us in line, you’d better bring that pie over here before we all riot.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the pie on the table with a grin. “You’re lucky I love you, Tyler Owens.”

He leaned back in his chair, giving you a wink. “Lucky’s an understatement, baby. I hit the jackpot.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As the last bite of pie was finished and the laughter around the table quieted, you leaned back in your chair, feeling satisfied but a little tired. Tyler’s gaze met yours across the table, his expression softening with concern as he stood up, stretching his back.

“We need to clean up.” You muttered under your breath, ready to stand up until Tyler pushed you gently back down to sit.

“Alright, everyone,” Tyler said, his voice carrying the gentle authority that always seemed to get things done. “You’ve all eaten, now it’s time to let my wife take a break. She’s been working hard today.”

Jake, who had been leaning back in his chair, looked confused. “Why do we need to clean up?”

“Because the Missus said so,” Tyler interrupted with a wink, his playful grin lighting up his face. “And trust me, when the Missus speaks, everyone listens.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the playful banter between them, but you appreciated how Tyler always made sure you weren’t overburdened. It was his way of showing care, in everything from big gestures to little moments like this.

One by one, the team began to rise from the table, and soon enough, the dishes were being cleared away. Boone and Dexter were the first to take charge of the plates, laughing as they competed to see who could load the dishwasher faster. Lily helped wipe down the table, while Jake, who still looked a little reluctant, finally took the trash bag outside with Boone’s encouragement.

It didn’t take long before the kitchen was tidied up, and the team filed out to check on the horses. You watched them from the window as they made their way to the stables, chatting with Jake in tow, all smiles and laughter. You felt a contentment settle over you, watching the scene from your peaceful spot inside.

Tyler, noticing that you hadn’t moved from your seat, stepped toward you and held out his hand. “You need a break, too,” he said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “Come on, let’s get some fresh air.”

You stood, taking his hand, and together you walked outside to the front porch. The soft evening light bathed the world in golden hues as you made your way to the rocking chair. Tyler sat first, patting the seat next to him, and you sank into the chair beside him, leaning back with a sigh of relief.

Tyler settled beside you, his hand resting gently on your baby bump. His thumb traced slow circles, a tender gesture that made your heart swell. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the gentle rocking of the chair soothe your tired muscles. The sound of the team’s voices echoed from the stables, a distant hum of joy and energy, but it felt far away from the calm you found in this quiet moment.

You rested your head on Tyler’s shoulder, your fingers resting over his hand on your belly. “Tired?” He asked you, noticing your calmness and weight on his shoulder.

“No. I’m just thinking about how much I missed you.”

He kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arm tighter around you. “Missed you more. And I mean it, Y/N. Everything we’ve built here… it’s the reason I keep going. The reason I come back.”

Your eyes glistened as you looked up at him. “You’re the reason this feels like home, Ty.”

He smiled, tilting your chin up so he could kiss you again, slow and sweet. “Then I guess we’re even, Baby.”