#......3 weeks away from this place and i come back and it's as empty as i left it

[nightlyrequiem]

The Canary Cage

Chapter 2. Collector

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

w/c- 3,402

One meeting in a dingy bar on the cheap side of town. One sighting of you. The raw sadness in your eyes drew Valeria in. A parasite attracted to the taste of your tears. She'll chew you up and spit you out, but what she doesn't realise is you bite back.

A/N: Sorry it took me like 3 weeks to update.... was busy with requests and Be Still My Heart, and also laziness.

Tags/Warnings: Tags Will Be Updated as Story Progresses, WLW, Mental Illness, Unhealthy Relationships, Angst, Violence, Referenced Self-Harm, A Healthy Amount of Self-Hatred

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Valeria glances at the address she has written on a torn piece of paper. On the other side, a list of groceries crossed out. She looks up at the building. A small orange neon flower flashing on and off. Fireflower, 2776 8th Street. A seedy lounge she wouldn't look twice at. She rolls her eyes. Of course Andrez chose this place to meet.

She pushes through the door and squints. The place is dimly lit in a way Valeria thinks may not be intentional. There's a light haze of smoke throughout the room, and while Valeria herself likes a good smoke, she believes it to be rude to smoke up an entire room. The tables are full of drunk men, ogling the admittedly pretty woman who sings on stage. She eyes her too. At least this place has something going for it. 

Valeria cranes her neck and spots her guy at the back. Head lowered, an almost empty glass in hand. He runs his hand through his thinning hair and looks up, startled by the sight of Valeria. She frowns and moves towards him, taking a seat across from him.

"Valeria." He greets nervously. "Let me buy you a drink-"

"I'm here to talk, not drink." She says firmly.

Andrez shifts his gaze away. "Yes. Talk." 

Valeria leans forward, staring him down.

"You sought me out because you've heard of a rat in my ranks, yes?" She asks boredly. Knowing the answer already. Valeria knew about the rat almost as soon as it started squealing.

"I did." Andrez nods, looking at her. "Nicholas is giving away your trade routes and stash spots to smaller gangs, for a small price." He tells her, rubbing his hands together like a grimy little fly. She bets if she were to wipe the sweat from his forehead with a cloth, the cloth would come back dirty.

"Hm. Did he." Valeria says, not sounding at all surprised by his words.

Andrez studies her warily. Dark eyes flicking over her face. She's obviously not reacting the way he thought she would.

"I saw him." He insists. 

"Funny." She replies dryly. Hand lowering to her holster and unconsciously fiddling with the straps. "Because Nichloas said the same thing about you - only he had proof." Andrez pales, mouth ajar like a fish. Valeria narrows her eyes. "Why don't you go home, Andrez, rest up and we can talk about this later." She gives him a clear dismissal and he stumbles to his feet. She watches him leave knowing that he won't be returning again.

She watches him leave. Knowing full well that he won't be making it home tonight. She curls her lip. Greedy little fuck. This was a waste of her time. She shakes her head. Valeria should've just ignored his message to talk. She orders herself something to drink and looks to the only source of entertainment here. She likes the way the singer's dress glitters in the light. Her eyes drift to the other patrons. A few of them seem to share the same opinion.

She watches you sing for a little bit. Relaxed by the soothing sound of your voice. There's almost a melancholic quality to every note you sing. The smokey haze combined with the stage lights almost makes you look angelic. She tilts her head and downs her drink. You look so sad. Nothing that sings so prettily should ever look that way. She wouldn't mind having you for a night and seeing what other pretty sounds you make.

Valeria finds herself feeling disappointed when you finish and disappear to the back. She turns and flags down the bartender, ordering herself another drink. After a couple of minutes you walk out, wearing a large coat. You're stopped by some old guy, and she watches judgmentally. Sugar daddy? Pimp? Father?

You look like you're somewhere else, your eyes glazed in a way she's seen one too many time. Whatever could make a simple little lounge singer look like that, she doesn't know. You look like you need a drink. Valeria takes the initiative and flags down a waitress and buys you a drink. Maybe she'll get lucky tonight. Though it quickly becomes clear that a passionate night with a sad stranger isn't in her cards tonight. After a single, quick glance in her direction you push the drink towards the old man. Valeria frowns and stands, leaving the bar and her unfinished drink.

She visits again the next night. Not something she planned on doing but she was wondering if she'd see you again. You're pretty good at singing and not too bad on the eyes either. Apart from her having ulterior motives for wanting to see you, she's also scoping you out. She owns her own lounge. Something to make her influx of wealth less suspicious. She wouldn't mind having you on staff. She'd feel more comfortable if she had you under her control.

There's more business to be conducted that night though so she leaves early. Not before buying you some flowers and leaving them at the bar for you to receive. She walks down the cracked sidewalk. Stepping over a puddle of puke with indifference. Valeria gets into her car and drives off. Streetlights faintly illuminating the sidewalks and road.

She arrives at a small warehouse ten minutes outside of the city. Crawling with cartel working like one to cook and package up her drugs. On the walls a large cartoon hare stares down with one yellow eye. Harrison Hare Farm. She checks up on The Butcher. Watching her carefully slice open the light underbelly of a dead hare and stuffing in a few small baggies of coke. She gets to work on sewing it back up to be shipped off with untampered with hares. Where they'll be taken to American warehouses, and the discretely marked buckets will be taken by paid off employees to be sold throughout the states.

Diego is waiting for her in her small office, frowning severely.

"There's still a leak." Diego grumbles. Crossing the room to her. Valeria walks around him and runs her finger over the well-loved spines of books collecting dust on the shelf.

"We got rid of the leak." She says dismissively.

"No, jefe," Diego presses. Valeria turns her head, her dark brown eyes burning into his. "We got rid of Andrez but someone's still talking. One of my pigs told me that his superior got a tip about this warehouse. They're getting their warrants in order so they can raid it."

That catches Valeria's attention fully.

"When?" She asks. She looks around. She's going to have to cease all production here for the time being.

"I'm not sure. He says his boss didn't tell anyone about it in the first place." He replies.

"He must have, otherwise we wouldn't be hearing about it." She snaps at him. Valeria scowls. "We need to empty the place of anything illegal tonight." She decides reluctantly.

Diego hesitates, looking unsure. "Tonight is kind of quick, no?" He asks.

Valeria glares at him, it's a reasonable question, she supposes. She has to stop herself from hurling the thickest, heaviest book on the shelf at him.

"Don't question me, just get all the equipment and drugs out of here by tomorrow, Diego." She says lowly.

"... Yes, Valeria." He agrees. Valeria can tell that he disagrees but as long as he keeps it to himself and continues to follow orders then she doesn't care all that much.

"Before you leave, do you know who the leak might be?" She asks. 

He looks at her. "No, it could be Nichloas though, it's possible both him and Andrez were rats."  Valeria suspected it herself. 

"Hm." She responds. "We'll keep an eye on him then." She says. Valeria turns away and waves a hand. "You may go." She needs to get started on clearing up the office of anything incriminating. 

Valeria was right to clear out the warehouse. The next day at noon the police - the ones Valeria doesn't have paid off - stormed through the place and turned it upside-down looking for anything they could. She watches with detached satisfaction as they found nothing. 

It will be a while before she makes use of that warehouse again. Knowing that the police will have it under watch. Valeria doesn't consider it to be that big of a problem. She has other warehouses with other labs. A well-endowed woman sets down a drink beside her, a friendly, playful smile on her lips. Valeria takes the drink and sips it, watching another woman on stage. Her voice is strong and sweet. Around the room patrons watch and simply listen as they mingle with one another. The Canary Cage, previously a failing business under a different name, flourishes under Valeria's ownership. It's not the only lounge with singers but hers has the prettiest.

Her thoughts, like they seem to usually do as of late, stray back to you. She'd like to see you on her stage in better lighting. Now that she has some free time to think about anything other than work, she allows herself to wonder what you may be doing at this very moment.

She knows she's straying into dangerous territory. Valeria can never have normal relationships with people. There's never that healthy level of detachment needed to make things work. Valeria is an animal that must eat every last part of her partner until there's nothing left to save. She doesn't like not knowing what's going on. It's like an itch beneath her skin and the only way to relieve it is by knowing everything she can. 

The temporary moment of tranquility and relaxation is interrupted as the doors swing open. She straightens defensively like a cat raising it's hackles as a band of cops walk in. The bouncer intercepts them but can only do so much to keep them out. They shove a piece of paper in his face and he reluctantly steps his hulking body to the side. Casting a dark glance towards Valeria. The patrons, consisting mostly of Valeria's men give the cops aggressive and furtive looks.

They approach her and her heart pounds. Her fingers brush over the edge of her gun. Arresting her will come with a price, she can guarantee that. She prepares herself to meet them head on but they walk right past her. She turns and watches them approach her bartender. He frowns, becoming increasingly agitated as they speak to him and finally arrest him.

"I didn't do anything!" He shouts, struggling as they force him against the counter and cuff him. "I didn't do anything!" Valeria stands and stalks up to them.

"What the hell are you doing?" She snaps. The one in charge turn to her, face dark with dislike.

"I'm sure you knew already, Valeria, but this man is being charged with possession and intent to sell of illegal substances as well as gang affiliation." He tells her, looking her right in the eye.

Valeria keeps her face straight. Not giving anything away.

"And do you have any evidence, officer, or is this a baseless assumption?" She curls her lip at him.

The officer leans closer to her, his coffee breath washing over her face. "We had an anonymous tip and seized drugs from his apartment." He murmurs. "We'll be taking him in for questioning." He adds, watching her closely.

His words bring her discomfort, but she doesn't let it show. He's trying to scare her into revealing herself but she won't play this game. She's had enough of men trying to intimidate her into submission.

"Hope he tells you all you need to know officer," She says mockingly, brows raising with faux sympathy. "It'll be mind blowing, I'm sure."

The man sniffs and jerks away. "Let's go." He snaps at his men. She watches them drag out her bartender. 

Valeria decides to pay the Fireflower a visit. Hoping you're working tonight. Valeria parks and gets out. Shoving her keys into her pocket and entering the building. You're on stage once again, in a very short dress. Tonight isn't all that bad, it seems. She stakes out an empty table and seats herself. Allowing the smoothness of your voice to flow over like water. Closing her eyes and letting you pull her deeper.

"He's my man, we're hand in hand," You murmur into the mic. "to hell and back, and I'll love him like no one else can."

Valeria feels like a cobra being charmed. Though a small, ugly thing blooms inside of her. Jealousy and hatred as you sing about a man. She's aware it's irrational, she holds no real claim to you, and if you didn't like women then she couldn't change that, she also just... doesn't care. Valeria does nothing if not constantly indulge herself.

You bat your lashes and pout and sway with the mic. She thinks again that this place really isn't good enough for you. She looks around compulsory and spots that old man from the other night. Her mood souring further. She really wants to know who he is and why he's important to you. She gets up and approaches him, taking a seat nearby. His eyes are glazed and half closed. She feels mild disgust at the pathetic and vulnerable state this man lets himself be in. No self-respect or pride. She eyes his almost empty glass and waves down the bartender. The same young man she left the flowers with.

"Get him another of what he ordered." She mutters, slipping him a few bills.

Soon enough, another golden beverage is placed before the old man and his eyes clear.

"She's quite the singer." Valeria comments. The man swivels his head and looks at her. 

"What?" He asks.

Valeria bites back her annoyance at having to repeat herself. "She's quite the singer." She repeats loudly. The man smiles and Valeria flinches, nearly recoiling at the state of his teeth. Yellowed with rot and cracking.

"She sure is." He nods. "Couldn't be prouder seeing her on stage. She used to run around the tables when she was a girl and harass the singers on break." He chuckles, then leans forward, his breath harassing her. "She used to be so tone deaf but like I always told her, singing's like riding a bike. Just keep at it and you'll eventually get the hang of it. She'd always grumble at me in the manner most teenagers do. Stubborn as a mule she is." He rambles.

Valeria feels a pang of regret. She didn't think someone who looked half unconscious could talk so much.

"... Mhm." She replies. She glances back at you. Drinking in your glowing visage. "You her father?" She asks.

The man sighs. "In all but blood. I'd never tell her, but I've always sort of thought of her as my daughter. I didn't do good by my first one you see. I'm making it up to him-" He points upwards, talking to a barely listening Valeria. "-by being kinder to her."

Valeria, hearing everything she needs to, tunes him out. No longer deeming him a threat therefore no longer deeming him relevant. She rests her chin her palm and enjoys the sight of you singing. Wanting to pluck you off the stage and pin your limbs down like a butterfly for her to hang on her wall. She studies you intently, noticing that beneath the smile and concealer, you look exhausted. Some people remain eternally tired no matter how much sleep they get.

Wednesday is a good day. Collection day. Where a bunch of Valeria's dealers go out to designated sectors to collect the set 'safety fee.' Nothing in life is free, and neither is protection. With her bartender behind bars, she's short a collector. She hasn't had the time to appoint a new one so she takes on his sector herself. The Fare Heaven Apartments are the last on her list. Pushing open the cracked glass door she begins her rounds. Collecting money from the downtrodden residents. She knocks on the 4th room of the 5th floor and waits. Growing impatient after a minute of silence. She raises her fist to knock again when the door swings open. You adjust the robe over your chest and fall still at the sight of her. Clearly not expecting to see her. Though clearly recognizing her, something that delights Valeria a little. Though her delight is dimmed by the less-than friendly expression on your face.

Similarly, Valeria finds herself being surprised. She had made an educated guess that you probably lived somewhere on the west side, but for whatever reason it never occurred to her that you lived in a collection zone. You hold out your hand, unlike the other residents who put their money into baggies or envelopes, you don't bother with the courtesy. She takes the money, letting her hand linger on yours for longer than what's considered polite.

You retract your hand. 

"Where's the other guy?" You ask. Subtly, but not enough to escape her notice, shutting the door a little. She feels irritated that you're asking after the bartender. Why do you care and why do you want to know? She looks you over, at the little feminine robe you're wearing. Were you wearing it for him?

"He's been... relieved of his service." She replies calmly. You stare at each other for a few seconds before you begin to close the door. Without thinking her hand shoots out, stopping you. 

"What?" You ask harshly, frowning at her.

She blinks at you. "I need to count it first." She says.

You frown at her. "The other guy never counted." You say, hands tightening on your door.

Valeria lets go of the door and sifts through the money you gave her. 

"He should have." She says, unperturbed. She almost hopes you're short the proper amount so she can have an excuse to heckle you. It's all there though. Down to the last cent. She begrudgingly shoves the money into her pocket and nods at you.

"I wouldn't dare miss a payment, Valeria." You say icily. Slamming the door in her face. Such disgust and vitriol. You're a lot less friendly now and she finds it turns her on a little. Fighting is all Valeria knows. It's practically her love language. She turns away and leaves. Content with knowing where you live. 

Valeria goes to your place of work the next night as well. Watching you sing and staying till the end this time. You disappear around back and emerge in that big, dramatic coat of yours. She downs her drink and puts on her own coat, following you out of the bar. You stop beside your bus stop.

"Why are you following me?" You ash harshly, turning to face her.

"I want to talk to you." She replies, smiling placatingly. "I have an offer."

"I'm not interested." You say flatly, turning your back to her. Valeria walks around you.

"It's a job offer, at my lounge." She continues anyway, ignoring the annoyed look on your face. "You deserve to make more then 7000 pesos, don't you think?" She murmurs, inching closer.

For a split second she catches a flicker of temptation in your eyes before you forcibly extinguish it.

"Blood money." You sniff haughtily.

Valeria furrows her brows. "Whatever do you mean?" She asks. Unsure if she's playing with you or warning you to watch yourself.

"Nothing." You mutter angrily. "I don't want anything to do with you."

"Why not?" She asks. Frustrated. "You're turning down the opportunity for a better life, to work somewhere you might actually like, and for what? Morals?" She laughs at you.

You scowl at her, glancing up briefly as lightning silently flashes.

"I like working at the Fireflower." You say defensively.

"No you don't." Valeria scoffs. "You hate it here."

"I'd hate working for you more." You snap. Looking down the street as the bus approaches. "Besides, what's the point in making more if you're just going to take it again?" You reach into your pocket to grab the needed change. Valeria silently hangs back and watches you board the bus. Not even giving her a single look back. She thinks you're really dumb for turning her down. If you want to be difficult fine. Valeria can play that game too. You made your move now it's her turn.

[lucyvaleheart]

.

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood’s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt.2]

[<- part 1 | part 3 ->]

Tim doesn't remember what happened. What he does remember is that he was in the middle of an apocalypse with no idea how to survive it, a few of his friends and family dead, and clinging to the last possible resort with no hope it would actually make a difference.

He remembers thinking whatever happened next could not be worse than what he's already been through.

And then, he remembers an unfamiliar voice, a cheeky grin, and a light so bright he had to squint his eyes shut not to be blinded.

When he opened them again, he was back in the Cave, and, as he found out a few moments later, when a panicking Dick ran up to him and attempted to squeeze the dear life out of his body with a crushing hug, back in time by three weeks. With the whole recollection of what happened before- Well, after that.

And, it was not only him who got to keep all the important memories. The rest of the Bats remembered everything as well, and the League, and even a few others, all of whom were somehow connected to said apocalypse, which had not yet happened.

Tim looked down to the Ring.

He did not tell anyone why or how they got a second chance.

A month later, with the crisis safely averted and his anxiety buzzing under his skin, Tim locked himself up in the Nest, pressed his lips to the cold metal on his finger once again, and whispered a quiet, "Thank you."

He did not know what he expected in response, but certainly not a snort right by his ear and an incorporeal voice that seemed to come from every direction at once.

"You're welcome." It was not ominous, not solemn or anything of sorts. If anything, the voice sounded like Duke whenever Tim thanked him for a fresh cup of coffee the boy brought to the Cave for him. Entirely unbothered and offhanded, and a little bit fond, like somehow saving Tim's whole world was not a big deal.

Well, maybe it wasn't, for whoever the voice belonged to.

Tim looked at the Ring again. Then, he looked around, not sure how to proceed. As far as his analysis went, the King - because who else it might have been? - did not want anything in return, nor did they intend on keeping in contact. And, technically, that was probably a good thing. Because, yeah, right, any normal and sane person would prefer to stay away from getting unnecessarily involved with beings of immeasurable power.

However, Tim did not think of himself as either normal or sane.

So, he clicked his tongue, annoyed and on the verge of pouting, "Really? That's it? 'You're welcome'?"

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, there was a startled, surprised snort of laughter, and, a moment later, a boy floating in the air a few feet away from Tim.

Tim blinked. The supposed almighty monarch of Infinite Realms, Keeper or Worlds and whatever, did not look particularly kingly. If anything, he looked very much unkingly.

Not much older than Tim - so, twenty or somewhat around it - wearing something that he'd expect Jason to wear on a daily basis. Cargo pants, an unzipped jacket with its sleeves rolled up, a t-shirt with some rock band logo, none of which exactly screamed 'royalty' to Tim. There was a matter of floating, of course, and the boy's hair was so white that it actually hurt to look at it directly, but other than that, the King looked...

Almost absurdly normal.

He was also holding a big, although already half-empty cup of bobba milk tea, and lazily reclining in the air without a care in the world.

"You want some?" The boy asked when he caught Tim staring at his drink.

Tim blinked. The vision of a floating boy in his living room did not disappear.

"I, um," he stammered over words, searching for any kind of answer, and then shook his head, "No, thanks?" The words came out more like a question than a statement. The boy pursed his lips and shrugged.

"Your loss. It's from the best place ever," he paused, looking up to the ceiling and frowning, "I don't think it exists in this timeline."

Tim shakes his head again, like trying to kickstart his thought process. It doesn't work.

"So, you're..." he trails off, and the boy startles before moving in the air and shifting so his feet actually touch the ground. His hair and jacket still both act like gravity doesn't exist.

"Oh, right. I forgot I never introduced myself," he gives Tim a sheepish grin, "It's kind of strange, seeing that I did spend about three years around you. I'm Danny, or Phantom," he offers Tim a hand and then tilts his head slightly, "But never Daniel, for the record."

That is honestly too much information in just three sentences. Tim shakes the offered hand - which is way too cold to be actual human hand - mostly on reflex.

"I'm Tim," he adds dumbly, and Danny grins.

"Yeah, I know."

Which brings Tim back to what the boy said before, and he frowns.

"Wait, you said you've spent three years around me?" That means, since around the time Tim first put the Ring on, if he is not mistaken. The boy rubs the back of his neck.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see who you were before I made myself known, but your family is a really nosy bunch, and you're quite literally never alone, and I kind of didn't want to scare you, so..."

"So you stalked me for three years," Tim finishes the sentence when Danny trails off. The boy grimaces and makes a so-so expression.

"I mean, you all did think I was some kind of an eldritch monster that's going to spirit you away or something. Showing up unannounced would be awkward at the least," he reasons. Tim can't argue with it when he puts it that way.

So, instead, he reaches for the cup in Danny’s hand and snatches it away, taking a sip before the boy is able to protest. It does taste like the best bobba he tried, so there's that.

"Are you?" He asks, tapping the straw on his chin as Danny floats up again, seemingly unbothered about the stolen drink. Looks like keeping his feet on the floor is either uncomfortable or rather unnatural for him.

"Am I what?" Danny raises one eyebrow.

"An eldritch monster?" Tim clarifies, and, between one moment and another, the sight of the semi-normal, albeit floating, guy in front of him distorts like a glitching video. Glimpses of bright, neon green eyes, sharp, inhuman teeth, and shadows crawling around the room fill Tim's vision, making him gasp sharply, but all of that is gone as soon as he blinks. Danny shrugs.

"I can be," he admits easily, "But most of the times, I'm not."

Tim looks at him thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes and taking another long sip of the drink. The bobba pearls taste vaguely like mango when he chews them.

On one hand, this is a very much unknown, possibly dangerous magic creature. On the other, the creature's name is Danny, and he does have a good taste for food, so how bad can it really be?

"Cool," he shrugs finally, offering the cup back, "Wanna go out some time?"

Danny smiles so bright that Tim can't help but return it and takes the almost empty drink, his fingers brushing over Tim's.

"I thought you'd never ask," he snorts.

[pearlymel]

A baby ?!

Summery: his departure always bugs you, and surprise, it was just your lil hormones messing with you.

Wc: 3.4k

Warnings: Fem!reader, sfw because we decided to be sweet, pregnancy, reader is pregnant, there are some suggestive comments but that's all. Happy ending because i love yall.

Part one and two if you missed it my loves.

Notes: welcome to part 3 which i believe is the last part. I am kindly asking not to ask for a part 4 because i have run out of ideas. If i ever decided to write for capitano again, it wouldn't be part of this series, it would be like headcanons instead, you could imagine the reader being the same, apologies for spelling errors and thank you. :)

Credits: the art of the left panel is by @/reaperpie

Fall was slowly approaching in Snezhnaya, and you had already expected it to be colder than the normal autumn. Which to your bad luck, it was not a suitable place for your picnic’s.

Your husband has continuesly rejected your date ideas, but you expected that anyway, you knew he couldn’t. He had duties to attend to, responsibilities to the Fatui, to the Tsaritsa, to the world. He couldn’t stay, as much as you—he wanted to.

It's not fair, You think while pouting as you stare outside the window with your chin resting on the palm of your hand, looking like a princess in need to be rescued from the tower. Your thumb toying with the diamond ring resting around your ring finger.

“Ugh, it's unfair baby.” You slump back on the bed, while your little fur baby only meowed at you in return, the orange cat jumping on the bed to make itself warm on your lap. “meow back if he doesn't love me.”

You're met with silence, only happy purrs reach your ears, and you grin, “obviously he loves me, obsessed even.” Your hand reaches to slowly pat the kitty.

“I miss him.” You sigh dreamily, deciding to stand up while carrying kitty with you so it doesn't feel left out. You make your way towards the desk in the corner, pulling the seat to take your place before pushing yourself closer to the desk.

You rest the kitten on your lap again—who quickly adjusts like nothing happened, looking as sleepy as ever.

You open the drawers to take an envelope, some wax, a stamp, a paper, and a quill.

Yeah, you're going to write him a letter, he said he didn't mind recieving even hundreds of letters from you.

How romantic.

“Dear, husband.” You start, dipping the quill in ink to brush it along the neat surface of the paper.

“i miss you.” you narrow your eyes at the empty page, saying that you miss him felt too boring.

“i utterly miss being next to you.” Hm, it lacks excitement.

“Please come back soon or i will run away.” Huh, you could already imagine the army's he would send to search for you.

“i want you inside—” okay, now you're being desperate.

You rest your arms on the desk, leaning your head on them while sighing.

—

“Do you know when will he return?” You politely ask one of the guards in front of the estate’s gate. Your hands together behind your back.

A leaf flew by in front of the guards with still no answer from them, and you narrow your eyes, wondering if they even heard you in the first place.

Finally, one of them shook their head and you only sigh in resignation, “thank you.” You mumble before heading your way back inside the estate.

It has been more than two weeks since he left, and he would sometimes send you neat letters to inform you about his well being, but the last letter you received was about a week ago, it was worrying you.

“My lady, are you okay?” Your personal maid, Marina, asked out of concern, watching you put an apron with a frown plastered on your face.

“Just hungry.” You take the glassy bowl, eggs, flour, butter, and sugar. Then you set them on the table. “I can help you.” Marina stands next to you, taking the butter to melt it.

“you want to make cookies, correct?” She asks, and you nod with a small smile. With the butter fully melted, you begin mixing in the sugar, beating the mixture until it becomes light and fluffy. The repetitive motion of stirring is almost meditative, and for a brief moment. “Baking is rather calming, i should've tried it before.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, a knowing smile on her face. "Yes, baking can be quite therapeutic," she stated, watching as you mixed the sugar and butter together. "I've found that working with your hands, especially when it involves creating something good to eat, is a great way to clear your mind," she continued, adding chocolate to the bowl.

You had both finished combining the ingredients, and the room was now filled with the warm, comforting fragrance of cookie dough. Marina stood beside you, watching as you shaped the dough into small balls and placed them on a baking tray. As you finished placing the last cookie onto the tray, you and Marina stood together, admiring the array of small, round cookies waiting to be baked in the oven.

The sounds of the gates opening is what catches your attention next, making you stand up from your chair to immediately abandon the kitchen and rush towards the entrance, your eyes searches him when you reach the front door, and surely enough, your husband has arrived.

He looked almost disheveled, tired, yet he still held a straight posture.

Capitano's weary eyes widened behind his helmet as you rushed into his arms, his body stiffening as if caught off guard by your sudden affection. But the tension in his form swiftly melted away as he wrapped his strong arms around you. His grip was tight, as he pulled you against his body. He was silent for a moment, his chin resting on the top of your head, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he held you.

“I…” you want to break the silence, you want to tell him how much you missed him. “I missed you.”

Capitano's grip intensified as your voice reached his ears, he was more than relieved to hear those words. To know that somone dear is waiting for him, someone as precious as you that he's willing to risk his life for.

He exhaled deeply, "I missed you too," he whispered, making sure the words only reached your ears. He pulled back slightly to look down at you, his gaze raking over you as if to confirm you were real and not a trick of his tired mind.

Capitano allowed you to lead him inside afterwards, his hand careful to be gentle when holding yours. The weariness in his body was evident as he stumbled a bit as you pulled him along. However, he matched your pace as best he could, following obediently as you guided him to your chambers.

Being greeted by the familiar room before him made his shoulders relax, the only place where he can be himself.

"How was is it? Being away from your wife for more than two weeks?" You ask while your hands started working on helping him out of the thick layers of his heavy, dirty clothing. Each layer you removed revealed more of his muscular, battle-worn physique, the scars and marks on his body a testament to the dangers he had faced.

He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he noticed your pout. He reached out a calloused hand and gently tugged at your lip, "It was a long two weeks," he admitted gruffly. "I have missed you sorely.”

“I'm sure you did,” you hummed, walking towards the closest to grab a sweater for him. "Don't pout like that," he chided gently, "You're making me feel guilty.”

You try hiding your smile when you hand him his new warm clothes, your arms crossing next, “as you should.”

"I've missed that pout," his lowers his voice, "but I don't miss your little attitude.”

You shrug, “i don't know what you're talking about.” Capitano's gaze held yours unflinchingly, his eyes studying your expression. He knew you were baiting him, daring him to guess your reason for being upset.

"Let me see.." he started, his voice taking on a tone of mock contemplation. "Perhaps it's the fact that I was gone for more than two weeks and left you here all alone. That's a start, is it not?”

“maybe.”

"Or perhaps it's the fact that I didn't send you a letter everyday and left you wondering about whether I was alright or not. Hmm, that could be it, couldn't it?”

“Go on.” your raise your eyebrow while tapping your feet impatiently.

"Or maybe," he stepped closer, taking a few strands of your hair in between his fingers, "It's because I didn't come home and ravish you as soon as I returned, instead letting you pout and sulk and complain like a spoiled little thing.”

He could see right through you; the way you suddenly straightened your stance and tried to act nonchalant only confirmed his suspicions.

You gasp, ”whaaaat? Nonsense.”

"Is that so?" he drawled, his hands now taking your upper arms, his thumb thumbs rubbing circles around your skin "i will make it up to you, my wife.”

Despite his promise that you could do later, you wanted him to rest more than anything, so you make him sit down on the bed while you leave to get the cookies you baked together with Marina.

“You have to tell me your opinion.” you hand him one of the chocolate chip cookies. Capitano let the taste of the chocolate chips and the buttery cookie dough settle on his tongue for a moment. He swallowed, his gaze still fixed on you, before giving his verdict.

"They're good," he admitted, "Better than good, actually. Well done.”

Praise kink goes crazy huh? Your smile widens, and it makes you feel all giddy, as you took a bite of the cookies as well.

He leaned back against the plush bedding of the bed, his strong arms resting on his lap as he observed you. "You've been busy while I was away, hm?"

“Not really, more bored than busy.”

“… i am sorry. I do not mean to leave you alone.”

You scoot closer to him once you see how guilty he looks, you sit next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. “When do you have to leave again?”

Capitano's silence spoke volumes, pausing before answering, "My duties are unpredictable, and there's no telling when the Tsaritsa will call for me again. I cannot give you an exact timeline, and that is the reality of what I do. I am a warrior first, a husband second.”

Ouch, that's fine. Totally fine.

You knew what you were getting into when you married him, after all. Still, a part of you couldn't help but wish for more. The thought kind of makes you sick… quite literally.

“I think the cookies had too much sugar.” You put the dessert back on the plate before standing up from the bed. “Shall i go get you wate—”

“no, thank you. I can do it.”

—

You were rotting in bed. From the morning, and now it's afternoon. It makes you feel useless since you barely did anything.

Capitano left before you woke up, even though he promised to return later today.

You felt miserable, your body weak and your spirits low. It was a mixture of loneliness, hormones, and the unease bubbling in your stomach. Capitano's absence only made it worse, adding to the feeling of helplessness that had settled upon you.

You tossed and turned in the bed, the plush sheets tangling up around you as you tried to find a comfortable position. But no matter how much you shifted, the discomfort in your stomach remained, persistent and nagging.

“Make the pain go please, I'll take any disgusting medicine,” you tell Marina weakly as you look up at her while she sat on the wooden stool next to you.

"I can give you some ginger root. It might help soothe your stomach.” she offered gently, handing you the ginger root she prepared just for you.

“… i lied i can't take anything disgusting.”

Marina chuckled softly at your admission, "I thought so," she said, setting aside the ginger root. “Have you considered telling Lord Capitano?”

You shake your head, “not that he's here. It's not that important.” you cover half of your face with the blanket, “why though? Isn't it just a normal cold from the change of weather?”

It was clear that you were trying to downplay the severity of your symptoms, perhaps not wanting to worry anyone or admit that something might be seriously wrong.

"Dearest, it's not just a cold," she chided gently, "the symptoms you're describing are not typical of a mere cold.”

You frown, “is it not?”

She shook her head, her voice soft but serious. "No, it's not. The nausea, the fatigue, the changes in appetite...these are all common symptoms of something else." Shee paused for a moment, "my lady, have you considered the possibility that you might be... Pregnant?”

You immediately rise from the bed, sitting down with eyes wide to stare at her, "what? Pregnant?” you ask in shock.

"I shall ask for a healer right away, my lady.”

—

You stare outside the window at the dark skies, although your eyes fixated on the gates opening, indicating his arrival.

You almost flinch when he dashes inside your shared chambers, taking his helmet off but not bothering to take the rest off before he's gently grabbing you by your arms.

“where?” He asks urgently, “where are you injured? Who did it? Do not hesitate to tell me.” He says in a dangerously sharp tone, his eyes searching for even a single scratch on your body.

“what… are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow, and your unbothered state made him confused. “the healers were here, yet you're not injured?” he blinked before sighing, his hands caressing your arms instead, “then why? Are you sick?”

“Sick… no not sick.” You tell him, your hands ever so gentle taking a hold of his face, “… but pregnant. I'm pregnant.”

You both stare at eachother, both of you holding your breaths. You have never seen him so distracted, like he didn't hear you the first time.

Does he hate it? You never thought of the possibility.

“Capit—” before you could continue, he's down in one knee and you're bewildered, unsure of what to do.

“you're carrying our child.” he utters out so softly that you think you might tear up—and you really are in the verge of tears. He takes your hand, he's held your hand many times, but this time it feels different, he holds you like you're glass, he's so careful with it.

“I swear to protect you both, and put you both first. Should anyone hurt you, i will not hesitate to draw my sword, if i ever hurt you… then you should not hesitate to draw your sword on me.” his words hung in the air like a sacred vow.

You tried to speak, to respond, but only a soft gasp escaped your lips. Tears welled in your eyes, and you could only stare at him, utterly overwhelmed.

Capitano's gaze softened even more as he saw the tears falling down your face. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, his hand still holding yours in a gentle but firm grip, he reached out with the other hand, his large palm cupping your cheek to brush your tears away. “Don't cry, I'm here.”

His embrace, so warm, so protective around you that it eases every single thought in your head.

Everything is going to be okay. With him, it will.

—

Months passed in a blur of morning sickness, cravings, and blossoming excitement for the new life growing inside you. Capitano, as promised, was by your side through it all and he went away for more than a week.

He attended to your every need, from getting up in the middle of the night to find the most ridiculous late-night snack, to comforting you on days when you felt overwhelmed by the changes happening to your body.

You rest back against the bed’s headboard while tracing random shapes on the skin of your swollen belly, a hum of some sort of song followed after. You stop once you hear the sound of slow footsteps, catching your husband freeze.

“I'm sorry, i didn't mean to stalk you like that—”

“you're so silly. Come here, honey.” You pat on your empty side with a smile, inviting him to share this moment you.

Capitano took his place next to you then continued watching as you gently caressed your belly, tracing over the stretch marks with your fingers.

“They're beautiful, you know.” he speaks first, as if sensing what you were about to say. “Beautiful?” You repeat. He lifted your hand to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on your knuckles before he replied, his voice a soft murmur. "Yes, beautiful. They're a sign of life growing within you. A sign of strength. Of creation. That's beautiful.” he continues his trail of kisses to your arm up to your shoulder, “I want to kiss every inch of you, stretch mark or not.”

You've come so far with him that it feels surreal, it feels right, “i love you.” You whisper to him, turning your attention to him again. “I love you.” he doesn't hesitate to say it back, the declaration coming out of his tongue smoothly like it was meant to be.

His hand then moved to your growing bump, "and I love this," he added. “This?” You giggle.

"Mhm," Capitano confirmed, his hand now rubbing your belly in slow, soothing circles. "This. Our baby." His eyes flickered up to yours, "We created this," he continued, his voice with pride and awe. "Our love made this.”

Love.

—

Were toddlers always this fast? Because one second he keeps an eye on her then the next he looks around before she's gone right from infront of him.

He was supposed to play tea party, but a little butterfly flying creature must've caught her attention.

Capitano, despite his size and strength, found himself struggling to keep up with your energetic three-year-old daughter.

He chuckled as he chased her around the garden, his large frame a stark contrast to her small, fleeting form. As she ran past you, you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the sight of your husband's face, "almost got her," he panted out, his hand on his knee as he attempted to catch his breath.

“You got this old man!” You decide to tease him from behind, laughing endlessly from the sight. Though he shot you a mock glare through his labored breaths, “old man, huh?" he grumbled, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. "You think I'm old now, do you?" he continued, raising an eyebrow playfully. "I'll show you 'old,' darling." With that, he took a step further to sweep you off your feet, carrying you effortlessly in his arms, and your smile only widens.

“Me!” Your little girl raises both of her arms at her father, and he kneels down to carry her in his other arm. Now carrying you both in each arm.

“Oh, how strong.” You tease, poking at his bicep and he shakes his head almost shyly, “papa, butterfly.” Your daughter proceeds to show you both the butterfly she caught, the little creature doesn't seem scared of her as it rests on her tiny fingers.

“Looks pretty,” Capitano smiled, his expression amused as your daughter leaned toward the butterfly, attempting to kiss it. "Careful now," he warned gently. "Don't scare it away." He watched as the butterfly fluttered its delicate wings at her attempt and she giggles.

"You have to be gentle," he told her, his voice soft. "Just like how you handle the kittens.”

She gasps, suddenly remembering the cat that's half asleep on the grass with the three of you. “Kitty!” She shouts at the cat, jumping off Capitano’s arm so suddenly that it makes him gasp, worried that she might’ve injured herself.

“she's fine.” You pat your husband's chest and just like that, he's relaxed again. “i think our cat is tired of her sometimes.” You get down as well, watching how your daughter carried the lazy cat in her arms to run in circles with her. The cat that grew within these years, from a mere kitten to a big cat now.

"I think we should just be glad the cat hasn't hissed at her or swatted her yet," he sighed, and you hum in reply, “i don't think it ever will. That cat has been clinging to my belly ever since i was pregnant. Kept me warm i must admit.”

You grin when your daughter runs back to both of you, carrying the cat in the air, it's eyes almost closed, unbothered, "meow."

Tags: @duchessofherself @itsjustnikkixoxo @erasme143 @yvesswoo @mooshbb @bigboygoose

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves�� -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[cowboybeepboop]

Patience 

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands."

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: You’re a newish member to the town of Forks, with an extreme obsession with Doctor Cullen. One day he finally gives in after you’ve visited the clinic for the 5th time that month. 

Warnings: light choking, semi public sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, praising, orgasm denial. 

a/n: I know this is a shift from my usual posts but I've been desperate for some more Carlisle content. As always, I hope you enjoy <3 and send any requests my way!

As you stepped into the small, dimly lit clinic, the antiseptic smell filled your nostrils, mingling with the faint scent of pine from the freshly wiped floor. The receptionist looked up from her computer, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Hello again," she said, her voice dripping with a hint of amusement. 

You returned the smile, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, and proceeded to the triage desk. Gripping my chest dramatically, you winced. "I've got these terrible chest pains," you gasp, hoping she wouldn't recognize your voice from the numerous calls I'd made over the past few weeks. "I think it's happening again." 

She nodded sympathetically, though her eyes betrayed a spark of curiosity. "I'll let Dr. Cullen know right away," she assures you, before disappearing into the back rooms of the clinic. Your heart raced with anticipation as you take a seat, glancing around the empty waiting area.

Little did they know that your only ailment was an extreme obsession with the enigmatic doctor who had recently become the talk of the town.

The receptionist emerged from the back, her smile widening as she beckoned you to follow her. She led you down the hallway to a small, cozy examination room, the walls adorned with diplomas and medical charts. "Dr. Cullen will be with you in just a moment," she said, the amusement in her voice now unmistakable. 

You nodded, trying to compose yourself as she closed the door behind you. The room was warm, and the gentle hum of the heater filled the space. You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table, heart pounding in your chest. 

Would he finally see through your facade of feigned illnesses? Or would he offer the attention and concern that you so desperately sought? The anticipation was almost too much to bear as you heard the soft footsteps approaching, and the door handle turned with a quiet click.

He stepped into the exam room with his usual grace and composure, a hint of surprise flickering across his features as his gaze fell on you. His cool, pale fingers clutched a patient chart, which he quickly placed on the counter. His voice, as smooth and soothing as ever, broke the silence.

Cullen leaned against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and studying you with a mix of curiosity and veiled amusement. "Back again," he commented, his voice betraying a hint of recognition. "Chest pains, you say?"

“Mhm,” you bite your lip as you gaze up at him, “It comes and goes..” 

Carlisle hummed softly, tilting his head to one side as he observed you. The flicker of recognition in his eyes now more pronounced. He grabbed the stethoscope that hung around his neck, looping it over his ears.

He closed the small distance between you, his presence seeming to fill the room. He placed the cold metal end of the stethoscope against your chest, his touch as gentle as a butterfly's wings. "Take a deep breath for me," he requested, his voice velvety and commanding.

 You gasp at the chill of the metal, a soft surprised sound escaping your lips as you try to steady your heart rate. You follow his instructions, taking in a deep breath. 

Dr. Cullen listens intently as the sound of your heartbeat fills his ears through the stethoscope. His brows furrowed slightly, a look of concentration on his face. The cool and professional demeanor remains, his focus on your heart.

"Again," he instructs, moving the stethoscope slightly to a different spot on your chest. His gaze never wavers from yours, his eyes betraying a hint of suspicion laced with a touch of curiosity.

You nod, taking in a deep breath, your hands resting on your knees as you gaze up at his strong jaw. Your heart rate picks up as you admire his face from where you're sitting. 

Carlisle can't help but notice the hitch in your heartbeat, his sharp hearing catching the slight acceleration. A small flicker of a smirk plays on the corner of his lips, as he continues to listen intently.

He lifts the stethoscope from your chest, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your heart rate is elevated," he comments, his voice a low hum. "Any idea why that might be?" The hint of a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Uh,” you gulp, looking off to the side of the room. “No, I’m not quite sure..” your fingers fumble with the hem of your short skirt as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Cullen's eyes flickered down to your fingers fidgeting with the hemline of your skirt before meeting your gaze once more. He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He took a step back, returning the stethoscope to his desk and perching himself on the edge of it, folding his arms across his broad chest. "You know," he began, his voice a low growl, "I've noticed a pattern. Every time you come to visit, you seem to have a different ailment."

“I guess I’m just,” you try to come up with an excuse. “I just have a lot of things going on, huh?” you grin up at him stiffly. 

The doctor tilts his head to one side, a smirk playing on his lips as he studies you intently. He pushes himself off the desk and begins pacing slowly in front of you.

"That's the thing," he says, his voice quiet and measured. "I've been a doctor for a very long time, and I've seen many patients through the years."

He stops in front of you, his gaze locking with yours. "And yet, I've never seen someone quite so...frequent as you."

“Oh..” you lick your lip, “I guess I’m just a bit worried, you know.. Chest pains aren’t a good sign..” your gaze falls to the tiled floor. 

Dr. Cullen hums softly, a hint of amused skepticism in his voice. "That's true.. Chest pains aren't something to be taken lightly," he agrees, his gaze locked on your face. "But I have a feeling there's more than just chest pains that are troubling you."

“What.. what do you mean?” your eyes widen as you look up at him, body straightening under his intense stare. 

Cullen cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a step closer, his presence becoming more commanding.

"I mean," he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "that I suspect there's something more going on here. Something that has little to do with your physical ailments and more to do with..." he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your body briefly, "...something else entirely."

You take a deep breath, gulping as he moves closer. “Oh?” 

Carlisle’s gaze hardens as he moves even closer, nearly towering over you now. "What if I were to suggest that your frequent visits here have less to do with medical concerns and more to do with something else, something more intimate?" he asks, his voice soft but commanding.

He leans closer still, his cool breath ghosting across your skin. "What if I were to suggest that there's a deeper, underlying reason for your...obsession with this clinic?"

You lean back, legs squeezing together as warmth fills your stomach. “Like what? Doctor Cullen?” you furrow your eyebrows, feigning innocence. 

Dr. Cullen's eyes narrow ever so slightly at your feigned innocence. He can sense the heat coursing through your body and the way your legs press together. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip.

He leans in, his voice lowering to a near growl. "Don't play coy with me," he murmurs, closing what little distance remains between you. "You know exactly what I'm referring to." 

“I don't-” you shake your head in response, eyes wide as you scoot further back on the table. “I don't think I know what you mean…” your body tenses with desire as he looks down at you. 

Cullen's eyes darken at the way you scoot back further on the table, the subtle signs of your tension not escaping his sharp senses. He rests his hands on the edge of the table, effectively caging you in.

"Oh? You don't?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then tell me why you've been coming here every week for months. And don't give me that 'I'm just clumsy' or 'I have bad headaches' act again."

You open your mouth to give another excuse but nothing comes out, words seemingly caught in your throat. Eyes falling to his lips as your heart hammers against your chest erratically. 

His lips curved into a knowing smirk as he noticed the way your gaze fixed on them. It was all the confirmation he needed.

He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Why don't you just admit it?" he asked, his breath fanning against your skin. "Admit why you keep coming back here. To see me. To see what it's like to have my hands on you."

“Doctor..” you start, voice soft and full of desperation. 

Cullen's eyes flicker with a hint of satisfaction as he hears the desperation in your voice. He raises a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light yet full of possession.

"Say it," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. "Say it, and then you can get exactly what you've been coming here for all these weeks."

“I..” your eyes flutter shut as you take a deep breath. “I’ve been coming here because I want to feel your hands on me.” you gasp out, cheeks flushing with your whispered confession. 

Carlisle’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he hears the confession tumble from your lips. He leans in closer, his hand moving from your cheek to your chin, tilting it upwards so your gaze meets his.

"Good girl," he purrs, the words making heat flare in your stomach. "It wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting what you really want."

He leans even closer, his body pressed against the table, "And what do you want me to do with those hands, princess?"

“I want you to touch me..” you bite down on your lip, legs parting as he slips between them. He lets out a low growl, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He presses even closer, his hips now pinning you against the table.

"Touch you where?" he whispers, his free hand moving to rest on your thigh, just beneath the hem of your skirt. He toys with the fabric, his fingers tracing small patterns on your bare skin. "You'll need to be more specific, princess."

You move your hand to his, guiding him to where you want him. Carlisle’s hand stops you, a smirk playing on his lips as he sees the slight frown on your face.

"Ah-ah," he chides. "Use your words, like I said. Tell me exactly where you want my hands." He runs his thumb across your lip, watching you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You shiver at his cold skin against you, “Doctor,” you whine out. A low chuckle escapes Cullen’s lips as he sees you shiver under his touch. He brushes his thumb across your lip again, the coldness a stark contrast to your own heat.

“Tell me, princess,” he whispers huskily, his voice like silk. “Where do you want my hands? You’ve been fantasizing about them for all these weeks, haven’t you? Now’s your chance to tell me exactly where you want me to touch you. Be specific.”

“I want you to,” you squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment. “Touch me, here, between my legs..” you murmur, motioning to your spread thighs. Dr. Cullen's eyes gleam with a mixture of satisfaction and arousal as he hears your whispered request. He moves his hand, which had been on your chin, to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin slightly.

“Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. “And how long have you been imagining my hands on you there?” he asks, his hand slowly inching up your thigh, the coldness of his touch in stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

You gasp, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you shudder. Cullen lets out a low chuckle, enjoying the way you instinctively bury your face into his shoulder. His hand continues to move up your thigh, the coldness of his touch sending another shiver down your spine.

He brings his free hand up to run through your hair, his fingers tangling in the locks. "You're so sensitive, princess. Is that because you've been thinking about this for a long time, hmm?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes..” you choke out, feeling his hands part your legs further. A low growl rumbles through his chest once you confirm that you've been thinking about this for a while. He moves even closer, his hips pressing against yours, pinning you to the table.

"How often do you think about me like this?" he murmurs, his hand finally reaching the bare flesh of your inner thigh. He lets his fingers dance over your skin, the coolness of his touch sending sensations through your body. "Every day? Every night?" you moan softly, pulling his hand to your soaked panties. 

“Please… stop teasing me..” you whine, desperate for his touch. 

Cullen grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as he finally slipped his fingers into your panties. The coldness of his skin sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your core tighten around his touch. His longer pointer finger found your clit with unerring precision, teasing it in a slow, maddening circle. 

"You're so desperate for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His voice was a seductive purr that seemed to echo through your very soul. 

"Do you dream about this, my little patient?" he murmured, pressing down slightly, making you gasp. "Do you lie in bed at night, touching yourself and imagining it's me bringing you pleasure?" His touch grew more insistent, his voice a dark caress that only served to fuel your desire.

You whine, the embarrassment and arousal mixing in a potent cocktail that makes your voice tremble. Cullen's smirk widens, the sound of your need making his own desire spike. "There's no need to be shy now," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've been so eager for this, haven't you?"

With a sudden, firm movement, he slides a finger into you, the coldness of his digit making you gasp. He moves it in and out with deliberate slowness, watching the way your body reacts to his touch. 

His thumb remains on your clit, swirling in a relentless pattern that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. You can feel yourself growing wetter with each stroke, your body betraying just how much you crave his attention.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark rumble that sends vibrations through your core. "How long have you dreamed of this moment?" His finger moves deeper, stretching you slightly, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face. "How long have you wanted me to do this to you?"

Your breath hitches as you struggle to answer, the sensation of his finger inside you making it difficult to form coherent thoughts. "Ever since my first visit," you stutter, your cheeks burning.

Cullen's smile turns predatory as he feels you clench around his finger. "Well," he says, his voice low and seductive, "today, all your dreams come true." 

He adds a second finger, the coldness now a familiar and welcome sensation. He starts to pump them in and out of you, his thumb never leaving your clit, keeping the pressure constant.

You moan, unable to stop yourself from arching into his touch, your body begging for more. "More," you murmur, the word barely audible. "Please."

Dr. Cullen chuckles, the sound dark and triumphant. "As you wish, my eager patient," he says, his eyes dark with lust. He quickens the pace, the coldness of his touch making you shiver with pleasure. His thumb presses harder on your clit, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

As your need grew more urgent, Cullen added another finger, stretching you further as you clenched around him. The sudden fullness made you gasp, and you bit down hard on the fabric of his white coat to muffle the moan that threatened to escape your lips. The material was stiff and cold, but it only served to heighten the warmth and pressure building within you. 

Each stroke of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing over you, the chilly touch of his skin against your heated flesh making you tremble with anticipation. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your nails dug into the material of his coat, leaving tiny marks of desperation as your orgasm began to coil tightly in your core. 

The sound of his fingers moving within you filled the room, a slick, intimate symphony that seemed to resonate with the thud of your racing heart. The tension grew, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you approached the precipice. 

The coldness of his touch was a stark contrast to the burning heat of your arousal, and you found yourself craving more of him, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. 

You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening like a bowstring drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. Carlisle watched you, his eyes dark with lust, his own breathing growing heavier as he pushed you further and further towards the edge.

Your body shudders as the orgasm crashes over you, a keening cry escaping your throat despite your efforts to muffle it. Cullen's eyes bore into yours, his own desire clear as he watches you fall apart under his skilled touch. 

His fingers continue to pump into you, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're left panting and boneless against the exam table. He withdraws his hand, the loss of his cold digits making you whimper. 

He smirks, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking on his fingers, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sound of his satisfaction echoes in the room, making your cheeks burn even hotter. 

The smugness in his gaze tells you that he's fully aware of the effect he's had, and the thrill of being so thoroughly exposed and dominated by him sends another shiver down your spine. You bite your lip, your eyes never leaving his, as you silently beg for more.

Dr. Cullen chuckles again at the sight of you, completely spent and utterly under his control. He takes a step back, admiring your flushed, disheveled appearance. “You're quite the picture, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry.

He moves to the sink and washes his hands, his eyes never leaving yours. Once finished, he turns back to you, his gaze dark with unfulfilled desire. “You know, I should reprimand you for all those fake ailments you've been coming in for,” he says, his voice deceptively casual

You cover your flushed cheeks with your hands, breathing heavy as you try to collect yourself. Cullen smirks as he watches you struggle to compose yourself. He moves back towards you, his footsteps slow and measured. He stops right in front of you, his broad frame towering over your seated figure.

"Embarrassed, are you?" he asks, his voice a low, amused purr. He reaches out, taking one of your wrists in his hand, slowly dragging it away from your face.

“You’re such a tease,” you whine, looking up at him, eyes still full of desire for him. Carlisle’s smirk widens as he hears the complaint in your voice. He releases your wrist, bringing his hand up to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

"Who, me? A tease?" he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of feigned innocence and mockery. "I'm just doing my job as a doctor, princess. It's my duty to care for my patients," he says, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You push your tongue out, licking the tip of his thumb with newfound confidence. “But what about you Doctor?” your hands go to his belt buckle, fingers brushing over his concealed erection. 

Cullen's eyes darken as he feels your tongue against his thumb. A sharp intake of breath escapes him as your fingers brush against his erection, the feeling stirring an immediate response.

"What about me, princess?" he asks, his voice gruff and huskier than before. He watches you closely, his eyes locked on your face as you toy with his buckle.

“Who will take care of you?” you unbuckle his belt, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes, full of lust. Carlisle’s hands clench into fists as you unbuckle his belt, his restraint faltering slightly as you gaze up at him with that look in your eyes. 

He lets out a low, possessive growl, his body tensing as he struggles to maintain a semblance of composure. "You want to take care of me, princess?" he asks, his voice lower and more gravelly now. "Is that what you're offering?"

You nod eagerly, fingers fumbling with the zipper and button of his slacks. Slipping the pants away, you press your hand against his length through his boxers. Doctor Cullen’s eyes flash with desire as your hand presses against his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. He lets out a stifled groan, his hips involuntarily bucking against your touch.

"Eager, aren't you?" he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. He places a hand on your shoulder, half to steady himself, half to push you away. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess." 

You free his erection from his boxers, your hand wrapping around his length. You lean in, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the tip of his erection, feeling it twitch against your lips. Carlisle's grip on your shoulder tightens as you begin to suck, his hips jerking slightly as you take him into your warm, eager mouth. 

His cock is hard and pulsing, the head slick with pre-cum that you greedily lick away. His hand slides into your hair, guiding you as you bob your head up and down his shaft, your cheeks hollowing with each suck. The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled moans and his stifled groans as you work to satisfy his desire. 

The taste of him is intoxicating, making you want more. You let your tongue dance around the sensitive ridge, feeling him throb against your tongue. His other hand comes up to the back of your head, his grip growing firmer, his hips beginning to thrust in time with your movements. You moan around his length, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. 

His eyes are closed, his head thrown back, and his chest heaves with each ragged breath. You can feel his need for release growing, his body tightening with every stroke of your tongue. You suck harder, taking him deeper, eager to bring him to climax. 

The power you have over him is exhilarating, and you revel in it, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. His hand in your hair tightens, his grip almost painful, but you don't care. All you want is to feel him come apart under your ministrations, to hear him cry out in pleasure. 

Cullen groans, his body shuddering as your eager mouth works on him, his hand finding its way to the strands of your hair. He takes a fistful, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, your scent mingling with the musk of arousal filling the room. He savors the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around his cock. 

His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you with a gentle but firm rhythm that matches the pulse of your own desire. Each time you take him deep, he lets out a soft hiss, his hips rocking slightly to meet your movements. His other hand rests on the counter, knuckles white with restrained need. 

The sound of your moans, muffled by his length, echoes in the room, a symphony of pleasure that drives him wild. His control is slipping, his breathing becoming ragged as you work your magic, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him back in, deeper and deeper with every stroke. 

The anticipation of his release builds, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. The coldness of his touch has given way to the heat of passion, his restrained demeanor now a distant memory. The clinical setting is forgotten, replaced by the primal dance of desire that plays out between you.

 You can feel him growing closer, his thighs tense and his breathing erratic. You know what he needs, what you've been longing to give him, and you push harder, faster, determined to bring him to the brink and watch him fall.

Cullen's eyes fly open, his gaze piercing yours as he feels the first pulse of his climax. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his hips bucking into your mouth as he releases. You swallow eagerly, your eyes never leaving his as he cums, the salty tang of his release coating your tongue. 

His hand in your hair tightens, almost painfully, as he holds you in place, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm. You watch, mesmerized, as his features contort with pleasure, his jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. He lets out a series of deep, shuddering breaths, his chest heaving as he slowly regains his composure. 

His hand releases your hair, moving to cradle the back of your head, his touch now gentle as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through him. He opens his eyes, the intensity in them not diminished, and looks down at you with a mix of satisfaction and hunger. 

"Good girl," he whispers, his voice hoarse. You sit back, licking your lips clean, feeling a sense of pride at having brought him to this point. 

He leans down, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his gaze. A possessive, satisfied smile plays on his lips. “You're quite the naughty little patient, aren't you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Taking advantage of my good nature like that.”

He releases your chin, his hand moving to your hair, running his fingers through the strands. He tugs lightly, just hard enough to get your attention. “But I must admit, I rather enjoyed it,” he adds, his gaze dark with restrained desire.

“Then maybe I should keep my habit of coming here so frequently,” you bite your lip, gazing up at him seductively. 

"You do seem to have a habit of finding yourself in my clinic quite often, princess." Cullen’s gaze darkens at your seductive bite of your lip. "And I do have a duty to ensure my patients are well taken care of..." he says, his voice a low, promising rumble.

He steps closer, his body now pressed against yours, his height towering over you. He leans down, his lips near your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Maybe I should start charging extra for private appointments,” he murmurs.

You shiver at his words, hands reaching out to grasp his sides, your fingers digging into his cold skin. Dr. Cullen lets out a low, amused hum at your shiver, the feel of your fingers digging into his skin sending a jolt through him. "Someone's eager," he mutters, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you even closer against him.

His other hand comes up, his thumb tracing the contour of your chin. He tilts your head up, his gaze a mixture of desire and possessive claiming. "You certainly know how to get my attention, princess," he murmurs, his voice a deep growl.

You slide your hands up his shirt, fingers dancing over his tense muscles. “Doctor..” you murmur. Cullen lets out a low hiss as your hands skim over his bare skin. Your touch seems to electrify him, his body tensing even more beneath your touch.

"Yes, princess?" he responds, his voice rougher than before. He leans down, his lips hovering over your ear. "What is it that you want?" he asks, his warm breath sending another shiver through you.

“I want..” you bury your face into his stomach, breathing in his musk mixed with his cologne. “Your hand wasn't enough�� I need more of you..” your voice is needy and desperate as you gaze up at him, chin pressed against his firm abs. 

Carlisle’s breath hitches at your admission, the mix of desperation and need in your voice firing up his own primal instincts. His hand at the small of your back grips tighter, his body tensing as he struggles to keep control.

"You want more, huh?" he mutters, his voice thick with desire. He releases his grip on your chin, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" he growls.

“Please doctor?” the pads of your fingers dig into his back. Cullen lets out a low, possessive growl as you dig your fingers into his back. The pleading tone of your voice, the desperation in your touch, only serves to fuel his own need.

"You beg so prettily, princess," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble. "How can I resist when you ask so nicely?" He leans down, his lips hovering over yours, his breath warm on your skin. "But you must be specific, sweetheart. You need to tell me exactly what it is you want.“

“I want you to fuck me, please..” you gasp, lips parting for him. Carlisle’s eyes darken at your blunt request, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. He closes the small gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, delving and tasting, his hand at the back of your head holding you in place.

He pulls back from the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You're insatiable, you know that?" he mutters, his free hand sliding down your body to grasp your hip. "How am I supposed to deny such a pretty request?"

With a low growl of approval, Cullen's hands guide you to the edge of the exam table, your legs shaking with anticipation. He bends you over, the cold steel pressing into your abdomen as he pulls your panties down, exposing your trembling thighs. 

You feel his erection, hot and demanding, as he lines himself up with your slick entrance, the tip of his cock pressing into your wetness. His hand firmly grips your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he adjusts his position, the sound of his zipper echoing in the small room. 

You gasp as he enters you, inch by inch, filling you completely, the sensation of his cold skin against your heated flesh sending waves of pleasure through your body. His other hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air, but enough to remind you of his dominance, his control over your body and your desires. 

He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into you, the force making you cry out. His grip tightens, his hips setting a punishing rhythm that has you seeing stars. Each thrust sends a jolt of cold fire through you, the stark contrast of his frigid skin against your burning need only serving to heighten your pleasure. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your muffled whimpers and his deep, satisfied grunts as he claims you, his sharp canines grazing your shoulder as he marks you, his patient.

As your moans grew louder, Cullen's hand left your hip and covered your mouth, his thumb pressing against your lower lip as his other fingers dug into your cheek. He was relentless, his hips moving with a precision that spoke of his experience and his unyielding need to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. 

Each thrust hit the spot deep inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you could feel yourself growing wetter, your walls clenching around him with every stroke. The muffled sounds of your cries were only for his ears, a secret symphony of passion that played out in the quiet of the exam room. 

His own breaths grew harsher, his movements more erratic, as he felt your body tense beneath him, his name a silent scream against his palm. The heat of your arousal mixed with the coldness of his hand on your mouth was a delicious torment, your eyes rolling back in your head as he claimed you, his possession complete. 

The world outside the room ceased to exist, and all that remained was the frantic dance of your bodies, the cold steel of his touch, and the warm, velvety embrace of his cock filling you over and over again. You felt your climax building, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to shatter you, your body begging for release. 

"Not yet, princess," Cullen whispers, his voice hoarse and urgent against your ear, his movements unrelenting. His cold hand slides from your mouth to your neck, his grip firm as he feels your body begin to tighten around him, the warmth of your passion meeting the chill of his touch. 

His strokes become deeper, more deliberate, as he watches your face contort with the beginnings of your climax. You try to hold back, your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip to muffle your cries. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of cold fire through you, making your toes curl and your nails dig into the edge of the exam table. 

"I’ll let you know when to cum for me," he commands, his voice a low growl that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand on your hip guides your hips back to meet his, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. You can feel the swell of his cock inside you, the pressure building, the coldness of his skin against your hot, wet flesh.

Your eyes fly open, and you stare at the wall, panting, as he continues to fuck you with a masterful precision that has you teetering on the edge of oblivion. Your body is his to command, your pleasure his to give and withhold. 

And as much as you want to cum, to shatter beneath his touch, you know that you won't until he says so. The anticipation is agonizing, a sweet torture that only makes the eventual release all the more potent. 

You whimper, your body begging for relief, but Cullen's grip tightens, his movements unyielding. "Soon," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. "But not yet. I want to feel you clench around me, tight and desperate, begging for it." His voice is a dark promise, a siren's call that you can't resist. 

You push back against him, your body moving in time with his rhythm, the cold steel of his hand on your neck a stark contrast to the warmth building in your core. The tension is unbearable, a coil winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. 

You're so close, so very close, but he won't let you go over the edge. Not yet. Not until he's ready. And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave his control, his dominance over your very being. It's a heady feeling, one that makes you want to both fight against him and surrender completely to his will. 

You gasp out his name, a plea and a curse all rolled into one, your voice echoing in the small, intimate space. His response is a feral growl, his hips slamming into you with renewed vigor, his hand on your neck pressing a little harder, his thumb stroking the pulse point beneath your jaw. 

You're so close, so incredibly close, and you know that when he finally lets you go, when he allows you to come, it's going to be like nothing you've ever felt before. The coldness of his touch, the heat of his desire, the raw power of his control all coalesce into a storm of sensation that threatens to consume you. And you can't wait.

“You can let go now.” he growls into your ear. With a final, powerful thrust, Cullen's hand clamps down hard over your mouth, muffling your scream of pleasure as your body finally gives in to the climax that had been building for what felt like an eternity. 

The pressure of his hand, the coldness of his skin against your flushed cheek, only heightens the sensation, making your orgasm feel like it's shattering you into a million pieces. Your eyes squeeze shut as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your legs trembling and your core clenching around him, desperately trying to hold on to the feeling. 

His own release follows swiftly, his hips jerking as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you completely with his seed. His grip on your neck tightens, his breath hot against your ear, as he rides out his climax with a deep, guttural groan. The room seems to spin around you, the only solid point the cold steel of his hand, grounding you in the midst of the tumultuous storm of sensation. 

As your body starts to come down from the high, you feel him pull out slowly, his grip on you loosening, his breathing still ragged. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something else, something primal and possessive. 

You collapse onto the exam table, boneless and spent, the coldness of the room now a stark contrast to the heat that still pulses through your veins. He reaches down to pull your panties back up, his movements surprisingly gentle given the ferocity of his earlier actions. 

The cold fabric against your sensitive skin sends a shiver through you, a final reminder of the intensity of what just transpired. You can't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought of when you'll get to feel his cold touch again, eager to play out this twisted game of cat and mouse once more.

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn’t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[thinkinonsense]

TALK, TALK₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

logan howlett x mutant!reader

cw: fluff, sweet logan

a/n: inspired by the charli xcx song<3 everything in spanish and french is from google translate so if it's incorrect, that why.

you were no stranger to crushes. they always showed up out of the blue; you couldn't help it. all it took was one glance, a smile, a bit of small talk, anything really. none of this changed when he entered your life.

maybe cupid had struck you in the ass at some point.

for weeks, everyone in the mansion knew where your feelings had floated. normally, you try not to develop any crushes on the people you see daily but this guy was different. even sort of dangerous; the thrill excited you.

"you don't understand, storm." you groan, helping her train downstairs. "there's just something about him. i can't explain it."

your dear friend laughs, swinging at the boxing bag again. "i'm not saying not to go after him... just be careful is all."

"well, there's nothing to worry about because he hasn't even talked to me." a small sigh escapes you.

"he hasn't talked to you?" she questions. you shake your head. "that's odd. i wonder why not?"

"well, he keeps to himself." you shrug, thinking of excuses besides the fact that he likely doesn't share the same feelings you do.

"hm... have you tried talking to him?"

"nooo." you giggle nervously. "absolutely not! you know how i get when i actually have to talk to people i have crushes on."

"i know." storm joins in on your laughter. "it's like someone set you on top of a stove; you just start melting."

"it all comes out like, 'blah, blah, blah'."

"you never know, maybe he speaks 'blah, blah, blah' too."

little did storm know that her words would linger around in your head every time you see him.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

obliviousness was not a trait logan had. he noticed everything; whether he liked it or not. in this case, he didn't mind noticing everything about you.

it started when he saw a shadow following him to the cafeteria, down the hall, and to the training room. he tried to be polite and ignore it; too afraid to scare you off entirely.

a couple days after your talk with storm, charles sent the older mutants out on a mission. this included storm, scott, logan, and yourself. upon the return, all of the older mutants gathered in the kitchen to unwind. you, storm, and kurt sat together at the table. the two of them bickered back and forth about something silly that happened during the mission.

it wasn't fair how good logan looked during the mission. the tight black spandex did wonders for his form. it felt like some high school crush. butterfly's always in your stomach when he looks at you.

on the other side of the room, logan sat in a wooden chair next to hank, with a cigar dangling from his lips. it must've felt like you were burning holes into the side of his head. even storm had to nudge you to look away from him, telling you to stop giving him 'heart eyes'.

"think someone's got a crush on you, pal." hank teases logan. "heard she's been waiting for you to talk to her."

you looked pretty, sitting at the table with a slight red stain on the inside of your lips, matching the flush of red on your cheeks when you notice him catching you staring. logan couldn't think of anything that compare to the ethereal sight before him.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

the glass of red wine on your hand was now empty, allowing you to excuse yourself from their conversation for a moment. at the counter, you pour yourself another glass; finishing off the bottle. when you turn to toss the bottle in the trash, you bump into someone.

"s-sorry." you squeal before realizing that it was logan that you bumped into.

"no need to apologize." he assures.

one of logan's big wide palms places itself on your waist, helping keep you upright. all of the wine flooded your mind, unable to form a proper sentence.

"dios mío, eres tan hermoso." you ramble drunkenly shooting stars from your eyes.

*oh my god, you're so gorgeous.

logan couldn't be more confused by your suddenly language switch but he found it awfully amusing. it wasn't a total surprise, he knew you were incredibly intelligent. charles always sang your praises. if you were even a little bit sober right now, you would be mortified.

"whatcha' thinking about, sweetheart?" he smirks, loving how flustered you became.

little did you know, the 200 year old mutant has definitely picked up on some different languages over his lifetime. to logan it didn't even matter whether or not he understood what you meant, he just wanted you to keep talking.

"je veux embrasser ton joli visage." your tongue runs over your bottom lip.

*wanna kiss your pretty face.

"hm... tell me more." logan purrs into your ear. completely forgetting about everyone else in the room.

"he estado enamorado de ti durante meses, ¿sabes?"

*i've had a crush on you for months, you know?

"je pense à toi tous les jours." you step closer, drunk with confidence. "pendant les entraînements, en mission, seule au lit... tout le temps."

*i think about you everyday. during training, on missions, alone in bed... all the time.

"such a smart girl, aren't 'cha, honey?" he groans softly at your words.

it took everything in logan not to kiss you right here, right now. he wanted you to remember the first time he kissed you.

"je veux être ta copine, logan." you whisper in his ear.

*wanna be your girl, logan.

"¿puedes guardar mi secreto?"

*can you keep my secret?

he never wanted you to stop talking; loving every word that falls from your foreign lips.

it wasn't long until storm, pulls you away hoping she caught you before you said anything you would regret. logan didn't mind, too excited to see you in the morning.

₊˚⊹ ʚɞ

when you woke up, your head was pounding. nothing worse than a wine hangover. you couldn't remember anything after jean poured you a third glass of wine. you took two aspirins and laid in bed for an extra hour before you finally made it downstairs for breakfast.

logan smelled your lavender scented shampoo the second you stepped out of your room. he had been downstairs waiting for you. everyone had already started their day, off either teaching or training. not him though, he had different plans for his day.

"morning." logan said to you as you walked into the kitchen. your heart fluttered, he could hear it.

"good morning." you reply meekly as you grab a plate and some utensils.

he sips on his plain black coffee while you place two waffles and some fruit onto your plate. theres a small stack of books next to logan on the table but you don't give it a second glance.

"wanna sit?" he asks you.

this was a completely different side of logan compared to the usually grumpy version of him that everyone sees.

"sure."

"did you have fun last night?"

he needed to test the waters on what you remember. by the late arrival to breakfast, logan's guess was not much.

"would you believe me if i said that i can't remember much?" you giggle nervously as you bite into a strawberry. "i was probably being boring in some corner."

you couldn't have been more wrong, logan thinks to himself. the two of you have some small talk for a while, enjoying each others company. this wasn't helping your crush from spreading.

once you cleared your plate and logan finished his coffee, both of you get up to place your dishes into the sink when you noticed the books in logan's hands. one spine read 'beginners guide to french' and the other read 'spanish for dummies'.

in a flash, everything came hurtling back at you full speed. this wasn't yours and logan's first conversation alone together.

"¿Qué pasa cariño?" logan asks, voice filled with desire as he cages you against the sink. his lips ghosted over your own; tempting you beyond your strengths. "je pensais que tu voulais que je te parle ?"

*what's wrong, sweetheart?

*i thought you wanted me to talk to you?

"et merde." you whisper before pulling on the collar of his flannel, smashing his lips into yours.

*fuck it.

the sheer taste of the other drove both of you insane. the mix of logan's coffee and tobacco contrasting with your sweet syrup and fruity taste was intoxicating. you pull back, needing to catch your breath. logan's lips moved south, sucking a dark purple bruise on your pulse point.

"better than i imaged." logan groans, obsessed with your every being.

"imagine si tu m'avais parlé plus tôt ?" you wink down at him.

*imagine if you had talked to me sooner?

logan chuckles, bending to pick you up. "love that mouth of yours, sweetheart. lets see what other languages it speaks."

[fairyhaos]

❖ marshmallow smile // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.8k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, food mention, yn is a Mess, shua blushes very easily, absolutely cheesy romcom-style trope in this fic, basically shua pretends someone bought yn a drink but surprise!! it was him!!

warnings: 1 swear word

notes: silly soft flustered joshua who rarely consciously flirts but makes an exception for you :((( my beloved. happy shua day <3

“Here, this is a hot chocolate for you from the guy across the cafe.”

It's been a particularly horrible day, that day. Not because of anything specific, but just because sometimes days are like that. Days where the weather is terrible, your mood is terrible, work is terrible, and overall everything is just kind of… shit. 

Seven o'clock in the evening finds you in a cafe: the same cafe you've been in for four hours, clocking in some unwanted overtime because some idiot on your team managed to permanently delete half the spreadsheet you've been updating for weeks and now you have to scramble to fix it in two days before the annual overview meeting is conducted to all of your bosses. 

You’re exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and almost about to burst into tears when the gentle, male voice had spoken, and you look up just as a hand slides a steaming mug onto your table.

This man—he’s absolutely gorgeous, actually, but you don’t get to register it fully because the moment you look up, he suddenly dashes away to the other end of the cafe, bumping into empty tables before sitting down nonchalantly in one of the booths all the way on the other side, crossing his legs and waving, like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” he says, all cool and suave, even as he’s still waving. “I’m the guy from across the cafe.”

You blink, and then the pieces of his charade fall into place and you laugh, flattered. 

“Well, thank you very much,” you say, and then close your laptop, looking down at the hot chocolate on your table. The whipped cream is piled high, and the mini marshmallows are the pink kind. It’s very cute. “That’s very kind of you.” You smile, taking a sip. “I’ll also be sure to thank the handsome server who brought me my drink.”

The man’s smile widens, pleased. “I hope you don’t think the server was more handsome than me, though.”

You hum, tilting your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe if you come over here, I’ll be able to see you properly and make a real judgement.”

The man’s eyes light up, and he makes his way over to you, and—it’s like the whole world stops spinning. You’d already known he was handsome, and he’s been sitting on the other side of the cafe while talking to you, but it’s a whole other thing to be seeing him up close.

You’re now face-to-face with the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, with pretty brown eyes and a pretty lips that are pulled into a devastatingly pretty smile, and you have to fight a blush as he claims the seat opposite you at the table.

“Hi,” he says again, and laughs softly when you can’t quite meet his gaze, shy. 

“Hello,” you say, looking up briefly and feeling your face instantly heat up. What earlier confidence you’d had when calling him over has mysteriously disappeared, flustered in the face of this man’s handsomeness.

He laughs again, obviously finding you endearing as you look away, avoiding his gaze. And then he ducks his head down until he finds your eyes again before slowly straightening up, smiling when your gaze stays on him. “There we go,” he says softly. “Your eyes are so pretty. Please don’t look away.”

You blink rapidly, still very pink in the face. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. “My name’s Joshua,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “May I have your name?”

Somehow, the oddly formal nature of Joshua’s question helps you shake some of your shyness, and you smile back at him, taking a sip from your hot chocolate. It’s sweet.

“I suppose you may,” you say, lightly teasing. “It’s Y/N.”

And then you hold out your hand for him to shake, playing up the formal greeting, and Joshua laughs, taking it in his own, his touch warm and grounding. You kind of want to hold his hand forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Joshua says. Disappointingly, his fingers fall away from your own almost instantly, and he gestures to the mug in front of you. “I hope you like the hot chocolate. I was actually, um, watching you from across the cafe, and you looked quite stressed, and so I wanted to give you the drink.”

“Oh.” His words have you melting a little, and he looks so adorable with his shining eyes and that shy smile on his face, as if nervous about this whole exchange. “Thank you. I was having a bit of a bad day, so this really helps.” You look down at the hot chocolate in mild wonder. “I thought this kind of thing only happened to main characters in rom coms.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed even as he laughs slightly, eyes crinkling. 

“I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he admits. “I’m kind of out of my depth here with this whole… flirting thing. But I thought you were cute, and you were working so hard, and I wanted to just give you something sweet to cheer you on.”

He thought you were cute. Despite his admission that he’s “out of his depth” here, you think he’s actually doing very well in this flirting. Devastatingly so.

Things like this just don’t happen to you. You’re not the type to have handsome men giving you hot chocolate at seven in the evening because they think you’re cute, but here you are, and Joshua’s smiling shyly even as his eyes glow, and he’s so pretty and this entire thing feels like something out of a dream.

“Your presence is sweeter than any drink could be,” you blurt out, and then promptly turn the shade of a beetroot, burying your face onto the top of your laptop lid. 

You can practically hear Joshua’s stunned silence, and then he laughs.

“Oh, please look up,” he says, when you still keep your face firmly buried in the laptop. “That’s the most adorable compliment I’ve ever gotten, seriously. You’re really—you’re really lovely, Y/N.”

“I’m also really embarrassed,” you say, muffled. “That was—I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at flirting. That was so weird.”

Joshua laughs again, and then there’s a light tap on the top of your head, and you lift your head slightly. Joshua takes the opportunity to reach over and lift your chin up with the tips of his fingers, smiling when you finally make eye contact with him again.

He’s blushing, you realise faintly. His fingers are warm on your face, and his cheeks are dusted pink. You did that to him.

“It wasn’t weird,” he assures. “I told you, I’m really bad at this whole thing too. But I came over here because I liked you, so it would be strange for me to dislike the idea of you liking me too.”

Your eyes widen. “You like me?”

Joshua scrunches his nose slightly, looking embarrassed again. He retracts his hand, and again, you miss the warmth of his touch. “This isn’t my first time seeing you,” he confesses. “You come here every Wednesday after work, don’t you? I’m always here around that time as well, and you’re always so bright and bubbly with your friends, and I just—well, like I said, I found you really cute.”

“Oh.” Joshua really is so, so sweet. “I’m sorry I haven’t ever talked to you before, then. Wow.” And then you smile. “But if it’s any consolation, I really do think you’re cute, too.”

Joshua’s whole face seems to glow as his eyes crinkle into crescents and he smiles widely. He’s still blushing prettily, and that makes you smile too, mesmerised by how someone who looks like him actually exists.

“Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up,” a voice suddenly says, and you jump, tearing your gaze away from Joshua, flustered. At the front of the cafe, there’s a barista wiping down the coffee machines. He stops what he's doing, leaning against the counter, watching you both amusedly. His name tag, Yoon Jeonghan, glints in the lights. “We’re closing up soon. You guys have to go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you call back, and quickly drink the last of the hot chocolate that Joshua gave you, before beginning to put your things back in your back. The spreadsheet isn’t fully finished, but oh well. You can get someone else to do it.

“Sorry, I probably distracted you,” Joshua says apologetically, as you put on your coat and shoulder your bag. He picks up your empty mug for you, ready to walk to the counter and give it back to the barista. “Did you manage to finish your work?”

You shake your head, and the two of you make your way out of the cafe. “No, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve been working on it for hours. I’ll get someone else to finish it off.”

Joshua nods and hands the mug back to the barista, who accepts it with a mischievous grin.

“Have a nice night, lovebugs,” the barista, Jeonghan, says, eyes twinkling. It makes Joshua roll his eyes, exasperated and benevolent at the same time, like he was used to such teasing. He bids Jeonghan goodnight and then leads you out of the cafe, opening the door for you and then following you out afterwards, until you’re both standing out on the empty street.

“A friend of mine, unfortunately,” Joshua says, as a way of explaining Jeonghan’s familiarity. “I may have, um, mentioned you to him, before. Once or twice.”

He’s being bashful again, awkward and shy in revealing his liking for you, and goodness, you’re finding him more and more endearing with each passing second you spend in his presence.

“Cute,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Joshua’s eyes widen, surprised, but like hell are you taking it back, because it’s true. “You’re really cute,” you laugh. “I… wow. Yeah. I think you’re really cute and just. Thank you, for spending time with me. This was really nice.”

Joshua’s eyes are still wide, and he swallows. 

“Okay,” he says, “I really, really don’t normally do this, but could I have your number? You’re just so nice and so pretty and I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay. You can say no, of course, and that’s totally fine, but if you’d like to, then—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a smile, and hold out a hand for his phone. “I’d like to. Of course I’ll give you my number.”

Your day did not start well at all. It’s been miserable, and exhausting, and frankly the worst day you’ve had in a while—but then a mug of hot chocolate had slid onto your table in a coffee shop, and you’d started to make conversation with the prettiest guy in the world, and now, now, now…

Now, Joshua beams at you, soft as marshmallow and sweet as chocolate, and well. You have to admit that your day has ended in the best possible way.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[avocado-writing]

being the worst wolverine’s wife and one day you get zapped by the TVA for whatever reason, and it looks like you completely disappeared, this is what leads logan to become depressed, start drinking and ultimately ignore the x men when they die etc etc

he goes with wade purely bc he would if you were alive- he couldn’t give less of a shit about wade’s universe but he can feel you over his shoulder like an angel telling him he needs to do this (i imagine it’s like the jean hallucinations he had in the wolverine movie)

what if you’re in the void and he finds you with the rest of the group, like being unable to believe you’re really here?

hehe i love angst and ily avo <3

I already did a “Logan meets you in the void” fic here so I didn’t wanna make this too long or I’d just end up hitting the same beats!

1.4k. rated m for excessive use of the word “fuck”

The day you disappeared you took his fucking soul with him. 

You had been out shopping. Nothing weird about that, he wasn’t some overbearing husband who demanded to know your location every single hour. But then afternoon had turned into evening had turned into night and nobody had heard from you. The unfamiliar sensation of panic had risen, queasy, from his stomach into his chest. They sent out a search party and looked for days. Not a trace of you to be found. Logan couldn’t smell you. Fuck, he’d never not been able to smell you before.

He would hunt for you every day, hoping to find you alive but trying to level with the idea of you being cold and dead because at least then he’d have closure; he’d stay awake for hours on end until he collapsed from exhaustion… then he’d wake up and repeat the whole horrible affair. Nothing. After weeks of searching, Charles had laid a hand on his arm. Logan can still remember the look of pity on his face, like a bomb to the gut. 

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

They had to assume you were abducted and killed. Your body never turned up. And Logan just had to… keep going. How was he meant to keep going? You were his entire fucking life and then you were just…

Gone. 

To say he was left empty was the biggest understatement of his fucking life. He was a shell of the man he once was. He never laughed any more, never smiled, always trying to plug the hole your absence left in him with whatever alcohol he could get his hands on. Drink himself to a place where he could forget you.

It never really worked. At least it made him numb to the pain though. 

When he staggers home one evening, eyes bleary and head spinning, and finds the whole mansion torched? Everyone left that he loved fucking dead? Well, it takes the last vestiges of his existence and crushes them into dust. 

Oh, Logan, he hears in the back of his mind. Your voice. It breaks him. He falls to his knees, hands buried in the burning timbers, and wails. 

He survives. He does not live. Thinking about everyone he’s lost, with you haunting the corners of his consciousness, always reaching out to comfort him - but when he goes to nuzzle into the warmth of your palm he is overcome with rage and bitterness to find it’s just his own imagination playing tricks on him. 

Then a fucking idiot in red dragged him away from the shambles which was his life and forced him to be functional again, if only barely. He’s angry, so angry all of the goddamn time, even when in the back of his mind he can hear you speaking sweet, calming words to him. 

And then he hears your voice for real. 

Sees you standing across the base this pathetic resistance has made. You look older, sure, he does too - but there’s no mistaking the fire in those eyes. You’re even wearing the same fucking shirt you went missing in, he remembers it, it has a picture of your favourite band. 

His heart stops dead in his chest as you whisper his name. 

“Logan?”

“Oh shit!” says Wade, and Logan has never wanted to kill him more, “Oh shit! Is this your refrigeratored wife, coming back to throw in a third act character arc?”

Logan finishes the bourbon bottle and throws the empty at Wade’s head, where it shatters and knocks him flat. You wince at the violence and he feels like pure shit. 

“I’m fine,” Wade calls from the ground, sticking a thumbs-up into the air. 

“Logan, I…” you clearly want to say something, but you have not been met with the Logan you knew. That Logan would have spent no time running to pick you up and hold you in his arms. This one half-snarls at the man he bloodied on the floor. 

There is an agonising silence, both of you wanting to speak but not being sure how. You take a hesitant step forward. 

“I never thought I’d…”

“How do I know it’s you?”

You recoil like he’s stabbed you with his claws, confusion and hurt flooding your face. Goddamn. He is the worst man alive. He’s not sure if he’s saying it because he just wants to lash out at the nearest person, or…

… or if, because he gets his hopes up, it might just kill him to have them crash down again. 

“What?”

“All these fuckin’ timelines. How do I know? How can I be sure that you’re you?”

The sadness in your face melts away into anger. When you step forward this time, you’re on the warpath. He sees the others in the room cringe, trapped now in this caustic reunion. 

“How can you be sure it’s me? Fuck, Logan, I knew it was you, didn’t I? What do you want? You want me to show you the shitty tattoo I got after we first started dating and we were both drunk?” You lift your sleeve to reveal a little design on your shoulder. “Want me to tell you how an eighteen-year-old Marie was my bridesmaid and she cried because she didn’t think anyone would ever be that kind to her after living as a mutant again? Want me to fucking remind you that in my vows I said I would be by your side, for fucking ever, no matter what - and how when that TVA agent zapped me when I was out for the day and I ended up here, it was only the thought of fulfilling those vows which kept me going? How about all that, or do I fucking need to humiliate myself more?” At this, you gesture to the others who have lined up at the side of the room, trying to look scarce but utterly failing. 

Your shoulders are heaving with emotions, tears hot and heavy in your eyes but not yet spilling over. Logan grits his jaw. Yeah. It’s you. 

“I…” he starts, but trails off when he realises there’s nothing he can say. You shake your head, numb. 

“Fuck you, Logan Howlett,” you spit, words you’ve never ever thrown his way before, and run out of the room. 

“Wow. Aced that one, peanut,” says Wade, and Logan rips off one of his legs. 

He finds you several hours later at a campfire outside the rundown building which makes up headquarters. LeBeau has clearly been kind enough to part with some of his liquor, because you’re gulping down whiskey like it’s air. You stare at him, embers dancing in bitter eyes. 

“What do you want?” you snap. He grunts as he sits down opposite you, either from age or exertion. Stares into the flames. 

“I never stopped looking,” he manages. 

You blink. 

“What?”

“I never…” he shifts uncomfortably. It’s been a long time since he bared this much of his soul. “I never stopped. Even when the others told me to give up, that I would only make it worse for myself, I’d still search. Couldn’t face the idea you weren’t there any more.”

It’s true. If he was twelve bottles deep he’d be looking, if he was hungover as a dog he’d be looking. When the rest of the X-Men were still there and even after they weren’t. If he wasn’t sitting at a bar he was on the streets, ever a bloodhound trying to catch your scent again. 

For the first time you soften. 

“Oh.”

“So… when I asked if it was you… ah, fuck. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. Just couldn’t live with it if it wasn't true. Wasn’t real.”

When you stand he expects a slap. He deserves it. What he doesn’t count on is you sitting down - not on the log next to him, but in his lap. He hasn’t felt you do that for so long, and it’s so good. Your warmth on his thigh. You grab one of his hands, still larger than yours, and press it to your chest so he can feel your beating heart. 

“I’m real, Logan. I’m right here, baby,” you whisper, eyes dewy. Fuck. His are as well; he can’t help it. He’s overwhelmed by you, your feel, your gaze, your smell. He’d forgotten how much he loved it. 

Logan noses upwards against you, searching for your lips, and you let him find them. When you stroke his hair he can feel the wedding ring on your left hand. The kiss is desperate, longing, and the best one he’s ever had. 

“Right here,” you repeat, forehead against his. He grips you so tightly that it’s possible he’ll never let go again. 

[sun-kissy]

Hi my love!!

I’d LOVE a scarf for Christmas.

Can I do James Potter and “please forget all the times where i complained about you being a hugger.”

Maybe where reader is not really a touchy person most of the time (cuz I’m not either lol).

Thank you! Love you!!!

here’s your scarf, lovely mk!!🧣thank you for the request, love you loads <333

phone | j.p.

— “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger.”

james potter x reader

summary: there’s a creep, and it’s cold outside. fortunately, james lives nearby

tw: creepy guy, protective james <3, sorry i know i said that most of the sleepover drabbles would be christmas themed but the only christmasy thing about this is that the weather’s cold 😭

“Make sure she gets home safe!” you yell to Mary over the din of the club, steering a very drunk Lily into her arms. She grins and flashes you a thumbs-up as you turn around to leave.

Your tipsy friend’s high-pitched giggles can be heard as you make your way out, your heart jumping on beat to the music. It’s not just loud, it’s booming, and paired with the blinding disco lights, acutely overstimulating.

When Mary had first suggested this place, you definitely had your reservations — more often than not, you spotted drunkards stumbling out with either bruises on their faces or girls on their arms. But you decided to tag along. Admittedly, it had been fun. Now you were more than ready to go home to the warmth of your bed.

You’re about to push the door open when you realise you’ve left your coat back at the table. You swivel back around to find Lily swaying side to side, bent over.

She lets out a bulky groan, and your lips curve into a slight grimace in anticipation. You open your mouth to warn somebody but it’s too late; she hurtles forward, throwing up over everything in a one metre radius — your coat included.

You turn back to the front door and swing it open with a barely concealed sigh, heels clicking against the pavement as you step outside.

Cold wind hits you like a slap in the face. You’re pretty sure that your shudder is audible, rows of teeth clacking against one another as you curl into yourself. 

The mini dress your friends had picked out for you does nothing to help. You tug the ends of it downwards, squeezing your thighs together and wrapping your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

You glance at the road, frustration starting to nip at you. There seem to be no taxis in sight, demand raging high on a Friday night. Walking home wasn’t an option — it was way too far away and freezing was an understatement for how you felt right now. 

James’ house was nearby, but you had been pulling out all the stops to avoid him for the past few days. Not that you didn’t like him — on the contrary, you really, really liked him. A friend from high school had introduced you to him at a party and you were immediately smitten. He asked you out, and you’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. He was everything you could’ve wanted in a man, more than what you’d ever hoped for. You just spent a lot of time worrying you were going to screw it all up — hence never called when he asked you to, made up excuses not to meet when he wanted to. James deserved better.

“Darling!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sudden voice, rough and sultry from behind you. You whip around, instinctively taking a step back as your eyes land on the long-haired man staggering around in front of the club. His face is tilted downwards, staring into his empty liquor bottle almost… sadly.

But then he looks up at you. His eyes are dark with desire, mouth curving into something vile. It scares you. “Come here, darling. Come here.”

“Go away.” You try to sound unafraid. It comes out on a shaky breath, betraying the anxiety clogging up your throat. You take a few more cautious steps backwards, eyes darting between the man in front of you and the path behind you.

Your hand is already reaching for your phone in your pocket as soon as he starts stumbling towards you. Your fingers feel heavy, turned to smudge as you switch it on and desperately click on James’ contact.

“I asked you,” the man growls, “to come here!” He takes bigger, unsteady steps towards you, liquor bottle smashed to the ground without a care in the world.

Your heart feels like it’s being roped out of your throat, mind turned to mush in your head. You press your phone to your ear, turning around and mustering the quickest steps possible in your 6-inch heels. The cold is all-consuming now, tearing at your skin like wild dogs to prey. But all that’s on your mind is getting home safe. 

You’re barely a few rings in when James’ voice cuts through. “Hello? Y/n, is that you?”

“James!”

“Y/n, sweetheart. God, have you been ignoring me? I was so worried, and thought you hated me, and — “

“James.” The panic in your voice must be really palpable, because he shuts up immediately. “Yeah?”

You glance backwards for a split second as you walk ahead, seeing that the man has sped up. His arms are outreached towards you, and he’s spewing dirty lines you’d kill never to hear again. The smirk on his face widens by the second.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” James’ concerned voice comes through again, and you snap your head forwards and exhale shakily.

“You know that club really close to your place, the one with the um… the huge statue of a horse outside? I’m near there. Could you please walk over and fetch me? There’s a creep, and it’s cold, and —“

“Hold on, there’s a creep?” His worry is obvious. You hear the rustling of fabric and the flipping of switches on his end. “Are you safe?”

“Not really,” you croak honestly, sparing another look behind you to find your stalker doubled over, spilling his guts out onto the side of the road. You fasten your pace.

You can almost hear the frown in James’ voice. “Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

You hang up and pocket your phone. Your nose is running, you can’t feel your fingers where they touch your cheek. You’re numbed.

You force yourself to keep walking, chanting James’ name like a desperate prayer in your mind. Your train of thought is interrupted by the creep once again. You squeeze your eyes shut as his voice hovers by, dangerously close, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

“You stupid girl, you better turn around or else I’ll —“

“You’ll what?”

Your eyes crack open immediately to find James jogging over to you, eyes locked on the figure behind you. It’s like your prayers have been answered. His gaze drifts to you, and in a second he’s got his arm wrapped around your back as he pulls you into his chest. 

“I’m asking you again, jerk. What do you think you’re gonna do to my girl?” You feel yourself melting into him with relief, letting your eyes flutter shut as you absorb the vibrations of his chest with each word he pushes out. His voice is hard, strained. A tone you’d never associate with the sweet boy holding you, but love does silly things to people sometimes. Maybe he loved you.

Your stalker mutters something unintelligible, along with a very loud, “Fuck you!” before staggering away.

James’ attention is on you instantly. He pulls away slightly to grip you by the shoulders, looking you over with a worried frown. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shake your head, teeth chattering too rapidly to give a straight answer. Your shivering doesn’t go unnoticed. He conjures up a jacket from seemingly nowhere, draping it over the back of your shoulders.

You can tell he’s trying to hold back for your sake, one hand rubbing circles into your shoulder while the other brushes strands of hair off your face. You’ve never been the type to want to be touched. But it’s exactly what you need right now, the gentle warmth of a hug that’s been wanting to be given, waiting to be received.

You lean forward and make your intent clear, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his chest. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, immediately pulling you in and tightening his hold around you.

“You good, hon?” he says into your hair, face tilting downward to rest on the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumble, feeling the tension start to dissipate from your joints. You cling to him like a vice. “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger. Boy, did I need this.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle and starts to gently draw his hand up and down your spine. “You did? Well, I’m always glad to provide it.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, legs curling around his like you’re trying to hug him with every part of you. He stamps a kiss to the top of your head before slipping his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up till you’re wrapped around his waist. 

It earns a soft grunt from you before you’re relaxing into him, warmth seeping into your skin. He holds you with all the tenderness he would a baby.

“Your dress is lovely, by the way,” he mutters as he readjusts the jacket to cover your exposed ass. “You look absolutely lovely.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, tilting your face to rest it in the crook of his neck. 

He carries you back to his apartment, telling you all the things he’d wanted to say these past couple of days when you weren’t here for him to say it to. You decide that James is too lovely to let anxiety push away. You’ll probably phone him again sometime soon.

san’s christmas sleepover

[alltheirdamn]

Diamond Dolls | Joel x stripper!f!reader

Chapter I : Diamond Dolls Club

Series Summary: Running from the past led you straight into the arms of club owner, Joel Miller. He’s quiet, respectful, and devastatingly handsome. He’s nothing like any man you’ve come across, and it’s so hard to keep your heart guarded when he’s tearing down the walls. Chapter Summary: After fleeing Miami, you find yourself a spot at Diamond Dolls, and meet Joel Miller. The man who can change everything. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 7.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, Joel is in his early 40s reader is in her mid-20s, mentions of alcohol, strip club setting, nudity, sexual tension, mutual pining, eventual smut, explicit language… more tags will be added as the story goes A/N: Well, a very belated hello to everyone! I've been in the darkest recesses of a writers block, and had to drag myself to the surface to finally finish this one out. It's a slow start, but it's something nonetheless. Anyway, love you all lots and i hope you stick around for this lil story <3 xoxo

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

One week ago

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. You were holed up in the bathroom of a shady hotel, listening to the sound of pleasured moans coming from the bedroom. Your friend, Diana, had been going at it with some stranger for the last half hour, and you were scared. Private parties were typical for the dancers. In fact, Richie loved it. He loved being the type of owner who showcased all his dancers in whatever way he pleased. But you knew something was off when you stepped out of the black Escalade and into the hotel lobby. This type of party differed from the rest; you had this nagging feeling it would all go wrong.

And it did.

**

The sound of heels rattling inside your bag drifted through the empty parking lot as you neared your last resort. Diamond Dolls. Your gas tank—and lack of money—only got you as far as Austin, Texas. It wasn’t an ideal place to end up, but beggars can’t be choosers, so it would have to suffice. 

It was early afternoon, no doubt the slowest time of day since only a handful of cars were parked in the lot aside from yours. With the sun still shining, the neon pink lights of the sign above the door were turned off, but it still looked inviting. Diamond Dolls was already far different than your club back in Miami; it was different in a good way. 

At least, you hoped it was.

Cracking open the front door, you shuffled your bag over your shoulder and took a deep breath. This was your only shot at putting your life back on track, and you prayed you’d be given the chance to set things right. You couldn’t go back to Miami. Not now…not ever. The bridges you burnt could never be rebuilt; running away would only take you so far. 

A few patrons turned their heads your way when the sun streamed through the hazy club, no doubt an annoying reminder that the world still existed outside this tiny place. The entire club was drenched in low neon blacklights, the purple and pink hues painting the shadows in a sultry ambiance. Above you, diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling, twinkling lights refracting off the gems that clung to the metal branches curving upward. The black leather couches around the stage were shiny and clean, another sign that this club was far better than where you came from. 

High-top tables scattered the open areas in the club's corner, tiny tea lights flickering on their marbled counters. Everything was meticulously detailed, as if whoever owned it had put all their effort into making this space unique and beautiful. 

Across the back was the bar; the counter stretched from end to end with an array of liquors stacked on glass shelves that hung from the wall. Behind the counter was a lone bartender busying himself with cleaning glasses. 

Perfect, you thought. This was your opportunity. 

“Hey,” you cautioned, walking up to the black countertop. “I was wondering if you guys are taking in any new dancers.”

“Can’t say for sure,” the bartender shrugged. 

He had a snug black top stretched across his chest and dirty blonde hair that stuck back along his scalp with too much gel. A few tattoos marked up his forearms, disappearing under the cuffs of his shirt and reappearing along the column of his neck. Instinctively, you knew he was well paid by any female clients who came into the club late at night. A few drinks and maybe a few flirtatious conversations made him a wealthy man by the end of his shifts. 

“Who should I be asking then?” You questioned, tapping your nails along the edge of the counter.

The bartender glared at your nails as they tapped repeatedly on the counter. You retracted your hand with an apologetic look, letting your arm hang heavy at your side. He bristled at your presence, obviously unamused by your friendly antics. Charm wouldn’t work here…noted. 

“Joel’s up in his office. Why don’t y’go bother him.”

“Joel…” You echoed.

“The owner?” He cocked a brow, almost annoyed that you didn’t know who Joel was. 

Obviously, you didn’t fucking know.

“Gotcha,” you nodded. 

The bartender slung the drying rag over his shoulder, retiring the glass he had been cleaning to the other stack of dishes. He pointed down the hall near the stage toward the black-painted door to the right. 

“You’ll find him in there,” he said.

You muttered a quick thank you before walking down the hall and past wandering eyes. Smoothing down your hair, you inhaled sharply before rapping your knuckles against the door. 

“Come in!” A deep voice called out.

You timidly turned the doorknob, peeking your head around the door with a sheepish smile. An older man, probably no more than forty, leaned back in a leather chair. He had on a simple black button-up, the sleeves rolled up his tan arms, exposing the muscles and veins that spidered from his fingers to his biceps. You lifted your eyes to his face, brown scruff covering his jaw, small patches of gray threading through the wiry hair. His plush lips curved into a slight grin, his bottom one plush and pouty—a very dangerous thing to see when you realized he could potentially be your new boss.

“How can I help you?” He asked, clearing his throat.

Your eyes shot up to his, immediately pulled under the dark brown waves that swam through his irises. You expected the club owner to be less appealing, maybe even a bit sleazy, given your track record of who you’ve met in the business. You didn’t expect him to be this attractive. 

You stepped over the threshold, unsure if you should shut the door behind you. You didn’t know Joel, nor could you trust him to be different from the other men you had encountered over the years. Despite your weariness, he motioned for you to shut the door and extended a hand toward the chair in front of his desk.

“I was, um, wondering if you were taking any new dancers?” 

You didn’t mean to word it like a question, but your uncertainty got the best of you. 

“Might be. Y’from here?” Joel asked, his southern drawl thick with each syllable. 

You slid down into the chair, letting your bag drop to the ground by your feet. Joel tracked your movements, watching you squirm under his heavy stare while he waited for your response. 

“Miami, actually. Just drove in this morning.”

“What brings ya’ to the Lone Star State?” He asked, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. 

“Family,” you lied a little too quickly. 

Everything about being a dancer was a lie, and you weren’t about to change your ways for some owner you didn’t know. Joel stretched his arms over his head, his biceps flexing as he interlocked his fingers behind his neck. It should be a crime for someone to be this handsome; clearly, he knew what you were thinking because his lips twitched with an amused grin.

“Y’got experience in a club?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “Worked at my last one for three years.”

Joel’s eyes raked over you, lingering on your glossy lips and finally trailing back up to your eyes. Your skin flushed under his stare, your ears burning the longer he drank you in with slow, deliberate passes over your body as you crossed and uncrossed your legs behind the shield of his wooden desk. 

“I’m assuming you’ll want to see me dance,” you said, filling the dead air between you.

“Not necessary.”

You stared at your hands in your lap, crestfallen. This had been your last resort, and you were down on your luck now. You barely had a hundred dollars in cash left in your wallet, and you told yourself it was for emergencies only. You weren’t even sure it was enough to cover more than a night's stay in a motel somewhere in town. There wasn’t anyone you could call. There was nowhere else to go. 

A soft creak of his chair stirred you from your swirling thoughts, and you looked up to see Joel bracing his elbows on the desk. He was so much closer now, his age materializing into something softer as he studied you. Worry lines creased his forehead, smoothing out around his temples where his brown hair curled behind his ears. Even if this meeting was all for nothing, at least you got to enjoy a small glimmer of hope dressed as a beautiful Southern gentleman. You reached for your bag, ready to beeline it out the door and back to your car before you could make any more of a fool of yourself. 

“I don’t need an audition, sweetheart,” he said softly. 

You blinked up at him, both confused and hurt. He didn’t need to kick you while you were already down; he made it very clear you weren’t getting a spot in the club. You lifted your bag into your lap, shoving the chair back hard enough to make the legs scrape against the floor. 

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet me. Have a good day.”

The words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, and they didn’t sound much better either, but you didn’t care. There was nothing for you here, and you needed to search for a place to stay before the day slipped away. Clinging to whatever dignity—and hope—you had left, you turned for the door without another glance over your shoulder. 

“Wait.”

Joel’s voice radiated through the room as your hand hovered over the door handle. You half-considered dismissing him and continuing with your hopeless day, but a nagging voice inside your head told you to stay. Steeling your emotions, you turned to him with your arms folded over your chest. 

“Come back at nine. You’ll be on stage tonight,” he offered, rising from his seat.

“What?” You balked. “You just told me you didn’t want to see me audition.”

Joel shoved his hands in the front pockets of his dress pants, his shoulders lifting slightly with a shrug. You waited for the other shoe to drop, for him to laugh in your face and shove you out the door. But there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his tone nor a look of deception in his soft eyes. 

“I never ask my girls to audition,” he explained. 

“Why? What if I’m bullshitting you?”

“I’ll find out if you are, but I got a feelin’ you won’t let me down.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you tonight.”

Joel dipped his head toward you, his lips curving at the corners under his thick mustache. You were in deep shit, knowing you’d get to see that warm smile every day. With nothing left to say, you muttered another thank you and opened the door, disappearing into the hallway before he could retract his offer. 

An upbeat tempo thrummed through the air as you passed by the stage, and you took a quick peek at the girl spinning on the pole, her blonde hair falling in a cascade of curls down her bare spine. The handful of patrons you had spotted coming into the club were now crowded around the stage, enthralled in her body as she moved to the rhythm of the music. Crisp dollar bills scattered the glass stage, falling at her feet as she lowered herself onto her knees. Your steps faltered as her eyes connected with yours, a friendly smile ghosting over her face before she returned to her routine. Digging through your bag, you reached for your wallet and dished out a couple of bills to toss onto the stage. It wasn’t much, and you knew better than to lessen your savings, but it was enough to show your respect for her hustle. She understood this life as much as you did. 

**

You spent the better part of the afternoon driving around the city, familiarizing yourself with the sidestreets and small shops you would come to frequent. There hadn’t been much luck finding a place to stay for the night, but you hoped you’d have enough money after your shift to afford a room, at least for the weekend. You were more than ready to sleep anywhere that wasn’t your car and even more ready to have cash in your pockets again. 

Anxious to start your first shift, you circled back to the club much earlier than Joel had asked. The sun was barely kissing the horizon as you put your car in park, the neon lights above the building flickering to life as the night swallowed the sky. You were two hours too early, but you didn’t want to wait any longer. You wanted to be on the stage now. 

Searching through the bags of your belongings stuffed in the trunk of your car, you found your pile of club outfits and began piecing together different options to wear for the evenings. You laid out a matching pink lingerie set, the bra entirely rhinestoned in refractive colored jewels. It had done numbers on stage, a perfect outfit for making first impressions. You scoured for one more set—a just-in-case outfit—and found a thin, black lace teddy at the bottom of the pile. You could pair it with your taller heels and use it as your outfit for your second dance on stage. If you got that far. Everything else looked unappealing, but you’d have time and money to shop during the weekend for new clothes. New everything, if you were being honest. You were starting from the ground up in Austin. 

As you tucked your clothes in your bag, you heard the sound of car keys jingling behind you. It was instinct to tense up at any noise in a parking lot, and your defenses were always up to foreign noises. Spinning quickly toward the sound, you came face to face with the same blonde you had seen on stage earlier in the day.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!” She apologized.

“No, it’s okay,” you assured her, releasing a shaky breath.

She was wearing an oversized shirt and gym shorts, her feet stuffed in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. With her hair pinned up and most of her makeup wiped off, you knew her shift was over.

“You must be the new girl Joel told us about. I’m Monica.”

She extended a hand toward you, and you quickly introduced yourself.

“Sorry, I probably look like a mess. I just got in today.”

Monica looked over your shoulder into the trunk of your car, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the mess. Everything left of your life was stuffed into only a few bags; it was embarrassing, to say the least. 

“Do you have family in town you’re staying with?” She asked.

“I do,” you lied. “I just haven’t had time to stop by yet and drop my things off.”

Monica looked between you and your car, skepticism crossing over her features. Dancers were great at lying but even better at discovering one. She saw through you in less than a minute.

“Let me give you my number,” she offered, pulling her phone from her purse. “When you’re done for the night, just call me. I’ve got an extra room you can crash in for a couple of nights if you need it.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. That’s, um, that’s way too kind of you,” you stammered.

She bristled at your words, shoving her phone in your hands to exchange numbers. You typed with shaking hands, the numbers mixing up as you deleted and retyped repeatedly. Handing the phone back to her, you waited for a text to ping through the air, and it did. 

You made your first friend in the new town and only hoped things wouldn’t end like they did in Miami.

“There’s plenty of girls still here for the night,” she started. “They’ll set you up in the dressing room and make sure you’re taken care of tonight. If anyone gives you hell, just tell them Monica’s looking out for you, and I’ll set them straight.”

You laughed softly at her gentle threat. You weren’t expecting such hospitality so quickly, but it was refreshing to know someone cared about you. After a few more minutes of casual conversation, she parted ways for the evening, and you were left standing in front of the neon lights beckoning you inside.

Showtime. 

The crowd inside the club had doubled since you had left earlier in the afternoon; the couches and bar tops were littered with groups of men and women all drinking high-priced drinks and shadowed in plumes of smoke. Three bartenders worked behind the counter, their routine flowing together as they worked in tandem, taking orders and making drinks. 

As you walked down the hallway by the stage, you noticed Joel’s door shut to the club. It confused you since the club was ramping up for the night; owners were usually out mingling with customers and dancers. You considered knocking on the door and thanking him again, but the thought passed just as quickly as it came, and you found your way to the dressing room. 

The room's bright lights were stark in contrast to the rest of the club, and you had to squint your eyes to adjust to the sudden change. Only two girls occupied the room, working on their hair in front of the vanity. The second you entered their eyesight, they turned with wide grins.

“You’re the new girl!” One squealed, her brown curls bouncing around her shoulders as she ran up to you.

She quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, her heavy vanilla perfume floating around her body and onto yours. 

“I’m Heather,” she said, pulling away. “And that’s Carolina.”

She gestured back to the other brunette, who gave you a shy wave. She was shorter than Heather, her hair cut into a sharp bob and streaked with caramel highlights. You waved back, introducing yourself to them both. Heather bounced back to the vanity, moving her array of makeup to the side to make room for your things.

“There are open lockers to the side over there, so feel free to stash away anything you need,” she explained. “If you need a curling iron or hairspray, you can always grab mine. And Carolina has extra body glitter, too, but I’m guessing you have your own.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some in my bag, but thank you. You guys are really sweet.”

You sat next to Carolina, dumping your makeup bag on the counter. Carolina worked at fixing her black nipple pasties, both of them on display under her sheer red bra. Her curves filled out her mini-skirt, the red material matching both her bra and Pleaser heels. She was fiery; you liked that.

“Joel said you’re from Miami,” Heather started. “This has got to be way less exciting than your old club, huh?”

You tensed up at her question, deciding on what to divulge. Heather and Carolina were sweet, but they were still strangers, and after last week…your guard was higher than ever. Pulling out your foundation and eyeshadow, you quickly started your makeup routine, dodging any invasive questions they tried to ask.

“How long have you both been working here?” You asked, flipping the focus onto them.

Heather fluffed her hair in the mirror, adjusting her purple halter top over her breasts before turning back to you.

“I’ve been here since Joel opened the club, so almost five years,” she stated.

“And I’ve been here for a little over a year,” Carolina said beside you.

“How is Joel?” You asked. “As an owner.”

Heather and Carolina let out a little giggle, clearly something private between them that went unsaid in response to your question.

“We like to say he’s like a recluse,” Carolina explained. “He hardly ever comes around during business hours. He just stays quiet and tucked away in his office. We pay him house fees at the end of our shift, and he leaves us alone.”

That piqued your interest. How could a club owner be so hands-off? Or maybe this was normal, and everything you had experienced in Miami was incredibly unprofessional. It was unprofessional, but you only assumed parts of it were like having your boss pimp you and other girls out for drugs and money. 

“Isn’t that weird, though? I mean, most club owners don’t do that. They’re usually—.”

“Creepy and a bit unsettling?” Heather offered.

You nodded slowly, focusing on yourself in the mirror as you lined your lips with a pink lip liner. 

“Joel isn’t like that, I promise you. He’s probably the most respectful man I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t even think he’s seen our tits,” Carolina giggled. “I can’t even tell you the last time I saw him outside his office during a shift.”

You shuffled off the vanity chair, returning to your bag to pull out your first outfit. As you peeled your shirt off, you mused over their casual information on Joel. You couldn’t make sense of it; how was Joel real? He must be too good to be true. He had to be.

“But how does he know what’s going on around here?” You pressed.

“His brother, Tommy, comes around, checks in on us, and reports to Joel if there’s anything worth knowing,” Heather shrugged.

“That’s it?”

“Yep!” Both of them said in unison.

Carolina strolled to one of the lockers behind you, retrieving a red garter from her back to tie around her ankle. You eyed her as she tightened the straps of her heels and adjusted her bra one last time. As she flounced to the door, she looked over her shoulder and gave you a slight wink.

“You’ll be just fine here, doll. I promise.”

The moment your heels clicked against the glass floor of the stage, everything in your mind turned off. You gave the DJ— Bradley, call me Brad, doll— your music of choice before stepping onto the stage: a slow, sensual track that made the crowd turn their heads in curiosity. Until then, Heather and Carolina had taken turns onstage doing routines to high-tempo songs, keeping the crowd engaged and rowdy. But that wasn’t your forte. 

You started things slowly, wrapping your hand around the pole and teasing the crowd with meticulous movements of your body that swayed to the beat of the music. Your fingers teased the outline of your breasts, cupping them seductively as you made eye contact with a few men sitting near the edge of the stage. Their undivided attention on your body was exhilarating; the promise of money dropping at your feet was enough to keep you going. Hooking your leg around the pool, you pulled yourself up, spinning in gentle turns as you flowed with the music. Everything you did was unrushed, and you took your time commanding the stage. 

Eventually, the tips started piling up on the stage. More clients drew closer, their eyes hungry and watchful. You slid onto your knees, crawling toward a younger man who hovered by the side of the stage, his button-up shirt disheveled and wrinkled—no doubt from a private dance he paid for only an hour ago. You graced him with an inviting smile, swaying your ass back and forth behind you. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he crooned, his voice barely audible above the thrum of the music. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” you replied. 

You knew how to bait them and make them chase after you. The thrill of it all was intoxicating, like the world was a blur around you, and all that existed was just the stage, the money, and your ability to make men crumble at your feet. Dragging yourself onto your knees, you coasted a hand down your abdomen, grinning as he tracked your fingers as they dipped over your navel. The money roll in his hand caught your attention, but you refrained from staring too long. Eye contact was crucial—if you kept him reeled in, the money would come to you. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, breathless.

“More than you know.”

He curled a finger, beckoning you closer. You didn’t like when clients reached for you, but you saw the crisp fifty-dollar bill hiding in his palm. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer to the edge of the stage, letting his fingers work at the waistband of your thong. He didn’t prod or explore; his touch was respectful and gentle. Blowing him a kiss, you tucked the money under the thin fabric before returning to the center of the stage to finish your set. 

The music drifted to an end, the applause from the crowd around the stage rippling above the sound as the DJ returned to his playlist of choice. You gathered the tips off the stage floor, stuffing them into your moneybag as you left your set. 

For some strange reason, you were disappointed to see Joel’s office door shut off to the club despite Heather and Carolina’s words. You understood he didn’t come out during business hours, but part of you wished he had watched your first routine. Wasn’t he curious? And why did you care to have him watch you perform? It wasn’t like you were trying to impress him…Okay, maybe you were… 

Passing the DJ booth, Brad gave you a proud smile and a small congratulations. You hurried back into the dressing room, frantic to change into your next outfit. Heather lounged along the benches in front of the locker, her nails tapping against her phone screen as she typed furiously.

“Ugh!” She exhaled. “Men suck.”

You giggled as you plopped beside her, enjoying the simple camaraderie of being in another sisterhood with other dancers. You missed your girls in Miami, but that wouldn’t stop you from making new friends. And from what you’d already experienced in your short few hours at Diamond Dolls, these girls were genuine and caring. 

“Who’s the guy?” You asked.

“His name is Michael. We’ve been seeing each other on and off the past year, and he’s just… I don’t know. I feel like I give all my time and energy and get nothing in return. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

You knew it too well. You had never been lucky in relationships; they were messy, and it was hard to come across a man who truly understood your field of work. Some of them loved the idea of having someone overly sexualized and, in their words, slutty. They considered every stripper to be the stereotypical version of a woman, all glitz and glam and naked on display. You were more than that, but none stuck around long enough to find out. 

“Can I give you some advice?” You offered.

Heather stopped her typing, giving you her full attention. 

“Men don’t deserve shit. If he’s not going to give his time and dedication to you, then he doesn’t deserve an ounce of your respect. You’re worth more than that. You deserve someone who will treat you like a queen.”

“Those types of men don’t exist,” she laughed. “They’re all sleazy and just want their dick wet.”

“I don’t know. I think there could be some good ones out there.”

Unwanted images of Joel flashed through your mind. There was no way you actually were thinking of him in this setting. You knew nothing about him or the type of man he was, so you couldn’t let your mind wander to the thought of him as a love interest, nor did you want that. He was a stranger and your boss.

“Well, if you find one, send him my way.”

“Absolutely,” you smiled.

As you both sat in comfortable silence, you worked at sorting through your wad of cash from your set. Smoothing out the bills and organizing them, you counted out over two hundred dollars. Not the best for your first routine in the club, but it was more than you had walked in with. And it was enough to hopefully find a place to stay over the weekend. However, Monica’s offer still remained in the back of your head. 

It was well past three AM when you decided to call it quits for the night. After two more sets on stage, you collected another four hundred dollars, leaving you satisfied for your first shift. Clients were generous, and the atmosphere inside the club was intoxicating. You wanted more, but you wouldn’t be greedy. Not yet, at least. 

After peeling off your clothes and replacing them with the sweats you had walked in with, you said your goodbyes to the girls and made your way to Joel’s office. A flight of butterflies swarmed in your stomach as your hand wavered over the door. Why did he make you so nervous? You were never nervous around men; you were usually quite the opposite. But Joel…You couldn’t get a read on him. You didn’t know what to expect, which made it so much worse.

“Hi,” you said quietly, softly cracking the door open.

You peered into the office, spotting Joel hunched over the desk, rifling through some papers. He glanced up quickly, his eyes shifting back down to the papers…Then, immediately right back up to you. You didn’t miss how his gaze drifted down your body, the hunger flickering to life behind his irises. You were in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, but you might as well have been naked with the way he undressed you with his heavy stare. 

Your name fell softly from his lips, his mouth curving up in that same grin you melted over earlier.

“Heard you were the star of the show tonight,” he smiled.

“I don’t know about that,” you laughed.

Sliding into the office, you shut the door behind you, leaving only a few feet of space between you and Joel’s large frame. Somehow, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, his gravity pulling you forward.

“No need to be modest, sweetheart. Everyone was talkin’ ‘bout you out there.”

“How do you know that? The girls told me you stay in here all night.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. He wore that snug black button-up, and the soft material still deliciously clung to his muscles. His biceps flexed under the shirt, and you trained your eyes on him to keep the temptation of looking at bay. 

“Don’t worry, I hear everythin’ inside this club. Got eyes and ears everywhere.”

“How’d you get into the business?”

“That’s a story for another time, sweetheart. It’s late, and I’m sure y’wanna get home,” he chuckled. 

A mystery. That's what Joel was: an absolute mystery. You couldn’t dig under his walls, and you sure as hell wouldn’t let him dig under yours. If he kept his life close to his chest, then you’d do the same. 

“What’s your price for house fees?” You asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Flat rate of twenty dollars. You can tip out the bartenders and Brad if y’want, but I pay them well enough that y’don’t have to worry ‘bout it.”

“Twenty?” You gaped. 

His brows furrowed together, trying to understand your shock. You pulled a twenty from your money bag and walked toward his desk to slide it to him. 

“They charge you less in Miami?” He questioned, reluctant to take the money.

“No, it’s not that. They charged a lot more…Like over a hundred some nights.” 

It was Joel’s turn to stare at you dumbfounded; his lips parted in confusion. Wasn’t it normal for house fees to be that high? Or had you been lied to all these years? 

“You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” 

“I swear I’m not. That’s what the club owner charged us down there.”

Joel ran a hand down his face, his eyes squeezing shut. You swayed awkwardly, your fingers digging into the material of your money bag. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to cuss at you like that. Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“It’s okay,” you replied quietly. 

“M’gonna take real good care of you here, ‘kay?”

His words shouldn’t have affected you, but heat crawled up your neck as you tossed his words over inside your head. Once again, Joel was proving to be far different than what you were used to back in Miami, but you wouldn’t let yourself overthink it.

“Thank you, Joel. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t gotta thank me none, sweetheart. Y’get home safe. I’m sure your family will be happy to see you.”

You cringed at the statement, another reminder of the web of lies you were already weaving. You’d tell him the truth eventually, or maybe not at all. You wouldn’t jeopardize your chance at a new life here.

Joel’s eyes did one final pass over your body, and your anxiety nearly drove you right into the door when you turned to leave. He needed to stop looking at you like that. You didn’t need any more fuel to the fire burning inside your stomach. 

**

You spent far too long hovering your finger over Monica’s contact information, debating whether or not to take up her offer of a place to stay. You had enough money for a hotel room, but the idea of saving it and tucking it away sounded more appealing. You didn’t know Monica— or any of these girls— but her willingness to help you earlier proved how loyal these dancers were to one another. 

Dialing her number, you tapped your fingers against your steering wheel, watching through your dirty windshield as patrons filed out for the night. You wondered which of these cars belonged to Joel and promptly stopped yourself from wondering about anything else. Why was every thought beginning and ending with him? 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, uh… Monica?” You reintroduced yourself, stumbling over your words like it was your first time speaking.

“Look who made it out alive in her first shift!” She said cheerily. “I’ll shoot you my address, and you can drive over. I’ve already got the guest bedroom set up for you.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to intrude on you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! You’re not intruding at all, honey. I’ve got the house to myself this weekend and could use the company.”

“I really appreciate it, Monica. Thank you.”

The city was nothing like Miami at night; the streets were empty, and the air was silent and calm. You kept the volume low on the radio as you drove to Monica’s house, enjoying the sound of the breeze as it drifted through the crack in your window. You focused on learning the street names as you passed every intersection, replacing the thoughts of Joel’s warm smile with things that would prove to be more important to you. But the memory of his eyes and smile still lurked in your mind, and no matter how many green lights you sped through, you couldn’t escape it. 

Monica’s home was tucked away in a residential neighborhood nearly half an hour outside the city, her tiny home the only one with a porch light still flickering under the dark sky. 

You barely opened your trunk when you heard Monica’s voice trailing down the driveway. 

“Hi!” She squealed. 

You turned to find her bounding down the pavement barefoot, her blonde hair tousled into a high ponytail and her pajamas hugging her curves. Setting your bag on the ground, you emptied your arms to welcome her into a hug, which should have felt awkward given you had hardly known her less than a full day, but with Monica…It felt normal.

“Thank you again,” you exhaled, your body slumping into her tight embrace. 

“Oh, don’t even mention it. My ex has the kids this weekend, so the place is extra lonely.”

“You’ve got kids?” You asked.

It wasn’t an accusatory question; you had danced alongside several women who were single moms supporting their children. Not to mention, Monica looked way too young to have kids, let alone more than one.

“I’ve got two,” she explained with a tired smile. “Twins, actually. Jackson and Luke. They just turned three in June.”

You shuffled your overnight bag over your arm while Monica led the way to the front door. The moment she opened the door, you were welcomed into a very lived-in home. Kid's toys littered the ground, while mismatched socks and shoes lay around in other spots. You smiled to yourself, seeing such a cozy place; you missed being in a home. Living in shady apartments and hotels left you bitter and yearning for somewhere to call home. 

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” she laughed absentmindedly. “The boys tend to destroy any clean area in the house.”

“You don’t have to apologize at all. I love it.”

She glanced back at you, quirking an eyebrow at your statement. It was true; you did love it. And you loved being welcomed into a home without feeling like a total burden. Monica gave you a small tour of the house before guiding you down the hall to the guest room. It was set up with a queen-sized bed and a small vanity in the corner—perfect for a night or two to get you back on your feet. 

Once settled in, you returned to the living room, where Monica was lying on the couch. 

“Thank you so much again,” you said, collapsing into the cushions.

“Of course, girl. I tend to be the motherly one out of the group, so if you ever need anything, you can always come to me. How was the first night?”

You stretched your legs out along the sectional, burrowing further into the pillows as you let your body unwind. Monica mimicked your movements, curling up under the small blanket draped over her body. 

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you admitted. “Being in a new club is always scary, you know? But everyone has been so welcoming, and the customers are great. And Joel is…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Joel is what?” Monica pressed, giggling slightly.

“He’s amazing. I’ve never met a club owner like him. He really cares about all of you girls, and it shows. I’m not used to that.”

“You had it bad out there in Miami, huh?”

You shifted slightly, trying to mask your unease with the question. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Monica; she hadn’t given you a reason yet not to, but the question was too fresh to answer. Glimpses of that night suspended themselves in your head, moments you couldn’t shake and only hoped you’d never have to relive. Everything you saw… everything you did… you wanted to forget. 

“Is it alright if we don’t talk about it?” You asked, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap.

“Of course, honey,” Monica said softly. “Whatever happened out there, just know it’s in the past, and you’re okay now. You’re safe here with me. I’ll take care of you, and so will Joel.”

Joel. 

Everything kept circling back to him. He was an enigma dressed in all black with a warm smile and a country twang. You were used to men being nice; they almost always had an ulterior motive for their kindness, but not Joel. His kindness wasn’t self-fulfilling, as far as you knew, and you could see how serious he was about the safety of everyone in the club. Maybe things would turn out differently here; maybe things would be okay. 

The early morning sunlight slowly began to seep through the living room curtains as you and Monica fell into endless conversation. Eventually, she mumbled something about needing a few hours of sleep before needing to run errands, and you took it as your sign to retire to bed. As you settled under the covers, you forced your mind away from the wandering thoughts of Miami. It was easy to forget everything that had transpired in the hotel room when you kept yourself busy, but in the silence, there was nowhere to run from the memories. 

“Alright, which one of you are we fucking first?” One of the guys asked.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, undoing his belt, as he asked the question. Your stomach rolled with nausea as the realization hit you; Richie had pimped you out. This wasn’t a party; this was a setup. You swayed in the corner of the room, eyeing the door to figure out how to escape without being snatched up by one of the men. But there were too many of them and just the three of you to try and fend for yourselves. What did it matter, though, when your two closest friends were already drugged out of their minds?

You couldn’t have slept more than one or two hours. The sun was too bright inside the bedroom, and your body was coated in a thin sweat as you jolted from the bed. You were safe. You were in Texas. You were at Monica’s house. You repeated those reminders as you rolled out of bed and entered the guest bathroom. The reflection in the mirror felt like a stranger; your eyes puffy and your face pale. 

“You’re okay,” you whispered to yourself. 

Splashing cold water on your face, you took a few minutes to gather your bearings. The days spent on the road running from Miami were catching up to you, and so was the anxiety that you had kept at bay. 

“Hey!” Monica called from somewhere down the hall.

You braced yourself against the bathroom sink, swallowing the startled gasp that threatened to bubble out of your mouth. 

“I’m headin’ out to the grocery, so if you want me to grab anything for you, just shoot me a text! I left breakfast on the kitchen counter for whenever you’re hungry,” she continued. 

“T–Thank you!” You stuttered. 

Dammit, you were okay. 

You waited until you heard the sound of the front door closing before emerging from the bathroom. In your slim hours of sleep, Monica had cleaned up the house from the night before. Toys were piled in small bins beside the couch, and the miscellaneous clothes and shoes had disappeared, most likely to their respective places in the laundry or kids' bedroom. 

The lingering smell of breakfast led you into the kitchen, where a plate of eggs and bacon sat neatly on the counter. Monica was truly a godsend, and knowing you were in good hands settled some nerves. Settling onto the kitchen barstool, you inhaled the aroma of the plate of food and reached for the fork. Your hand wavered as you spotted a piece of paper tucked under the plate's corner, dainty handwriting scribbling across the note. 

In case you need it, here’s Joel’s number. 

You stared at the series of numbers before you, your throat dry. Joel. The man that was giving you a second chance at this life you had decided to live. Joel. The man with a kind heart and even kinder eyes. Joel. 

The one person who could change everything.

[dollfacefantasy]

Can't Help It

pairing: dbf!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: your dad's coworker needs a housesitter, but the house isn't the only thing you'll be sitting on (haha pls laugh)

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, masturbation, oral (m receiving), age gap (i imagine early 20s/late 30s), both reader and leon are kinda pervy but not in a skeevy way <3

word count: 5.3k

a/n: hi hi i am back! this was such a pain to write for no reason, but as always, i hope people enjoy. i'm not sure what trope this really falls under, it's probably more accurate to say dcw (dad's coworker), but we'll go with dbf for convenience. i might make a part 2 of this idk. also, i know the header images are really giving graphic design is my passion but... it is what is lol. as before, thank you for all the support on my last fics. if you reblogged or commented, i'm giving you a smooch rn. and just wanna say that i do take requests. if anyone is interested, don't be shy ;) any who, feedback, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3

When your dad’s new coworker asked if you’d be interested in housesitting for some easy money, you couldn’t find a reason to say no. Agent Kennedy, like your father, traveled for work a lot. Often gone for weeks at a time, he needed someone to watch the place and take care of menial tasks like getting the mail and watering the plants. It paid well and all you had to do was basically live in his house.

You had met him several times in passing before he offered you this job, and he was always nice to you. He would say hi when you’d come down for a snack while he talked to your dad in the living room. He’d ask how college was and about the different classes you were taking. One time he even told you about some old band he liked that he thought you would too. And that was all great.

But what was even better was that he was fine as fuck.

You had a fat crush on him from the moment you were introduced. The way his eyes pierced right through you but in the softest way. How his lips curled into a knowing smile while his hand gripped yours in a firm shake. The way he said “pretty name for a pretty girl” when you told him your name. From any other middle-aged man, that would have been so corny and had you internally shriveling up. But from him… you had to fight the urge to get on your knees then and there.

He’d approached you about watching his house, saying something about how there had been some nearby break-ins in empty houses and it would be a good way for you to get some spending money and blah blah blah. You were on board as soon as the opportunity to have more of him in your life presented itself.

Unfortunately, it was the nature of housesitting that you rarely saw your employer. You would see him when you showed up and when he came home and that was it. But those moments were enough to sustain your delusion.

The first time you came over, you walked into the house, glancing around the den of the man who enraptured you. It was pretty basic, but you figured that not being home a lot would be the reason for that. When you were done trying to psychoanalyze him from looking around his house, he gave you your own set of keys with a wink that had you blushing an embarrassing amount.

“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy,” you said softly.

“Call me Leon, Sweetheart,” he replied.

You had to look away to conceal your giddy smile. You didn’t think he noticed the effect he had on you. Or if he did, he didn’t care about your pitiful infatuation. But other times, you could have sworn he did this kind of thing on purpose.

Your first stint in the house went smoothly. You made sure to do everything he asked and even cleaned up the place a little bit. When he returned from wherever his work had taken him that time, he seemed impressed to your delight. He looked around, making small talk with you before writing your check.

“You get up to anything crazy while I was gone?” he said, smirking as he scribbled his signature on the small rectangle.

“Yeah, I was real wild - I brought out your vacuum for probably the first time.”

He laughed, handed you the check, and teasingly purred “good girl.” 

Now, he may have been joking, but your panties nearly soaked through with arousal regardless. You yet again hid your revealing expression as you said a timid goodbye and headed out to your car. You were shifting your thighs together the whole ride home, fantasizing about being a good girl for Agent Kennedy so he would relieve that ache between your legs that clouded your thoughts.

Honestly, all of this made you feel pretty pathetic. Lusting after your father’s coworker, now technically your boss, who was a good fifteen years older than you. Blushing and squirming every time he said something more than ‘hi.’ Weren’t you better than this? But then you’d see those thick biceps and mysterious eyes, and the answer in your mind would be a resounding no.

Because honestly, you weren’t better than this, you were so much worse. After the good girl incident, you decided that if he didn’t want you yet, he would. You would make sure of it. From then on, every time you were housesitting, you wore your most revealing outfits, did your hair all pretty, and even tried special perfume so you’d smell extra nice.

But none of it seemed to work. He kept up his regular teasing and charm, but to your dismay, he hadn’t railed you on that sad leather couch in the living room. You tried to convince yourself that his gazes lingered longer and that his touches were more strategic, but that felt like reach even for you. 

It was so frustrating. What more could you do? You touched his arm while he spoke. You laughed harder at his corny jokes. You even hugged him once or twice when you could justify it. You tried to drop hints every way you could without literally just trying to seduce him, and he did not seem to care. You nearly gave up. You decided that maybe you should just cut your losses and spare yourself the humiliation. Leave yourself with some dignity and resign to just being his housesitter.

You would have done this if not for the fact that he lets you sleep in his bed while he’s gone.

His house was meant for one person. It didn’t have a guest room. He told you on your first gig that you were obviously allowed to sleep in his bed since the alternative was the aforementioned sad leather couch in the living room. He told you to bring whatever you needed to be comfortable - sheets, blankets, pillows - since you’d be there for weeks at a time.

At first, it was too weird. It made you feel dirty, sleeping in his bed while harboring your secret carnal desires. But goddamn, that couch in the living room was uncomfortable. You stuck it out for the first time, but the second time you housesat, you relented and dragged your belongings back to the room you’d forbidden yourself from knowing. 

His bedroom, like the rest of the house, is pretty blank, but there’s a little more personality here. It made you feel like such a stalker, but you couldn’t help making observations, right? You got to see the type of cologne he wore, the few dusty books he kept next to his bed, what kind of stuff he crammed in the nightstand drawers. It sounded creepy, but you just had curiosity, right?

You set yourself up in his queen size bed, draping the plush blanket you brought with you across the mattress. The bed was comfy enough, but the absolute best part, the part that kept your fantasies alive and well, was the way the sheets smelled like him.

You nearly moaned when you took a deep breath, filling your nose with that familiar scent. It gave you such a rush pushing your face into those smooth gray linens. It was so wrong, but you couldn’t help shamefully slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts to play with your swollen clit. You clutch the sheets in your fists as you writhe on the bed, whining as you fantasize about your special agent.

Leon had gone years leaving his house desolate without an issue. All that nonsense about potential burglaries and spending money for you had been total bullshit. It’s not like there was anything of value in his house anyway. Those excuses served only as a way to get more of you in his life. He thought housesitting was a happy middleground, a tether to you without being obvious about his motivations.

Ever since he saw you for the first time, heading out your front door, offering a timid ‘nice to meet you,’ he had been hooked. You bewitched him with your sweet temperament, that soft laugh when he told you bad jokes, those gorgeous eyes projecting all the emotions in that pretty head of yours. God, you were so fucking cute.

You made him feel like a dirty old man, sick and perverted for coveting his colleague’s daughter. The embarrassment he felt within himself when he’d notice he was staring at your tits or imagining how your soft lips would look wrapped around his cock was immeasurable. Even though the guilt boiled inside him, he couldn’t stop himself. He craved you. He started finding more opportunities to visit your house, hoping he could steal a few moments of your time. That’s when he knew enough was enough.

Having you as his house sitter worked perfectly. He could have his moments with you without feeling too disgusted with himself. Even though he liked to tease every so often, he kept it friendly. He noticed that you, on the other hand, seemed to be doing everything to change that.

He wasn’t a fool. He could see the changes in your appearance. Those skimpy outfits you’d flaunt yourself in drove him crazy. The way you’d playfully roll your eyes and brush his arm had his cock twitching in his pants. It was becoming all the more tempting to spread you out on the dining table and take what he wanted. But he still wrestled with that part of himself that said to not take it too far. That you deserved better.

That was until you started sleeping in his bed.

He had come home after your second gig, given you your check, and sent you on your way quickly because he was exhausted from his mission. He went straight to his room and collapsed on the bed. He could tell the sheets had been freshly washed by the soft feel, but also because you were always going above and beyond to please him. Despite the recent cleaning, he swore to himself he could smell some of your perfume on them.

He looked like a madman, smelling his bed sheets for the faintest hit of that scent. He groaned, picturing you lying here, your beautiful body sprawled out on his bed. He inhaled deeper while conjuring images of your unkempt hair and sleepy eyes. It wasn’t long until his dick sprung to life as he saw images of you with one of his pillows between your legs, whimpering as you drag your dripping cunt back and forth along the fabric. He couldn’t help the need to desperately pump his cock to sinful visions of his precious girl.

This morning it’s about six when Leon unlocks the front door and quietly walks inside. He completed his mission hours before. He was tired, but it had been short, only about a week, and relatively easy. He told you he would be home in the evening, but he’d finished earlier than expected.

He trudges through the house and down the hall to his bedroom, collapsing in bed at the forefront of his mind. It’s not until he reaches the door and hears your deep breathing that it occurs to him that his bed is currently occupied. He gently pushes the door open and walks in, planning on rousing you so you could get your money and be on your way. When he sees you though, that plan vanishes from his mind.

The sight of you nearly melts him into a puddle. He pads closer to the bed, careful not to disturb you. Your shiny hair is draped across the pillow as you lie on your stomach with one leg hiked up. Your arms rest close to your face, their raised position causing your t-shirt to ride up and allowing him to see your waist. The blanket was tangled between your legs, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the junction of your thighs covered only by those thin panties you wore.

Despite your beauty, he controls himself. He pulls the blanket over your lower body and sits beside you to contemplate his next move. He came up with a few different things he could do, but all he wanted right now was to watch you sleep. He felt like such a creep, but you looked heavenly in this state. His ears strained to hear those delicate exhales coming from your parted lips.

He could just go sleep on the couch until you woke up. He could just wake you up and offer to let you stay until you had your bearings. Or he could just let himself enjoy this a little more.

He wanted to wake you though. He wasn’t fully sure of what he was doing, but if there was any part of you that had reservations he wanted to know. It would rip his heart to shreds if he frightened you somehow. He begins rubbing your back in long soothing strokes. He makes small circles with his fingers every so often. You stir a little, but don’t wake.

He continues his ministrations, smiling at your sleeping form. He uses his other hand to brush your hair from your face. He strokes the locks away from your closed eyes before leaning closer to you. He can smell that familiar scent that had driven him to humping the sheets for the last few months.

“Hey Angel, need you to wake up for me,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath fanning across the side of your head.

It slowly registers inside your unconscious mind that you aren’t dreaming. Actual fingers are coasting along your back. An actual voice is coaxing you back to reality.

A low hum emits from your throat as you shift to face the source of your disturbance. Your eyes open, still heavy from sleep, and Leon enters your field of vision. For a second, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

“There she is,” he whispers, giving you that charming smile. He runs his fingers along your jaw and tilts your chin to turn your face completely in his direction.

You feel your brain malfunctioning as he floods your senses. The morning light coming through the window illuminating him as he looks down at you. The deep timbre of his voice speaking to you. His rough fingertips dragging across the smooth expanse of your cheek.

Soon as your eyes come into focus and your mind clears the fog of sleep a little, you grasp enough of the situation to feel a jolt of panic. It felt like you woke up late for school. You shoot up in bed and look at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Oh my God, Leon, I’m so sorry. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tonight. I’ll be ready in a minute. Just-” you ramble. You go to fling the blanket off of you, but remember you didn’t wear shorts to bed. You have to sit there, looking at him as you feel heat creeping to your cheeks.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he cuts you off with a quiet chuckle, gently catching your arm when you sit up, “I finished a little early. You don’t need to rush out the door. I figured you’d still be asleep.”

The look in his eyes soothes you. He has that rugged, worn out look that he gets when he comes back from missions. Your heart rate falls back down to normal levels, but your eyes still cast downwards, a little embarrassed he’d caught you unprepared. His fingers trail up and down your arm, and you shift a little to try and hide the fact that your nipples are hardening beneath the flimsy fabric of your shirt.

“Thank you. I’ll be up in a few though. I know you’re probably tired,” you say, giving him a sheepish smile.

He moves so that he’s further on the bed with you. He lays back on the pillows and looks up at you, rubbing your back how he was before you woke up. 

“Mmmm, I am, but you still don’t need to rush. I’m not gonna complain about a sweet thing like you warming my bed,” he says, that teasing smile spreading across his face and his fingers starting to trace patterns exclusively on the small of your back.

Your eyes flit away as your own smile grows on your face. How were you supposed to be normal about this? You look down at your hands in your lap and mutter a thank you.

“Honey, you really don’t need to be so shy all of the sudden,” he says softly, but there’s a smug lilt to his voice as well. You bite your lip as his hand begins fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He can’t help the smirk and predator-like glint in his eyes that form at your reaction. This was it. That little smile and refusal to meet his eyes was all he could stand. He was closing in now. The flirtation between you two had gone on long enough. He wanted this, and if you wanted it too, his mind couldn’t find a reason to deny the two of you any longer.

“Sweetheart, if you have something to tell me, you can come out and say it. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to,” he says as he reaches up to pull your hair behind your shoulder and out of your face, “And, lately I’m starting to think that’s what you want.”

You look over to him now, your eyes staring into his. Your limbs feel weak, disbelief coursing through your veins. Your thoughts stampede through your mind, but you eventually force the words from your throat.

“I think I want that too,” you breathe. Your heart seizes at his brows playfully rising. You lay down on the bed, resting on your side so that you and Leon are face to face. Your pulse thunders in your ears while you try to conceal how shaky your breathing is.

He scooches over to you, pushing you on to your back and propping himself on his elbow so he’s positioned above you. He leans down and presses two faint kisses to your cheeks. Pulling back, he looks into your eyes and strokes your cheek again with the same soft and slow movements.

“Think, babydoll? I think you know what you want,” he whispers, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip, “I think you’ve known for a while. Wearing all those cute little outfits, prancing through my house and brushing against me like a kitten. You were just begging for my attention.”

You squirm slightly under the spotlight of his affection. Somehow, you maintain eye contact even though every cell in you feels the urge to look away. Part of your mind wonders if he’s still teasing. If he’s about to pull away and leave you wanting.

Before you could overthink anymore, his head lowers to the crook of your neck. He takes a deep breath of you as he moves himself further on top. 

“Now, you’ve got it, but all you had to do, sweet thing, was ask,” he says as his mouth ghosts over your neck, “That’s all you have to do right now. Just want to hear that you want me as bad as I want you.”

“Yes,” you whimper without a second thought, “Please touch me.”

“That’s my good girl,” he hums as he begins kissing your neck. The kisses are soft. They’re barely there, but they’re overwhelming to you. You can’t help the pathetic sound that leaves your lips as you tilt your head back. The hand that had been touching your face trails down to your waist and begins caressing your side under your shirt.

His tongue gently laps against the skin of your neck between kisses. Your whole body is starting to heat up while simultaneously getting chills. Every inch of you aches for his touch. Your thighs subconsciously spread as your breathing becomes heavier.

Leon lets out a small laugh at your display. “You must really want this Baby. Just a few kisses and rubs and you’re already mine,” he murmurs as his lips move up your neck and down your jaw. He kisses your lips next, giving your bottom lip a little nip.

Another needy sound escapes your mouth. You return the kiss and flick your tongue against his lips. “I do, wanted this since I met you,” you moan, your body writhing for more.

“Naughty girl,” he teases against your lips, “That’s okay though, Angel. I’m the same way. Wanted a handful of these pretty tits since I saw you.” His hand moves up and kneads your breast. His fingers massage the flesh before centering and pinching your nipple. 

You whine and arch into his touch. Your eyes flutter as your face contorts with desire. He slides over you, straddling your waist. He stares down at you and takes in what was finally in his grasp. He coos for you to sit up a little while he pulls your shirt off of you. You comply and then flop back against the pillows. Now exposed from the waist up, his eyes feel even more intense. He’s locked on to the view of your tits.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he mutters, “Even better than I imagined.” His hands cup the sides of your breasts, groping them a bit. You can now see his cock beginning to strain against his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight, but it’s gone when he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth.

His tongue circles the peak before lapping against it, drawing more whines from you. Your body arches into his touch while his hands never let up their fondling. You take your lip between your teeth again. He moves to give the other nipple the same treatment, leaving the other one cold as the air touches the saliva-coated skin.

He plays with your breasts for a while more before drifting down your abdomen, lavishing your stomach with kisses. He squeezes your waist as he playfully tugs the hem of your panties with his teeth. He looks up at you deviously. “Your nipples were so hard, I bet your pussy’s fucking soaked for me.”

All you can do is nod, any verbal response tangled up in your esophagus. He leans back on his knees and swiftly pulls the garment off. His pupils seem blown out as he gets a look at your cunt. He pushes your thighs to your stomach, spreading you out for his gaze. You felt so exposed, at his mercy as he held you there and just looked at you. Your arms reach down and pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Wanna see you too,” you whimper with pleading eyes.

“Yeah?” he says with a soft smile. He leans back and pulls his shirt off. It takes everything in you to hold back a gasp. “Been fantasizing about me, have you?”

Your eyes rake along his chiseled abdomen, drinking in every line and shadow of his muscular frame. You reach out and pull him back on top of you. His grin grows, and he indulges you. You connect your mouths again, this time sliding your tongue inside his. He groans at your sudden eagerness. He runs his hand through your hair while you feel up his back, exploring the definition there.

You give him a little push, signaling that you want to roll over. His body flips over and takes you with him so that you’re positioned how you wanted. You make out for a minute more until you pull back, looking at him with your lustful eyes and swollen lips.

“Wanna suck your cock,” you say simply, sliding down his body so that you’re lying between his legs. You nuzzle against the bulge in his pants before unzipping them and tugging them down.

His eyes follow your every movement. He pets your head as you rub your face against the outline of his dick. He tilts his head back and lets out a sigh. 

“That’s a good girl, just gotta give you some love and then you loosen up, don’t you?” he coos.

“Mhm,” you hum. You kiss his solid length over the cloth of his boxers. Then, finally, what you had been waiting for since meeting Leon. You loop your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and pull them down, unveiling his beautiful cock.

You wrap your fingers around it, just an exploratory touch. You feel the veins in your hold and the heat radiating from his shaft. You slowly bring your head to the tip to give him some tiny licks. Your eyes dart to his face, looking for approval.

Leon’s chest ached from the way you were looking at him like he was a god. When your tongue sticks out and your eyes return his stare, he nods at you and keeps stroking your hair. Your lips soon wrap around the tip, and you bob your head a little. He groans and his hips twitch.

“That’s a good girl, baby. Good fucking girl,” he moans as your head slides further down his member. His fingers lace through your hair, pulling a little.

The praise only makes you more enthusiastic. You move up and down with more speed, making lewd slurping noises as you work. His hand on your head and his sounds of pleasure has heat collecting in your belly, leaking out of your dripping pussy.

His head rests against the head board as he watches you with half-open eyes. His eyes squeeze shut and his body tenses as you push your head all the way down, taking him into your throat. Spit trickles from your mouth and drips on to his pelvis.

“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he whimpers, tugging on your hair a little. You taste his pre cum leaking on your tongue. A gagging noise comes from you and his hips twitch harder. He barely restrains himself from bucking up and lodging himself deeper in your throat. You moan around his cock, driving him even crazier. He feels the rush of an orgasm approaching and tugs your hair with more firmness, guiding your head up and off his lap. You whine softly as you lose the taste of him.

“Sorry, pretty girl, don’t wanna cum just yet,” he says.

You crawl back up his body, so you’re in his arms again. You kiss his cheeks and the corners of his mouth as he rolls the two of you over so he’s on top again. He connects your lips in a deep kiss, tasting himself on you as he drags the tip of his cock through your slippery folds.

He doesn’t tease for long though. Soon enough, he’s pushing himself into your tight cunt. You both let out a symphony of sinful noises. Leon watches as your face contorts with pleasure as he stretches you out. You both felt a budding sense of satisfaction after finally receiving what you craved for the last several months.

He bottoms out inside of you. His head falls forward against your neck. He pants as he holds himself together and lets you adjust, keeping an iron grip on your hips. Your fluttering around him as you accommodate his girth. Your nails lightly dig into his back while you cling to him.

He begins thrusting with slow and deep strokes. You moan out his name a few times with a variety of expletives. He keeps his face buried in your neck, grunting as he feels the velvety sensation of your walls around his length. His motions become more fluid as he finds a rhythm with you.

“That’s right Angel, better than your dreams?” he murmurs against your neck.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you whimper, “So much better. Think your cock was made for me.”

“That so, Baby? I’m made to fill up a precious girl like you? Keep you happy and full of cum,” he growls into your neck, his thrusts gaining intensity.

You nod thoughtlessly as he continues battering your insides, gliding over your sweet spot repeatedly.Your arms wrap tighter around him as you feel yourself getting dragged closer and closer to the edge. Your noises become more strained as Leon lays sloppy kisses on the side of your head.

He hooks his arms underneath your knees and brings your thighs up to your abdomen again. His arm loops around and thumbs your clit as he slams himself in and out. Your back arches and you squirm from the rush of white hot pleasure. You’re right there, not able to hold on for much longer.

“I’m gonna have you so full of my cum today, it’s gonna be dripping out of you still the next time you’re here,” he grunts into your ear, “Make sure your pussy remembers me till I can fill her again.”

His vulgar words rip a high pitched moan from your throat and cause your eyes to roll back. “Fuck, Leon, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Go ahead, sweet girl. Squeeze me nice and tight,” he moans, his own voice getting strained.

You do as he says. The orgasm overtakes you. You release a strangled cry as your body rhythmically rolls into the feeling. Your pussy clamps around Leon tight, sucking him deep and keeping the attention on that blissful spot. The thrill of satisfaction rushing through your mind only works you further. Your eyes flutter and your lips part as you completely let go.

As he watches you cum, he notes that it might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The sight of your gorgeous body writhing and trembling because of him. The primal sounds of your moans and cries. It’s too much for him. He growls and grunts into your neck, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He snaps even harder into you and floods you with his sticky, hot cum.

You both ride the waves of euphoria together until you both start coming down. He basically collapses on you as he catches his breath and you wipe the sweat from your brow. After a minute, he pushes himself off of you and flat on to the bed next to you. He gazes at the ceiling as his chest continues to rise and fall with the need for more oxygen.

You sit up slowly, realizing he probably wants you gone now. Like he said, you feel his cum leaking out of you as you move to grab your panties from the corner of his bed. This is how you expected it to be, but it still hurt a little. Nothing you couldn’t handle though. Your pulling them back on when your snapped out of your thoughts by Leon’s arm around your waist, dragging you to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks teasingly, spooning you and softly kissing beneath your ear, “You got what you wanted and now you’re running out?”

“Oh, uhhh… I thought you’d want me to leave,” you say quietly.

He guides your face so you’re looking at him. His eyes are still soft but more serious. “You think I would just fuck you and then throw you out on your ass? You’ve been sleeping in my bed for months, but you don’t know me as well as you think,” he says and kisses your nose, “You don’t have anywhere to be today, yeah? You thought you’d be here till later anyway.”

You nod in agreement, your eyes casting down with some embarrassment over your assumption.

“Hey, don’t get all shy on me now. There’s no reason for it,” he teases, “We have all day for me to show you how I want to take care of you. Just give me a moment, I’m not as young as I use to be.”

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 2 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader, Hoseok x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: mentions of The Incident, Jungkook is a menace. curses, mentions of a character getting cheated on, alcohol, mentions of ghosting, explicit content: sex toy (vibrator), they do it in a public space (an empty lab), degradation, sir, thigh grinding, dom!Hobi, he's a bit of a dick, pussy slapping, breast/nipple play, jerking off, praise, fingering, ass slapping, protected sex, anal fingering, mentions of mouth fucking, masturbation (female and male), OC has some dirty little fantasies about her older brother's best friend, squirting, she overhears Jungkook watching porn

☆word count: 10.2k

☆a/n: new week new chapter!! enjoy reading everyone <3 thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Sunday, January 20th 

You wake up with a start, heart beating out of your chest. It takes you a moment to collect yourself until you realize that you were actually woken up by a sound. It takes you a moment longer before you understand that the sound is Jungkook cursing.

You frown, glancing towards his wall in the hopes that he’ll shut up, and it’s almost like he hears you: he dwindles into silence after a few seconds, and you’re stuck wondering why he was cursing like that in the first place. You don’t think you’ll have the answer anytime soon, so you lie back down – when did you even sit up?

You shut your eyes, though it seems sleep will evade you again. Indeed, your focus is zeroed in on the sounds coming from Jungkook’s room, probably of him getting ready for work. It also makes you realize that you really do need to go to the bathroom, so you decide to head there before actually going back to sleep.

You get out of the bathroom in time with Jungkook getting out of his room, and he stops in the doorway, eyes widening as he watches you across the living room. You’re only wearing an oversized sweater, and you don’t miss the way his gaze dips to your legs once before returning to your face.

Only then does he break into a smirk, leaning against the door as he folds his arms on his chest. “Long night?” he asks teasingly.

You know you’ve flushed red when he chuckles darkly. “Not really, no,” you choke out.

“You’re cute when you blush, peach,” he jokes, glancing towards your room. “He’s still in there?”

You don’t know if it’s because of the way your face falls, but Jungkook’s smirk dies down, concern moving on his features instead. You hate it, so you quickly say, “He left last night, you didn’t hear?”

His tongue plays with his piercing for a moment. “Not gonna lie, I put earbuds in the moment I started hearing you guys.”

Your blush deepens, and you’d facepalm if the gesture in and of itself wasn’t so embarrassing. Instead, you look away from him, glancing at the front door as you replay Hoseok leaving in your mind. “Sorry,” you apologize.

You don’t even know what for. Your goal was to make Jungkook uncomfortable, so why do you feel like shit now that he’s talking to you about it?

“It’s fine,” he says, pushing up from the door frame as he walks towards the kitchen. “Though I didn’t think you were like that, peach.”

You furrow your brows, and you can’t help but follow him into the kitchen. “What do you mean?”

He’s got his head in the fridge, and he straightens, holding a protein shake in his hands. He takes a sip of it, eyes finding yours, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he kicks the fridge door shut. 

“Paper-thin walls, remember?”

You purse your lips, cocking your head to the side. “Thought you said you put earbuds on?”

His tongue pokes his cheek, and he looks away from you, chuckling in disbelief. When he remains silent, you spy his ear turning pink, and you hold in a smirk.

“I did,” he says. “A little too late.”

“Are you saying you listened to us?” you let out, gasping in fake outrage.

“Peach.” His doe eyes slide back to you, and they pierce right into your soul as your gazes connect. “I know you’ve been listening to me. If you were just trying to make me jealous, you can say so.”

Your mouth falls open, and every word in the dictionary flies out the window as you just stare at him, embarrassment slowly creeping in. Very slowly, its fingers licking up your spine until they’re clutching your heart.

“Why would I want to make you jealous?” you ask, voice suddenly far less confident and a lot smaller.

He takes another sip. “You tell me.”

You don’t know what to tell him. All that you know is that you wish last night never happened, and you wish Jungkook would stop looking at you. He looks effortlessly good, even so early in the morning, and really, it’s unfair.

Unfair that you’re stuck living with him for months without Taehyung being here.

When he understands that you’re not going to say anything else, Jungkook shrugs, glancing at the time on his phone. He meets your startled gaze again, before saying, “I have to head to work.” He pauses, tongue playing with his piercing and then continues, “If you don’t want me having sex here, it’d be fair if you didn’t have it either.”

You nod once, and when he walks towards you, you quickly step out of the way. It makes him laugh and he stops right in front of you, head tilted down. His hair isn’t styled back this morning, and it falls in his eyes, hiding their innocence from you.

Because, for some reason, you’ve always thought he has innocent eyes. You know better than to think his soul is innocent, though.

“Unless you’d like me to keep doing it?” he asks, voice low and husky. It makes your spine tingle, especially as he adds, “You sure sounded like you liked it last time.”

So he was aware of the Incident. You flush furiously crimson, and you refuse to meet his gaze. But when one of his fingers touches your chin ever so lightly to make you tilt your head back, you’re too weak to resist. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, peach,” he purrs. “I was pretty turned on myself last night.”

Your lips part as your gaze meets his, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dart to your mouth once.

“I won’t do it again,” you say, voice shaking a little.

It clearly isn’t what Jungkook wanted you to say because he frowns, taking a step away from you. If he’s aware that he’s got your heart racing in your chest, he doesn’t let it show.

“Noted,” he answers curtly, and he walks out of the kitchen without saying anything else.

You don’t move, a trembling hand going over your chest as if it’ll calm down the beats of your heart. Evidently, it doesn’t do anything, and you listen to Jungkook as he puts a coat on, before going out the door.

You think you weren’t breathing until the front door shuts behind him, and even then, you’re not sure you’re breathing at all. It takes everything in you to be able to walk back to your room, and you sit on your bed, eyes darting to your phone.

The screen is lit up, and you quickly grab it to see you received a couple of texts while you were sleeping, and another one just now. That last one is from Hoseok, and you immediately open the notification to see what he sent.

[9:02 am] Hobi: hey, sorry for last night. I feel like a dick for leaving like that.. any chance I can make it up to u today?

You purse your lips, right as relief washes through you. Because no matter how much you agree with the fact that you two shouldn’t do feelings, his leaving so quickly made you feel used. It’s also a good distraction from what just happened with Jungkook, which you reckon you need.

[9:04 am] You: no worries I get it. What do u wanna do

You turn off your phone, grabbing your clothes to take a quick shower. Mostly because you don’t want to text him too quickly, but also because you haven’t showered since before the party yesterday, and you usually always shower before going to bed. 

You comb your hair when you get out of the shower, wrapping it in a clean towel before heading back to your room. Even then, you don’t touch your phone, instead busying yourself with putting your dirty clothes away in a hamper. You plop down on your bed, thoughts going back to the conversation with Jungkook, and you feel a coil tightening at the bottom of your stomach.

Because you’re only now realizing that he was hitting on you. He was clearly hitting on you, in his own sick and twisted way. And the worst part is, just thinking about it makes you feel turned on…

You can’t wait for Taehyung to be back from his semester abroad.

Thursday, January 24th

Your biochemistry class is boring. Nabi is dozing off next to you, and you took a couple of pictures already that you shared in the group chat you now have. 

Indeed, you ended up hanging out with Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoongi, Nabi and Ria on Sunday morning, getting brunch together, and for convenience Hoseok created a group chat.

It’s been lively since then, with everyone sending their share of memes and funny pictures. Except Yoongi – Yoongi seems like he’s a ghost in the conversation, except for the laughing reacts that he’s put on some of the memes. The picture of Nabi quickly gains you a lot of laughing emojis, and Namjoon sends,

[11:24 am] Joonie: Yah she should pay attention if she wants good grades!

You laugh-react to Namjoon’s message but don’t say anything, though you know that Nabi is going to have to talk about it for the next fifty days. You then try to focus on the class, watching the minutes go by on the clock by the door more than anything. You’re struggling to stay awake, eyes heavy with sleep, but you manage to make it through the end of class without fully falling asleep. When the professor finally dismisses the class, you shake Nabi awake, laughing as you notice she’s drooled on the desk.

“Gosh,” you say, pointing at it. “Who were you dreaming of?”

Nabi blinks, a little confused, but her cheeks still turn red. “No one.”

You gather your things as you get up, throwing her a no-bullshit look. She ignores you, shrugging her shoulders like the little angel that she is, and then you make your way to the cafeteria, Nabi in tow. You meet with Ria, who’s finished her classes for the day – you’re unlucky, you still have another one in the afternoon. You sit together, chatting about everything and nothing, the conversation slowly inching towards Namjoon. You’re not surprised, and you tune it out as you work on a lab report.

“Hobi!” Ria yells happily, motioning at someone.

As much as you and Hoseok decided to be friends, you still feel a little awkward as he makes his way towards you, sitting next to Nabi across from you. “How are you girls doing?” he asks, but his eyes linger on you.

“Fantastic,” Nabi answers. “Though, not looking forward to the genetics class this afternoon.”

“Come on.” Hoseok laughs, shaking his head. “That’s the easiest class of the first year.”

“Still boring,” Nabi counters. “I don’t know how I’ll stay awake.”

“Bitch,” you let out, chuckling. “You were sleeping all morning.”

She shrugs her shoulders innocently, like she had in the class a moment ago. “Didn’t sleep last night.”

Hoseok looks down at the table, a knowing look painting his features, and Ria narrows her gaze at Nabi. 

“Why?” she asks. “You left the library before Y/n and I did.”

Nabi purses her lips, cheeks tinting pink. Hoseok still sports the knowing smirk, and you furrow your brows.

Did something happen between them? 

“I just couldn’t sleep,” Nabi answers carefully.

At that, Hoseok snorts, finally looking towards her. “I know someone else that couldn’t sleep last night.”

Now, Nabi turns crimson. 

“Did something happen between you guys?” you blurt.

Hoseok looks startled, and Nabi bursts out laughing. “What the fuck?” she says.

“Namjoon was speaking to someone on the phone all night.”

Hoseok’s input has your eyes widen, quite at the same time as Ria replies, “His girlfriend, I presume?”

It is disapproving, and awkwardness fills the space between you all. Nabi’s eyes drop to the table, ashamed. “I mean… he was just helping with some homework.”

Ria scoffs. “So that’s what you do when I’m not at the dorm?”

Indeed, Ria ended up coming over to your place, mostly because she didn’t want you to walk home alone so late after your trip to the library. She slept in Taehyung’s bed and went home right when you woke up to shower and change before her class.

“It was nothing!” Nabi insists. “Just talking.”

Ria rolls her eyes, before getting up and grabbing her stuff. “Whatever.”

She storms away, and you look at her disappearing form, gaze wide, before looking back at Nabi and Hoseok. Hoseok looks like he wishes to disappear through the floor, and Nabi is rubbing a hand on her forehead.

You know exactly what happened. Ria was cheated on in her last relationship, and needless to say, it’s fucked her up a little.

“Just talking?” you repeat.

Nabi meets your gaze, clearly looking for salvation. “I promise, nothing happened.”

Hoseok clears his throat, and both of you look towards him. “Namjoon and his girlfriend broke up last weekend.”

Nabi looks far more surprised than you, if that’s possible. Clearly, Namjoon didn’t tell her.

“They did?”

Hoseok nods, sparing you a glance before he continues, “It’s been a long time coming. They’ve been long distance for over a year, and… yeah.”

“Oh,” Nabi voices. Her eyes drop to the table, where her half-eaten salad is still waiting for her. “I should find Ria and tell her.”

She nods once as if she needs to convince herself, and then she quickly puts her stuff away. It dawns on you that you’re soon going to be left alone with Hoseok, and you try to meet Nabi’s gaze, try to find an excuse as to why you should go with her. But you reckon she and Ria probably need to speak about it without you, for the sake of their friendship.

Nabi waves goodbye when she’s done picking up her stuff, and then she’s walking away, following in Ria’s previous footsteps until she’s out of the cafeteria.

There’s a moment of awkward silence, and you focus on your laptop screen as if it’s going to help, but it offers no salvation. Especially not as Hoseok is looking at you over the screen, eyes going a little dark as his features turn somber. 

You gulp before meeting his gaze. “What’s up?”

He wets his lips, glancing at the seats vacated by your friends. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh,” you let out. “It’s okay, it’s whatever.”

He nods once, and as your attention returns to your computer, he fishes a sandwich out of his tote bag. He starts eating, and you fear the heavy silence is going to make you crazy, especially as you can feel his eyes on you while you type away.

“Everything okay?” you ask, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Want to skip genetics?” he answers, voice lower than you expected it to be.

For a reason unknown, it has your insides turning white hot. 

“I shouldn’t.”

He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

You entirely thought he was going to argue, so you can’t help but furrow your brows as you meet his gaze. “What?”

He sits back, tilting his head to the side as he surveys you. As he remains silent, you feel yourself heating up even more. The danger in his eyes is enticing, and you reckon you probably have enough time before class to find a quiet place around campus.

“The class is in forty-five minutes,” you innocently say.

Hoseok grins. “Plenty of time, don’t you think?”

“I haven’t eaten,” you admit, pursing your lips.

“If you sit at the back of the class, no one will care if you eat.”

You know he’s right. And mostly, you know he doesn’t even need to convince you. You’ve been hot and bothered since last Saturday, as you’ve been too scared to use your vibrator again after you realized Jungkook heard you.

So when Hoseok admits he’s got the keys to one of the labs, you don’t hesitate before putting your computer away, following him as he leads the way.

“I’ve never…” you start, and then you laugh awkwardly.

By the time Hoseok says, “You’ve never what?”, you’re out of the cafeteria.

“Never done anything on campus.”

He winks at you. “Glad to know I’ll be the first.”

It makes you roll your eyes as a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but you don’t say anything as he guides you to the elevator. Another student is already waiting in front of it, and she grins at Hoseok as he stops next to her.

“Hoba!” she lets out. “I thought you had the day off today.”

He loosely hugs her before replying. “Yeah, had to come to hand an essay to Professor Evans.”

The girl glances at you. You barely recognize her, though you’re pretty sure you’ve seen her at some parties. She greets you, and you offer her a smile before she turns to Hoseok and they strike up a conversation about said essay.

She’s someone from his class, apparently, and they chat for the whole elevator ride until she exits to head wherever it is that she is going. It leaves you alone with Hoseok, and it takes all of one second before the air fills with tension again, especially as his hand brushes yours.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice low. 

You wet your lips, meeting his dark gaze. “No worries,” you reply.

He nods, and to your surprise, he pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. It makes you freeze in place, as his fingers linger on your cheek. His gaze drops to your lips, and if it wasn’t for the elevator dinging, the doors sliding open, you’re convinced he would have kissed you then and there.

Instead, his hand falls to the side, and he struts out of the elevator. You quickly follow him before the doors have time to close, and it takes about another minute before you finally reach the lab.

Hoseok glances around, making sure the hallway is empty before he unlocks the door. He pushes it open for you to walk in, and you enter the cool darkness, eyes sighing in relief.

Indeed, for some reason, you’ve always found the neon lights of the hallway to be too aggressive for your eyes. 

The lab is dark, the only light being the one from behind the closed blinds. The door doesn’t have a window, and Hoseok closes it behind him, quickly locking it again. You scan your surroundings – there’s an area with white coats to your left, and to your right there are empty shelves where you imagine students leave their bags when they have a class in this lab. You drop your stuff there, before turning towards Hoseok again.

“Aren’t there cameras in here?” you ask.

He walks towards you, towering over you as he puts his tote bag next to your stuff. “The one that is supposed to film the white coats is dead,” he informs you. 

You gulp as one of his long fingers finds your chin. He tilts your head back, before leaning in to press his lips against yours once. He barely kisses you, lips ghosting on your jaw before he aims for your neck. You tilt your head to the side, breath hitching in your throat, but he stills next to your ear.

“How do you know?” you ask breathlessly.

You think you can hear the smirk in his voice when he replies, “Seokjin got in trouble once right here. Someone saw him and his girlfriend come in, but they couldn’t see anything on the cameras so they let him go.”

He lightly tugs at your earlobe. “They haven’t changed the camera since then?”

“No,” Hoseok says, slightly shaking his head. “Or if they have, whoever is behind the security desk has had a couple of shows through the months.”

You let out a breathy sound as he sucks a spot underneath your ear. “Are you saying you’ve fucked some girls here?”

“Maybe?” He pauses to leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck, down to the collar of your shirt. “Is that a problem?”

Not at all. In truth, you don’t give a shit if he’s been with other people. You would assume he was – he’s an attractive man after all. If you were into him for more than just sex, maybe you’d be insulted, but right now, all you can think about is that he’s about to fuck you senseless.

“No,” you finally reply.

His teeth pull at your shirt, and then he straightens. “Come.”

You let him grab your hand, and he pulls you to where the white coats are. He pushes you into a corner, glancing behind him. You can see the camera over his shoulder, and you can only hope that it is indeed dead, because he pushes his knee between your legs as he faces you again.

“You’re such a slut,” he says against your lips. Your eyes close from the sudden proximity, and you await his next words as your insides burn. “Wanting me to fuck you here, where anyone could come in.”

You’d tell him he’s the slut, considering he’s the one that brought you here, but all you can do is grab at his shoulders when he sucks on your lower lip. You moan as his knee pushes further between your legs, thigh pressing against your pussy, and you instinctively grind, looking for some friction on your clit.

Hoseok chuckles darkly, and he straightens again.

“So fucking desperate.” He tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “Should I punish you some more?”

Your mouth is parted as you breathe in and out quickly, eyes a little round. “Why?”

“Have you learned your lesson last weekend?”

You gulp, nodding once.

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

He cocks an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more.

“Yes, sir.”

He smirks, stealing a sudden heated kiss on your lips. You moan as his hands grab at your hips, forcing you to grind on his thigh again. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, and you feel yourself go weak in the knees as he keeps you going.

“Wait,” you breathe after a moment of you fucking his thigh. He pulls away from where he buried his face in your neck, questions in his eyes. “It hurts with the fabric…” you trail off as he once again cocks an eyebrow. 

“And? You think you’ve been good enough for me to take off your clothes?”

“Hobi,” you whine, and he smirks before kissing you again. 

He removes his leg from between yours, hands staying on your hips. Yours move from his shoulders to the back of his neck so you can pull him closer, and he pushes you against the wall. He grunts in the kiss when you suck on his tongue, and his fingers find a home over your clothes, right against your pussy. He slaps it, hard, and you moan when his other hand sneaks under your shirt, cupping your breast through your bra.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“Please fuck me.”

He chuckles, nodding his head. “Oh, I’ll fuck you good. You won’t be able to walk to your class after.”

That only turns you on even more, and you think you’re melted lava now, burning bright red as you bubble away under Hoseok’s heated touch. Getting tired of the fabric of your bra, he pushes it up, until your breasts are free and he’s able to pinch your nipple, hard.

You moan, and he pushes his tongue in your mouth, finding yours as he laps at you.

You’re soaking your panties. At this point, you’re convinced you’re also soaking through your pants, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Hoseok has always been able to make you do whatever it is that he wants, and you don’t think it’ll ever change. Last weekend was proof enough of that.

“Take off your pants,” he commands as he steps back. 

Your arms fall aimlessly to your side, but you’re quick to comply, unbuttoning your pants as Hoseok busies himself with his belt. He’s quicker than you, hands steadier than yours, and he’s freed his cock from his pants before you have time to push your pants down your legs. He strokes himself under your watchful gaze, head cocked to the side.

“I’m so fucking hard for you,” he comments, and he sounds a little surprised.

As if he didn’t expect the little action between you two to have been enough for him to get there. You reckon you aren’t surprised, especially not as you feel how wet you are once your pants and underwear are off. 

The cool air of the lab makes you shiver, but Hoseok barely gives you time to realize it before he pushes a hand between your legs, collecting your juices at your entrance before bringing his fingers to your mouth.

“Taste yourself.”

You obey, and you wrap your lips around his two digits, tongue flicking at the pads. He’s still stroking his dick and, as much as you want to look down, you’re a prisoner of his gaze. All you can do is suck his fingers, hollowing your cheeks as you swirl your tongue around them.

“Good girl,” he says once he’s retrieved his fingers from your mouth.

He lets go of his dick as he searches through his pocket for his wallet. He takes it out, finding a condom. He rips the package as your hand wraps around the tip of his cock, thumb smearing the precum all around the head. He hisses but lets you do it, especially as you start stroking him, trying to copy his previous motions. 

You jerk him off for a moment, and he pushes your shirt up enough so that he’s able to wrap his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. It’s your turn to hiss, though his tongue soothes the sting as he swirls it around your nipple before he moves to your other breast.

You rest your head against the wall, trying to focus on jerking him off, but when he dips two fingers in you, arching them to rub at the sweet spot inside of you, you grip him tight.

“Fuck,” he curses as he pulls away, and his fingers leave you empty. They move to retrieve the condom from the package, and he’s quick to roll it on his dick. “Turn around,” he orders.

You bite at your lip, nodding once before you do so. He grabs your hips and pulls them back before he pushes on your upper back until you’re bent, one arm resting against a shelf you find under the white coats.

Hoseok teases your entrance with his fingers again before slipping them in. He finger-fucks you for a while, adding scissoring motions to spread you wide open as you pant from the ministrations. You know he’s getting you ready for his cock, even though you reckon it’s useless.

Indeed, you’re soaked, the perspective of fucking in a public space having made you hornier than you usually are. Indeed, you think you’re already close, especially as he pushes in and out quickly, fingers rubbing you expertly.

You clench around him, and he smacks your ass with one hand. “You like that?”

“Fuck me,” you whine again, begging more than anything.

“Yes, baby,” he says as he massages your ass. “I’m going to fuck you good.”

His fingers leave you empty, and he holds your hips as he aligns himself with your entrance. His cock rubs against your clit, making you see stars before he finally pushes in. He stops with just the tip in, landing another hard slap to your ass.

The sting makes you move back, and you impale yourself on him until his dick reaches deep inside of you, splitting you wide open. He grunts, fingers digging into the supple skin of your hip, and you moan as he hits the bottom of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he curses. “You want to fuck yourself on me, mmh?”

You don’t reply, instead moving forward before pushing back again. He groans again, but then he holds you in place. When you understand that he wants you to stop, you still, glancing at him. He meets your gaze as one of his hands moves to his mouth, and he spits on his fingers.

You grab the side of the shelf hard, knuckles turning white, as he spreads your ass cheeks open, and he smears his spit on your asshole. 

He’s still holding your gaze, and as you say nothing, he pushes his thumb in your ass. It hurts a little, and your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the feeling. 

“Safe word?”

You shake your head no, and Hoseok doesn’t need more to start pounding into you, so hard you can’t help the loud moan that falls from your lips. You clench your walls around him, hard, and he takes that as a cue to bring his other hand to your clit. He rubs it with a consistent rhythm that’s making your legs tremble, though he’s pressing a little too hard. You know he’ll get you oversensitive in no time, so you pinch one of your nipples, focusing on that pain to remain afloat.

That’s where your orgasm finds you, a little under a minute later. Crashing against you, you moan a broken sound that probably would have been his name, and the waves of your orgasm wash over you as he keeps fucking you, fingers never faltering on your clit. 

As soon as you’re down from the high, you pull his hand away from your clit. “Too sensitive,” you mutter.

He slaps your ass but says nothing as he increases the pace of his thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. It hits him as you clench your walls around him voluntarily, and he grunts loudly as he comes, dick twitching deep inside of you.

For a moment, all that fills the air is the sound of your ragged breaths, and it takes you both a while before you’re back in your bodies, coming down from the high of sex. Hoseok pulls out of you, both his dick and his thumb, and he discards the condom, tying it tightly. You put your clothes back on, shakily, as you’re still reeling from the oversensitivity. You run your hands through your hair, making sure it’s not too much of a mess before facing him.

“Damn,” you say once you’re both standing straight, gaze meeting.

Hoseok laughs. “Yeah.”

“Now I have a class to run to.”

He nods. “You do. You think you’ll be okay?”

The way he says it is cocky, and for some reason, it makes you want him again. He must have noticed, because he smirks, tilting his head to the side.

“I’ll be fine,” you say. “We should…”

“Hang out again?” he supplies as you fall silent.

You nod once. “Sometime this weekend?”

He thinks about it for a time before shaking his head no. “I’m going to visit my parents this weekend so…” he trails off.

“Oh,” you let out, shrugging your shoulders. “Just… text me?”

“In the group chat or…” he teases, and you push him as you roll your eyes. It makes him laugh, yet he still pulls you in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, I’ll text you.”

You move out of his embrace, a little embarrassed. “Good.”

He smiles, gently, and it’s so far from what he was just a moment ago, pounding into you, that you think you get whiplash.

Jeong Hoseok has a duality you don’t think you’ll ever understand. And really, it leaves you confused all through your genetics class. Nabi never shows up, which you actually are glad for. Because you’re pretty sure she would have taken one look at you and known you’ve just fucked, and you don’t think you’d be ready to deal with the questioning.

You’ve barely told them about what happened between you and Hoseok last weekend. You don’t see yourself admitting that you’re sleeping with him again. You’re just content with enjoying the friend group, and you don’t want to make things awkward for everyone else. So you’ve been keeping it to yourself, and perhaps that’s why you’ve been feeling so confused.

As you sit in the library later, trying to finish your lab report, you spy Jungkook shelving some books. He doesn’t see you or pretends he hasn’t seen you, and that, most of all, makes you realize one thing.

Hoseok isn’t the one that’s been confusing you at all. It’s been Jungkook, and what he said on Sunday morning, that’s been plaguing your every moment.

No wonder you haven’t said anything to your friends.

Wednesday, February 6th 

You hate midterms. They stress you out, obviously, but also the irregular hours make it hard for you to sleep at night, and even harder to follow in your classes. It’s no wonder you end up skipping your afternoon class, heading home to take a well-deserved nap before you study more. Nabi promised to send her notes, considering you’ve sent her the notes of that genetics class she missed a few weeks ago.

It’s a good deal, and you sleep like a rock the moment you get home, face hidden in your pillow. The only downside of taking a nap is, you always feel worse when you wake up. It takes a while for you to shake the grogginess away, so when you wake up around 3:45 pm, you know you’re not going to be able to study right away. Instead, you head to the kitchen, reheating some leftover noodles you find in the fridge. 

You’re halfway through your bowl when your phone rings, startling you. You glance at the screen – it’s Taehyung, on a Facetime call at that. Your heart leaps in your chest; you haven’t talked to him since he left, a month ago, except for some texting here and there to make sure that everything was okay.

You pick up the call, and it takes a few seconds before it connects, and your brother’s dumb face appears on the screen. He looks as if he’s lying in bed, or on a couch perhaps. He smiles as soon as he sees you, and you wish you could hug him through the screen.

“Hey!” he says. “How’s America going?”

“It’s cold,” you complain. “Not as great as Paris I assume.”

Taehyung laughs. “Paris is a dream, honestly. You’d love it here.”

“Duh.” You smile wide, slightly shaking your head. “I still can’t believe you just get to spend a whole semester over there.”

“You can if you want to! I’m sure your major also allows it.”

As much as it’d be fun, you don’t think Paris would be your destination. There are a couple of other places in the world that are higher up on your list, though you don’t know if you’d want to study in those places. You’re afraid it’d take the magic away, as you’ve always been too focused on your studies.

Taehyung has never been like this, so you know he’s been enjoying his time over there. And he has – he visited the Louvres last weekend, and he’s eaten so many croissants he’s convinced he’s going to get a French accent soon.

At that, you laugh, before telling him about your time here. Omitting Hoseok, obviously, but mostly omitting how Jungkook has been not so subtly flirting with you. To be fair, you’re pretty sure he was flirting with you before Taehyung left, but he’s been far bolder now. You know the blame is partly on you – after the Incident, and the revelation that he knows about it, you can see why a guy like Jungkook would be attracted.

He told you himself that he was turned on when you were with Hoseok, didn’t he?

“Hello,” Taehyung says. “Are you even listening to me?”

You shake out of your thoughts, apologizing. “Midterms have been fucking with me.”

“Oof,” Taehyung lets out. “I’m lucky my grades here don’t count in my GPA.” He winces, glancing away from the screen before resuming his attention on you. “I think I’m going to tank one of the classes.”

“RIP.” 

Before you or your brother have time to say anything else, the front door unlocks. Your eyes snap to it from where you’re sitting on the couch, and Jungkook comes into view, hair ruffled by the wind outside. He catches sight of you, offering you a corner smile that makes you want to roll your eyes as your gaze settles back on your brother.

“Is Jungkook home?” Taehyung asks, loud enough for the mentioned man to look your way. 

“Tae!” he lets out enthusiastically, and he kicks his boots off to make his way to your side. 

You want to disappear when he sits next to you, close enough for his thigh to press against yours. He’s still clad in his coat, and you cringe at how cold it is as he leans even closer, his face appearing on your phone. “How’s Paris been going?”

“Bro, it’s fucking sick,” Taehyung answers. “They know how to party here.”

Jungkook smirks. “Any good fucks?”

Your head snaps towards Jungkook. “Bruh, why would you ask him that?”

Taehyung laughs, ignoring you. “I’ve been seeing this girl,” he admits. “Haven’t fucked yet but I’d say it’s coming.”

You wince, nose scrunching up in disgust. “Come on, I don’t want to hear about your sex life, Tae.”

“You’re a big girl now, get used to it,” Jungkook jokes.

You glare at him again, and when your eyes move back to Taehyung’s face, he’s got his brows furrowed. You don’t know why, and the expression melts to be replaced by his usual impassive mask, the one you know he uses when he’s trying to not let his emotions show on his face.

“Well, I’ve been dating her, I’m pretty sure I can tell you I’ve been going on dates?” he says, and it sounds like a question.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Kim Taehyung, why are you starting to date someone in Paris? You’re not going to do long distance.”

“She’s from our college too, chill,” he answers, rolling his eyes at you. “She’s in the exchange program.”

That gains your interest, and a smile moves on your lips. “Oh?”

“Oh?” Taehyung echoes.

“Who is she?”

He offers you a secretive smile. “Not telling before things are official.”

Taking you by surprise, Jungkook grabs your phone out of your hands. The sudden contact of his fingers on yours feels electrifying, even though it lasts just a fraction of a second before it’s gone.

“Hey!” you burst out.

“I’m sure you can tell your best friend,” Jungkook says, holding your phone out of your reach, filming his face.

“Jungkook, give me my phone!”

You can hear Taehyung laughing on his side of the line as Jungkook looks at you. “Nah.”

You sit back on the couch, folding your arms on your chest. You clench your jaw, annoyance moving through you, but you don’t say anything else as Taehyung insists that he’d rather wait before telling you. Jungkook, resolute, asks the question again, and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Ow!” he lets out. “What the fuck was that for?”

You roll your eyes. “Give me my phone.” He looks up at the ceiling in annoyance, before handing you the device. “Thank you,” you say sarcastically.

“Just wanted to get you your answer,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “But never mind.”

At that he gets up, sauntering away while taking off his coat. You watch him go, far too confused, but Taehyung doesn’t let you think about it for too long. Instead, he says he’s got to go, but that he’s glad you two talked. You tell him to be safe, and then you hang up.

The sudden silence in the living room makes you glance towards the kitchen as you hear Jungkook rummaging in the refrigerator. It takes all but five seconds for him to yell, “Hey, are you eating my noodles?”

Your gaze widens as it falls on the noodles you’ve been eating, forgotten on the coffee table. You were convinced they were yours earlier, but now that Jungkook’s said it…

You jump out of your seat, grabbing them as you head to the kitchen. “Are they yours? I was convinced they were mine.”

He seems pissed, but when you hand him the bowl, he cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve eaten half of them.”

“There’s still plenty left!” you point out. “I’m sorry.”

“Peach,” he says, smirking. “It’s okay, I’ll eat something else.”

The nickname makes your cheeks burn. “No, really, take them.”

He hesitates for a few seconds more before shrugging his shoulders and grabbing the half-eaten bowl. “Thanks.”

You don’t reply, not knowing what to say as he moves back to the living room. Still hungry, you grab some grapes from the fridge before heading to your room, figuring you should study now. You get comfortable at your desk, studying for your next midterm. It goes well for a few hours, but when the sun has long since set, you hear Jungkook opening the front door, greeting someone.

For a moment, you’re afraid he’s invited a girl over, but it turns out to be Jimin. You relax in your chair, continuing to study, eyes growing heavy with every sentence that you read. Luckily enough, you don’t have a morning class tomorrow, having the week off before the midterm to “study”. So you push through, knowing that it doesn’t matter if you go to bed late tonight.

You can’t focus on your laptop anymore when you hear Jungkook cursing at Jimin from the living room. It’s loud, and you only then realize that the TV is on, and they’re clearly playing some game. Just like that, what was left of your concentration flies out of the window, and you get up to go see what they are up to.

Turns out that they are playing Mario Kart, and from the looks of it, Jungkook is losing. He’s leaning towards the TV, elbows resting on his knees as he concentrates, and Jimin has a shit-eating grin on his lips. The latter’s eyes flicker to you for half a second before he resumes his attention on the television.

“Hey,” he greets you, adding your name at the end. “Want to play?”

You move closer so you can see the screen, and you watch as they drive the rainbow road. “I’m supposed to be studying.”

Jungkook curses loudly, and you watch his character fall from the road. You laugh, right as Jimin finishes the race.

“JK, you suck,” Jimin teases.

Jungkook is pouting next to him, half in concentration and half in annoyance, and he looks stupidly cute like this. You hate it, so you resume your attention on the screen to watch him finish in eleventh place, right in front of Princess Peach.

“Fuck off,” Jungkook drawls, and his gaze slides to where you’re standing. It seems he thinks you are salvation because his gaze lights up. He says your name enthusiastically, adding, “My second favourite Kim sibling!”

You purse your lips, furrowing your brows. “Fuck off,” you tell him.

“Can you please go get some beer from the fridge, since you’re standing?” he adds, begs, ignoring you. 

He offers you his best impression of puppy eyes, and you want to hate him because, damn, he’s good. Too good, and you shake your head in disapproval, though you still turn around and walk over to the kitchen. You fish two beers out of the fridge and thinking better of it, you grab a third one for yourself. You head back to the living room then, handing the cans to the guys.

“Thank you,” Jimin says, but all Jungkook does is wink at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

It makes something warm blossom in your chest, and as he glances down at your naked legs, the feeling soon trickles down to your core. Indeed, you’re only wearing a pair of pajama shorts, and luckily enough, you’ve been shaving your legs religiously now that you’ve been sleeping with Hoseok again.

Your cheeks flush, and you try to figure out where to sit. Jimin is leaning against the armrest, back propped up against a pillow, and Jungkook is in the middle of the couch, next to the L-shaped part. It only leaves you with the option of sitting next to him, and you clench your jaw, though you still make it to his side.

You sit as far from him as you can, grabbing the blanket you always leave on the back of the couch to hide your legs, lest Jungkook’s gaze burns your skin more.

“You wanna play?” Jungkook asks.

You shake your head no. “Just taking a break from studying.”

“With a beer?”

He sounds disapproving, so you glance at him. “Yeah?”

He snorts, but he doesn’t say anything else as Jimin starts another race. You watch them play, cheering for Jimin even though Jungkook is winning. Jimin, ecstatic, keeps drifting into the wall, but he manages to get a blue shell on the last turn, which he immediately launches at Jungkook.

Jungkook curses loudly again as you giggle with Jimin, watching his character – Wario – spinning on the screen. He still manages to finish the race fourth, with Jimin right behind him. 

You’ve been drinking your beer fast, and after the next race, Jimin manages to convince you to play. You choose Princess Peach, obviously, right as Jimin moves away to go to the bathroom.

“Really, Princess Peach?” Jungkook teases, a smirk adorning his lips. “You’re trash with her.”

“The character you choose changes nothing,” you say, glaring at him. “Let me be.”

“Right,” he says, laughing. He leans back into the couch, taking a sip from his beer. “You did earn your nickname after all.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes, before meeting his gaze. “You know I hate that nickname.”

“Hence why I’ll keep using it, peach.”

You punch him in the shoulder, clearly not hard enough to hurt. As a matter of fact, it hurts your hand more than it probably hurts him as your fist collides with his hard shoulder muscles, and you grit your teeth as you sit back in your spot.

“You’re annoying.”

He grins at you, a toothy grin that makes you want to punch him again, in the face this time. “You love it,” he teases.

Before you can say no, Jimin walks out of the bathroom, and the moment is over. You go back to playing, and you end up on a winning streak, which earns you a lot of curses from Jungkook. Right when you’re about to go for a fourth race, Jungkook claiming that this one is going to be his race, Jimin receives a call. 

“It’s Sera,” he says as an explanation, and he walks away to take the call in the kitchen, away from you and Jungkook.

Jungkook immediately turns towards you. “Have you been practicing? You were trash last time we played.”

You snort. “I have better things to do with my free time than to practice playing Mario Kart.”

He cocks an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “Whatever, I’ll beat you in this race.”

“Good luck with that,” you tease. “Didn’t you finish last in the last one?”

To your surprise, he leans towards you. He’s close enough for you to feel his breath fanning on your face, and you hold yours as he offers you a smirk and a cocked eyebrow.

“At least I finished.”

You don’t know what he’s referring to, so you offer him a quizzical look. “What?”

He chuckles, and one of his hands pats your thigh over the blanket. It still burns, and you gulp.

“Pretty sure that guy you’ve been fucking hasn’t made you finish.”

You flush crimson. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

You hope he can’t hear the furious beats of your heart because you’re pretty sure you’re about to go into cardiac arrest.

“Heard you sucking his dick, and then you tell me he left. He didn’t take care of you, did he?”

The way Jungkook is looking at you right now makes you feel new. Seen. As if no one’s ever looked at you that way before.

“I deserved it,” you reply, throat dry. You try swallowing, but it only makes you gulp again.

“Come on, peach. What did you do to deserve that?”

He’s even closer now. Eyes dropping to your lips as you tentatively wet them, and you feel yourself leaning back. Mostly because you think you’re going to explode if you don’t move.

Jeon Jungkook is dangerous for your sanity.

“Ghosted him,” you admit.

That takes Jungkook by surprise. He starts laughing, shaking his head. “You, ghosting someone?”

Luckily enough, as he laughed he sat back in his spot, and you breathe easier with the renewed distance between you.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook chuckles again. “For some reason, I thought you were a hopeless romantic.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, and you both glance towards the kitchen from which Jimin emerges. Jungkook never answers your question as Jimin announces that he’s going to play one last race before he’ll have to leave, and you’re forced to let the conversation go as he starts the race.

This time around, you can’t focus. You keep falling off the track, hands clammy as your mind replays the conversation with Jungkook. As it reminds you of just how Jeon Jungkook’s gaze was burning on you a moment ago, and you drive into a wall on the second turn.

“Fuck,” you curse.

“Distracted?” Jungkook asks, and the smirk tells you enough for you to understand what just happened.

He was trying to distract you. You fume, focusing on the screen with new vigour as you try to pass Jungkook. He notices your intent, but when he laughs, you once again run into a wall, slowing you down enough that you fall back to the tenth position.

When Jungkook passes the finish line first, he cheers loudly, winking your way. You glare at him, and Jimin laughs at the two of you, though he says nothing. You wonder if he’s heard part of your conversation with Jungkook – if he has, you reckon your brother is going to give you shit for it soon. You can only hope that he hasn’t, because as much as you love Taehyung, you don’t want him to be an overbearing asshole.

Jimin leaves, wishing you and Jungkook a good night before disappearing into the soft snowfall outside. You don’t move from the couch, and when Jungkook heads to the kitchen, you put your controller down, stretching as you yawn.

To your surprise, Jungkook comes back with another beer for each of you. 

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Don’t you still want to play?” he says as he sits next to you, and electricity courses through your blood as you notice he’s closer now.

“Not really,” you admit, yet you still accept the beer that he hands you.

“Mind if I play something else, then?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Nah, go on. I’ll just drink this and go to bed.”

“Tired of me?” he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes, but don’t reply to that.

 “What made you think that I’m a hopeless romantic?” you ask after a few seconds, going back to your previous conversation.

He plays with his piercing, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Have you seen your brother? It wasn’t far-fetched to think you’d be like him.”

He’s not wrong. Taehyung is a romantic, through and through. It’s one of the reasons why he loves Paris so much – the city of love, where he’s himself finding love at the moment, it seems. He’s been that way for as long as you can remember, only having dated a girl once in his life all through high school, splitting because she decided to go to an Ivy League college on the other side of the country.

“Right,” you say.

Jungkook switches games to Smash, not saying anything else. It seems the conversation is over, and you watch him play a match as you sip your beer, slower than the other one. It makes you realize that you don’t usually hang out with Jungkook, and you reckon you have nothing to tell him. 

There’s usually always a buffer between the two of you, be it Taehyung or Jimin.

“How have your midterms been going?” he asks all of a sudden, right as you watch his character being thrown out of the screen.

“Huh,” you let out. “It’s been okay,” you admit. “Just stressful, and a lot of studying.”

He glances at your beer. “Sorry for interrupting your studying tonight.”

“Nah, all good,” you reassure him. “I needed a break. I pulled an all-nighter last night.”

He throws you a disapproving look that makes you shrug your shoulders as if to say ‘it’s whatever’. He doesn’t say anything though, waiting until his match ends to speak again.

“You shouldn’t pull all-nighters, they’re bad for your health.”

“It’s fine,” you insist. “I had a midterm this morning, didn’t really have a choice.”

He pulls at his piercing, nodding once. “Fair enough. What are you doing still up though?”

Right on cue, you yawn again. “I’m going to head to bed soon,” you admit. “But I took a nap this afternoon and I always struggle with sleeping after.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got a little friend that can help you with that.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, but Jungkook’s attention is focused on the screen as another match begins.

“Excuse me?”

“Unless you just use your fingers?” he teases. “How do you touch yourself, peach?”

“Jungkook, shut the fuck up,” you warn.

Though his words have arousal build up inside of you, and you clench your thighs together instinctively.

“Just do whatever you did the other night,” he says, and you know he’s referring to the Incident. “You’ll sleep well after.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re so crass.”

“Yet you’re still sitting next to me.”

You watch his profile, and your eyes fall to the ink on his arm. His forearm flexes as he uses the controller, and you force yourself to look at the screen.

“I’m just finishing my beer.”

He glances at you once, and you think you could drown in the darkness in his eyes. His gaze is gone too fast for you to do just that, but you still feel your pulse racing.

“Relax, peach,” he tells you, voice suddenly husky. It has the opposite effect of making you relax, and you wet your lips as he continues, “Masturbating is only human. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“Still don’t think I should be discussing that with you,” you say after a few seconds of electric current swimming in your blood.

He chuckles manly. “Fair enough. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

In truth, he did quite the opposite, but you don’t have it in you to tell him. You don’t want to tell him, don’t want to encourage his behaviour when it feels like danger in its purest form.

“All good,” you say, and you’re aware you sound breathless. As a matter of fact, you are breathless, and you know Jungkook heard it too. Know that the look he throws you is filled with lust, sinfully so, and you know you need to leave this room.

He’s your brother’s best friend, after all.

“I’m…” you trail off. He nods once to encourage you to continue, gaze still burning on you even though that means he’s losing his game. “I’m going to go to bed now.”

He glances at your beer. “You’re done with that?”

He’s a little shit. He’s a little shit, and he clearly knows it.

“I’ll finish it in my room.”

His tongue darts out to play with his piercing as his big doe eyes narrow. “Alright. Good night, peach.”

You nod once, and you get up from the couch. The blanket falls from your legs, and you’re all too aware of how he’s looking at you like he’s about to devour you.

“Good night.”

And then you flee, core heated up and heart beating out of your chest. You’re convinced you can feel his gaze boring a hole between your shoulder blades, but you don’t turn around to confirm. You refuse to turn around to confirm, lest you’re never going to be able to make it to your room.

You hate this. Hate that he’s got you hot and bothered too much for you to be able to settle in bed comfortably. Hate that you find yourself seeking your vibrator in your night table.

You only sigh in relief when you’ve got it pressed against your clit through your underwear. And you’ve soaked through your panties already. They’re sticky against you, but you can’t bring yourself to move them to the side. Not for a while, not until you’ve hidden your face in your bed cover to muffle your sounds, if you make any.

No, it takes you a moment before you finally decide to push them to the side, and the direct contact on your clit has you arching your back, stars swimming in the periphery of your vision. You think about Jungkook. Remember the sounds that he makes while he fucks, remember the words that he’s told you.

You remember his big eyes, filled with sudden lust for you. You imagine him murmuring his dangerous words right in your ear, lips moving against you, and the thought of him pushing his dick in you is enough to send you over the edge, vision flashing with white light for so long that you think you’ve gone blind. And then you push the vibrator inside of you, not surprised when it slides right in with how wet you are.

You’re aware of the squelching sounds it makes, but you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is imagine being impaled on Jungkook’s dick instead, imagine his inked hand wrapping around your neck as he pounds into you.

In your fantasies, he fucks you even better than Hoseok does. He fucks you into ecstasy, fucks you until you’re high with it, and you go dumb. Until all that’s left is his dick, and it’s no surprise when you muffle a loud moan in the bed cover as you squirt, your juices covering the hand you’re fucking yourself with.

And still, you can’t stop. You turn on your side, hide your face in your pillow as tears swim in your gaze with the intensity of your pleasure. You imagine Jungkook on his side of the wall, imagine him stroking his cock, listening to you choking on Hoseok’s dick, remember him admitting to being turned on by it…

Your other hand moves between your legs, finds your sensitive clit and starts rubbing insistent circles on it, right as another knot starts forming in your lower stomach. You move the vibrator inside of you faster, time your motions with the circles on your clit, and soon enough, a new orgasm finds you, slams into you so hard you think you’ll lose your mind.

Only then are you able to stop, turning off your vibrator and putting it down on the bed next to you, hands shaking slightly. You don’t move for a long time as you swim in the aftereffect of your pleasure, and it takes you a while to decide to go clean up. Clearly, you need a cold shower, but first, you chug what was left of the beer, needing to numb your mind so you can’t be embarrassed by what just happened.

You put your pajama shorts back on, grab a clean pair of underwear and then stop next to the door. You listen to the sounds outside of your room, but it seems Jungkook’s not gaming anymore. So you hesitantly open the door, and when you find the apartment completely dark, you sigh in relief.

You tiptoe towards the bathroom, slowing down in front of Jungkook’s door. There’s a faint red light under his door, coming from the LED lights you know he’s hung in his room, and you wonder what he’s doing in there.

Through the door, you hear some faint feminine moaning and instinctively bite your lips. You only realize you’ve stopped in front of his door when you hear him curse lowly, and then the moaning is interrupted. He’s watching porn. You’re painfully aware that he’s watching porn, jerking off just on the other side of his closed door.

You reckon you will really need the cold shower after all.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

Oooooof these two I swear... how did we like this chapter? Good? Not good? Let me know!!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate

[harryslittlefreakk]

just between us

summary: when y/ns life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces… behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

warnings: cheating, smut (foreplay, soft dom, sex, daddy kink), angst

wordcount: 5.2k

a/n: the plot of this is so loose lol, please don’t read if you want a masterpiece 😭 it was a really fun one to write enjoy <3

*not proofread because i stayed up until 2.30am to write and post this*

thank you so much for reading 🤍 MASTERLIST

You curled your legs up to your chest, the evening breeze doing little to soothe the ache in your chest. The last of the day’s sunshine lingered in pale pinks and oranges amongst the clouds, blurring together as you stared out into the night.

The drink in your hand, a mix of something strong and sweet, was meant to numb the feeling, but it only seemed to deepen your sense of isolation. You raised the glass to your lips, letting your head roll back as the burn slid down your throat, your thoughts going a million miles an hour.

It had been sudden, unexpected. The words still echoed in your mind, as if they were stuck on repeat. How could something that once felt so sure, so safe, suddenly fall apart? You clenched the glass a little tighter, the cool condensation dampening your hand.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the sliding door open or the soft footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until you caught a familiar scent - a mix of woody cologne and something uniquely him - that you realised you weren’t alone.

You turned slightly, rushing to pull the blanket higher over your chest to cover your bikini top. Harry was standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with the same furrowed brow wore when he knew something was wrong.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t think anyone would be home tonight,” you whispered, placing your drink down on the table. The whole family was meant to be away for the week, a trip that not only gave you some time off, but something that was now timed quite well since you had the week to mend your broken heart.

“I had to come back early for a meeting, Anna was meant to call. Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, a forced smile playing on your lips. “No, of course not.”

Harry sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there in silence, staring out at the fading light. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he didn’t rush you to talk or try to fill the silence with empty words.

After a moment, he glanced over at your drink and then back at your face. “Rough day?”

Your lips curled into a bitter smirk, your fingers pushing through your hair. “You could say that.”

He nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant, and maybe he did. Harry had always been good at reading between the lines, at knowing when someone was hurting even when they didn’t want to show it.

You looked over at him, his slacks perfectly creased down the centre, his shirt buttons loosened. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, with his chiseled body and messy brown curls. But he was your boss. You were his son’s nanny, and you’d built a close relationship with his wife. You never allowed yourself to see him that way.

But when he showed so much love and care for you, it became borderline impossible not to blur the lines.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offered, pulling you out of your thoughts. “But if you do, I’m here.”

He scooted closer, leaning his elbows on his knees as if he was incredibly interested in what you had to say. Harry always had a way of making you feel seen, recognising your needs faster than you recognised them in yourself. As a boss and a friend, he was a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Under his gaze, the weight of the day suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone. “Sam broke up with me,” you muttered, not wanting to admit it.

Sam had been the final piece of the puzzle, the last thing that needed to slot into place for your life to be full and worthwhile. The day that he’d proposed to you was the single most important day of your life. He was your everything. Until he’d phoned you earlier that day to tell you that he wasn’t sure that he loved you, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Harry didn’t react immediately. He just nodded again, taking in your words. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice sincere.

You shrugged, though the motion felt hollow. “It’s probably for the best,” you whispered, though the pain in your chest told you that you didn’t fully believe that yet.

You finished the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol replacing the sting of heartbreak and failure. Your eyes closed, the reality starting to wash over you.

Harry reached out, placing his hand gently over yours on the table. The warmth of his touch was grounding, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be strong,” he said quietly.

That simple reassurance, the permission to not have it all together, was enough to crack the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. You laced your fingers through his as if you needed the stability, your eyes filling with tears before you could stop yourself. Harry didn’t say anything, just held your hand and let you cry, something steady and comforting in his presence.

When the tears finally slowed, you wiped her eyes with the blanket, feeling a little embarrassed but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. “Sorry,” you murmured, your voice still thick with emotion.

Harry squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied.

You sat there for a while longer, the silence between you both now filled with some sort of understanding. The sky had darkened, the first stars beginning to twinkle above your heads. You took the last sip of your drink, this time letting the sweetness linger on your tongue, and for the first time that evening, you felt a small spark of hope flicker inside you.

“Another one?” Harry asked, nudging his head towards your empty glass.

You nodded, easing yourself out of the chair on unsteady legs. Whiskey on an empty stomach had your head spinning, but you weren’t sure that was the only reason. You were evil. Despicable, even. Turning your heartbreak into lust for a man that had showed you nothing but kindness, allowed you into his life as more than an employee, a man who’s family was special to you.

But his hand on your knee, the way he brushed away your tears with that gentle touch. You couldn’t think straight, let alone walk straight as you tiptoed into the kitchen.

You opened the whiskey with a pop as Harry’s body came up behind you. His abs rock hard against your skin, his bulge pressing into the small of your back. His arm came beside you, placing your glass on the marble countertop.

“Forgot your glass,” he murmured, making no attempt to step away. You turned against him, his jaw tight as he stared down at you.

You were frozen, doe-eyed and open mouthed as you looked up at him, the dark concern on his face morphed into something more.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated,” Harry drawled, his forearm slipping behind you and lifting you onto the countertop in one swift motion.

His knee nudged between your legs, opening them up for his body to fit inside. Your head fell back against the cupboard door as he bucked his hips into your core, the fabric between you both just thin enough for you to feel almost everything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Harry whispered, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Like you’ve wanted this all along.”

The whimper you let out was almost pitiful, a sure sign to Harry that you were losing the battle with your morality. When you wrapped your calf around his waist, tugging him closer to you, he just about lost it.

“Your wi-”, you started, your voice barely a whisper, like you didn’t actually want Harry to hear you. You didn’t want him to think about her, to come back to his senses and realise what he was about to do. But he didn’t even let you finish.

He tugged at the straps of your bikini top, the sudden chill as he exposed you enough to make you fall into silence.

“Doesn’t need to know anything,” Harry finished for you. “If this is want you want.”

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to cover the curve of your breast. “It is, Harry.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Do you need to feel better, princess?”

“Please,” you panted, slipping a finger through his belt buckle, desperate for some relief from the pleasure that was already building up inside you.

“Please what?” Harry whispered, leaning down to press his lips to your nipple, the soft bud immediately warmed by his mouth.

“Please Daddy,” you corrected, the last syllable turning into a long, deep whine when he finally gave you what you wanted.

He pulled your legs tight around his waist, your arms snapping over his shoulders as he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

Your core was rubbing against the fabric of his shirt with every step, your panties becoming more and more uncomfortable the closer you got to your room.

Harry eased you down to your feet when he reached your bedroom door, your core sliding over his erection.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth at the contact, his hands fumbling with the door handle. You pushed it open, letting him guide you to the edge of the bed where Harry nudged you to sit.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands immediately finding your knees, tracing circles and patterns up your thighs, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. You leaned back on your hands, panting even before he made an attempt to give you any real pleasure.

His thumb dragged over the wet spot on your bikini bottoms, pressing the fabric against your entrance. The contact made you writhe, your clit aching for more.

When he slipped two fingers under the fabric and pushed them into you, you were completely at his mercy, whining loudly as he immediately found your sweet spot.

You looked down at him through clouded eyes, and that recognised that same, torn look you’d seen flash across his face before. But now you recognised it as a hunger, borderline desperation to have you in a way that would destroy everything he’d worked for.

But you didn’t have time to question it, to fall apart over the way his gaze trailed over your body, the sparkle against the deep green of his irises, because suddenly he was everywhere, his lips warm and insistent against your skin, his free hand groping and roaming anywhere he could reach, his fingers fucking in and out of you with pure determination.

You were his, all his, as Harry leaned down to lick a circle around your clit, before pulling his fingers from you and kissing and licking at you with persistence. His mouth was fast and firm against your core, his moans vibrating around you as he let your juices pool on his tongue.

His nose was nudging against your clit, his hands cupping the curve of your ass to open you up for him. The pleasure had built to a deep ache, spilling out of you in the form of whines and moans, but Harry was unrelenting in his pursuit of your high. He kept licking and sucking, grabbing and groping until you came apart on his tongue, your body going rigid under the strain of such an intense orgasm.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated, kitten,” Harry murmured, his voice muffled as he kissed over your mound, his lips warm and wet.

You pulled yourself to sit up straight, reaching for his belt buckle with desperation. “Show me, daddy,” you whined, pouting as he pushed your hands away and got to work undressing himself.

He nodded his head towards your pillows, a silent command for you to get yourself ready for him as he pushed his slacks down.

You could see the outline of his erection through his boxers, the material stretched tight over the monster he’d been hiding. You’d expected him to be big, but you weren’t even sure that he would fit inside of you.

You kept your eyes locked on his body as you scooted back, your mouth hanging slightly open. You’d seen him like this before, in his shorts in the pool or topless as he barbecued, but knowing he was undressing for you, to fuck you into complete and utter bliss, you were spiralling.

You wanted him to fuck you everywhere, in every way. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the pool, his cock hitting the back of your throat until you were begging for relief, his mouth and hands touching you until they became one with your flesh.

At some point during your daydream, Harry had fully undressed, his cock dangerously hard as he knelt between your legs.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, swiping a finger through your slick before bringing it to your lips, his free hand stroking at his length.

You opened your mouth a little wider to let him in, your lips immediately wrapping around his knuckle as your tongue swirled around his fingertip, your nectar sweet on your tastebuds.

The movement elicited a low groan from Harry, his hips bucking into his hand, and without any warning, he was pushing into you with a sharp ache in your walls, his hands planted either side of your head.

Your arms immediately snapped to his shoulders, steadying yourself against him with a gasp, your pussy throbbing as his cock stretched you.

“More, Harry, please,” you whimpered, wrapping your calf around his hips, tugging him impossibly closer to you.

He brushed a stray hair from your face, pulling out of you slightly before easing his way back in, your walls rippling around his tip.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

You opened your mouth as he slammed back into you, his skin slapping against yours as his name left your mouth in a strangled cry.

His hand came around your throat, squeezing just enough to give you that rush of excitement and risk, the pain melding with your pleasure. He was pulling out faster, fucking into you with relentless determination, setting a pace that you had no hope of following. You were putty in his hands, submissive and yielding as he thrust into you.

Your walls were getting tighter, clamping around the strain of his girth as the beginnings of an orgasm started rolling through your core. “I can feel you struggling, princess,” Harry warned, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. He could see in your eyes how much you liked it, how you wanted to lay there and take whatever he gave you. You knocked your hips into his, unable to speak through whimpers and whines, starting to lose control as the tingles spread through your centre, your inner muscles pulsing around his cock.

“Cum for me, milk me like the little cum slut you are,” Harry groaned, leaning down to pull your nipple into his mouth, his tongue warm and desperate as it rolled over the bud.

His cock hitting every inch of you, nudging your g-spot and every other part of your core, your nipple hard between his lips, his hand wrapped around your neck, his body dwarfing you - it was too much to handle, too much to cope with even without his filthy words. You were cumming before you could even think twice, the pleasure rolling over you in waves, reaching every part of your body. Your fingers curled into his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp, collecting his curls in their grasp. Your legs were tight and rigid against his skin, your back arching off of the mattress. You were crying out his name, every inch of you throbbing as your vision blurred into stars and static.

But Harry was still fucking into you, still licking and sucking at your breast, still restricting your air with that big, strong hand, until you felt his cock jerking, twitching against your walls and the ribbons of hot cum painting you, marking you as his. He didn’t slow down until he was empty, everything he had to give dripping from you as he pulled out slowly, until he finally collapsed beside you.

You lay in silence for a while, chests heaving as you panted in sync, before Harry sat up to collect his clothes. It felt dirty, wretched, having him fuck you like that in a room that shared a wall with his sons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than pure bliss.

Even as he picked up his clothes and left the room without saying another word to you, you were on another planet, totally lost in the comedown of the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

—

You woke the next morning with a sinking feeling in your stomach, the memory of the previous evening replaying over and over and over. You stared at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened settling in. Harry had kissed her, and she had kissed him back—without hesitation, without thinking about anything else but the moment. Your sheets still smelled like him, your body still aching from the way he’d fucked you.

But the reality hit like a wave, devastation washing over you. Harry was married. You were single, heartbroken, and you’d come close to getting yourself fired and kicked out of your home on top of that. You sat up, pressing your hands to your temples, trying to push away the guilt that had crept in overnight.

You forced yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine on autopilot. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. You had no idea if Harry was still around or if he’d left early, but you knew you weren’t ready to face him yet. At least no one else would be home, leaving you the chance to figure things out in your own time.

You padded downstairs, the kitchen feeling too bright, too normal for the reality you’d found yourself in. Every sound seemed magnified - the clink of your mug against the counter, the hum of the fridge - while your thoughts raced, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out.

Was the night before a way for Harry to cheer you up - just a mistake, a lapse in judgment? Or was it something more, something neither of them could admit out loud? You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung like the humidity in the air.

You were pouring a cup of coffee when the sound of keys in the front door made your stomach drop. You froze, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Turning slowly, you found Harry standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, eyes locked on each other.

“Morning,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut through.

Harry stepped further into the kitchen, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “About last night…” he began, trailing off as if he wasn’t sure how to continue.

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, to ease the awkwardness between you both, but the words caught in the back of your throat. Instead, you just nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the very counter where this had all started.

“It was-”, Harry paused, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I shouldn’t have…” His voice faltered, guilt flickering across his features.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Harry, you’re married,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging in the air between them.

“I know,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You nodded again, feeling like you needed to be anywhere but there. The awkwardness between you felt like a chasm now, one they couldn’t easily bridge. “It’s not just on you,” you admitted. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry edged a little closer, only his footsteps and the hum of the coffee machine cutting through the silence. You could tell that the weight of what had happened was pressing down on him. At the realisation, you felt a pang of sadness, a dull ache in her chest that told you things would never be the same between you both. They couldn’t be.

“I think it’s best if we just-” Harry started, then stopped, struggling to find the right words. “If we can try to move past it. Go back to how things were before. But I understand if you’d rather find something else. I have contacts, I can-”

“No, Harry,” you interrupted. “I’d prefer to stay here if I can. If that’s okay.”

You knew he was right, but the idea of pretending nothing had happened felt impossible. Still, your job was important to you, and you didn’t actually have to spend that much time with Harry.

He offered a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he said, more as a reassurance to himself than to you.

But as he left the kitchen, you weren’t so sure. Last night had changed something between you both, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you both wanted to pretend otherwise, you both had agreed to continue as you always had, the truth of it would always be there, lingering in the space between you.

—

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over her legs as you half-watched the movie playing on the TV. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering screen and a nearby lamp. You’d picked a rom-com, hoping it would distract you from the turmoil swirling in your mind.

The whole day had been weird, with Harry working from home but spending significantly more time locked in his office than he usually did. You’d wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to avoid you, but you didn’t even know if he was. Any time you’d crossed paths had lead to strained silences and forced politeness, the easy rapport you once shared miles away.

You sighed, trying to focus on the movie, but the memory of your night together kept intruding. He’d shown you more care and respect than Sam ever had, his hands and that mouth trailing over every part of your body, worshipping you as if you’d been crafted by the Gods.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, half wishing you could just disappear as Harry appeared in the doorway. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled, your heart quickening. You shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to make room, though you weren’t sure if you were ready for another encounter.

“Can I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the spot next to you.

You hesitated, but only for a second, before nodding and patting the sofa to your right.

Harry sat down, leaving a careful distance between them. You both turned your attention to the screen, though the tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the awkwardness settling in, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that Harry was inches away from you for the first time that day, and you’d just been fully engrossed in a mental re-enactment of the night before.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice low. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it is. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it less weird, but I’m not sure how.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting over his face.

“I value our working relationship, y/n, the things you do for our family,” Harry told you, reaching out to pause the movie.

You appreciated his honesty, but the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on you. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, Harry. You’re my boss, and your family-” you sighed. “It’s just complicated things.”

“I crossed a line, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for that. But I don’t regret anything,” Harry confessed, something conflicted in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your words caught in your throat. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t tell him that you didn’t regret it either.

Harry turned back to the movie after a moment, the tension between you both easing up. It wasn’t gone, but the room suddenly felt warmer. He leaned back into the sofa, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same.

He shifted slightly closer, closing some of the distance between you. You noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You let herself relax, resting her head against the back of the sofa as you watched the movie together, side by side. There was an undercurrent between them that neither could ignore, reminiscent of some kind of world where he wasn’t your boss, wasn’t happily married, and could be yours.

You’d felt it even before, every time you were alone in the same room, a tension that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over. You could see it in the way Harry looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, his voice dropping a little softer whenever he spoke your name. It was there in the moments when your hands would accidentally brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you that you struggled to hide.

You were lost in your thoughts when Harry’s arm brushed against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you, clouding your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat, and when you glanced over, you found Harry looking at you, his face closer than you’d expected. His eyes were intense, searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give. The moment stretched, the silence between you both heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges, as if he were struggling to hold something back.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “We said-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his brow furrowed, voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if you were both trying to make up for the time lost denying what you wanted.

You melted into him, any resolve crumbling under the weight of your own desire. You’d told yourself it couldn’t happen again - wouldn’t happen again - that it was too complicated, too messy, but now, with Harry’s hand cupping your face, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that left her breathless, all those reasons seemed to vanish.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in to everything you had been trying to push away. It was reckless, dangerous even, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was how right it felt, how much you had needed it, and needed him.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hands were still on you, his touch lingering, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his voice small. “I know we said we wouldn’t. I don’t know why I-”

“None of this is fair on anyone, Harry,” you whispered, your hand dropping to his shoulder. Your gaze fell to the wall behind you, covered in beautiful family photos. His wedding, nights out, his arms cradling a newborn baby. The reality of the situation loomed over you, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just about what they wanted. “We can’t keep acting like we’re the victims here.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “But it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You were both standing on the edge of something that could change everything, and once you crossed that line again, there would be no going back.

When you opened your eyes, you found Harry looking at you, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness. It was a look that mirrored your own conflicted feelings, torn between what was right and what you wanted.

“It doesn’t,” you admitted, hating even hearing the words coming out of your mouth. “But where does that leave us?”

Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he pulled you closer to him. “I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s something we have to figure out.”

The room was still and silent, the gravity of everything you had done settling in. But despite the uncertainty, a small sense of relief bubbled below the surface. You’d crossed a line, yes, but you had done it together. And you were happy to kid yourself that you’d find a way forward, even if it wasn’t clear yet what that path would look like.

For now, you let yourself be held by Harry, allowing yourself to savour the feeling of his strong arms around you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the undeniable truth that something about him felt right.

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