#and this is his shot at changing that for one single second even if just as a bad joke
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robbed-ghost ¡ 2 years ago
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On thinking on it for far too long, I’ve come to the realization that the common factor between bat people is Alfred. Kate Kane, Bruce Wayne, Thomas Wayne—all the universes where they become Bats has the common denominator of Alfred being there…so maybe it was his idea. And sure he comes to regret it, but it’s a bit of a coincidence otherwise.
Thomas: what do I do…I’ve lost everyone…everything…
Alfred, testing out an idea: Well-
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joelsgoldrush ¡ 4 months ago
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“never is a promise” | 12.4k
old man!logan x f!reader
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SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.
A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)
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No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 
“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”
Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”
“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”
“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 
“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.
His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”
Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”
Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.
That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”
Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.
He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”
You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."
Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."
“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.
He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”
“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”
“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”
At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.
Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.
It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.
Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.
What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.
In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—
Alright. You don’t need this either.
Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.
But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.
“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”
“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.
You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.
When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”
“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”
He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”
“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.
After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.
You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”
If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”
“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”
“You fancy him, don’t you?”
Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”
His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”
“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”
“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 
That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.
“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”
These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.
“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”
Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.
You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.
You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.
You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.
Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.
“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”
You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.
Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.
“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Huh?”
“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”
The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.
“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”
Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”
“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.
When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.
Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.
It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.
As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.
And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.
He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.
It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.
Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.
You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.
Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.
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To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.
The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.
Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.
It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.
Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.
During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.
One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”
His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.
While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.
Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.
An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.
Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.
“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”
“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.
As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”
“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”
The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.
Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.
There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.
“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.
Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”
“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”
“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”
The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.
“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”
He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.
You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.
The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—
Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.
The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 
You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.
The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.
“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.
You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.
Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.
He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.
Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.
“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.
Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.
The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.
Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”
“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.
Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.
“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”
Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 
Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”
“Ninety-somethin’.”
You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”
“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”
And so began a new chapter in your life.
The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.
Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.
“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.
“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”
Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.
Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.
The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.
There goes another piece of you.
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You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.
He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.
On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.
But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.
Logan hasn’t come back home yet.
It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.
You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.
After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.
All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?
Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.
He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.
Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”
“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.
“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.
Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”
You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.
“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”
He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”
“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 
“I don’t—”
”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”
He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.
Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.
“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 
“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.
Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”
You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”
“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.
“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.
Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”
You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.
Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.
That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”
If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 
He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.
You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.
“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 
Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”
You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”
“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.
Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.
You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.
Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.
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You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.
Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.
Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.
Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.
“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”
You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.
“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.
Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 
“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.
He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”
So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.
Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.
You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.
“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”
“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.
“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.
“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”
His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.
Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.
“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”
Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.
“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.
A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.
“How could they not want you?”
“They didn’t think like you do.”
“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”
Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”
There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”
You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”
“Come sit with me, doll.”
Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.
Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.
You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.
His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.
It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.
“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.
This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.
“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.
“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.
“Why?”
Goddamn.
“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”
Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.
He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”
You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—
With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.
“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”
It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”
“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.
Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”
“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”
“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”
“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”
The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”
You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.
The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.
Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”
A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.
“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.
“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”
“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.
Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”
He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”
It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.
“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 
“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”
“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.
Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”
“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”
Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.
Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.
You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.
“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”
Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.
“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”
Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.
He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.
“Like what?” 
“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.
I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.
You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 
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Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.
You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.
He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 
You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.
“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.
This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.
Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.
Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 
“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 
As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.
“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”
Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.
By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.
Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 
“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 
“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”
“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.
He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”
“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.
His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.
You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.
You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.
Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”
So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.
Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 
“Logan, you mean?”
“Yes, my dear.”
You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”
“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”
Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“
“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 
A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.
One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.
“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”
There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”
Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.
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A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”
Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.
You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 
“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”
Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.
Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.
He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.
“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.
“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”
Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.
You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”
Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.
Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.
So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.
“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”
Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”
“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.
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How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?
Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.
It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.
Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”
“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.
You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.
When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.
But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.
You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.
He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.
And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.
This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.
You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.
After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?
I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.
The shit I’d for you.
God, I fuckin’ love you.
Not now.
The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.
It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.
But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.
Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?
Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.
Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.
“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.
As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.
“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”
Red. You’re seeing red.
“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”
At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”
“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”
Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.
There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.
His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.
“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.
Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”
“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.
“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”
The nerve of this man.
“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”
You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”
“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”
“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.
“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”
Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”
“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”
“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”
Oh.
You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.
Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?
“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”
His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.
You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.
Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.
This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.
“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”
You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”
“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”
“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”
His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”
Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.
The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.
He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 
“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”
“I’m all ears.”
Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”
If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.
Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.
You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”
Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.
He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”
At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.
It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.
You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.
For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 
Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”
“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”
As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.
He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 
Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.
“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”
His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.
With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?
When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.
“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”
Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.
Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.
You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 
Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.
“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”
You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.
This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.
And God, is he feeling it.
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dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)
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starcurtain ¡ 2 months ago
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Teyvat's "Most Down Bad" Award Goes to Alhaitham for a Second Year Running
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Seeing everyone making fun of Alhaitham for his "stalkerish" tendencies in this event is funny, because I feel like a lot of people missed that "Be literally everywhere Kaveh is" has been Alhaitham's MO from the day Kaveh appeared in the game.
From only grabbing his house keys after Kaveh returned from the desert (he couldn't have had both sets of keys at the end of the Archon Quest unless he went home and got Kaveh's copy) to ditching conversations to get back to his house only after Kaveh came home, to showing up without any warning or explanation in Kaveh's hangout with some ridiculous excuse about hearing his voice through noise-cancelling headphones... Refusing to offer any help in the Temple of Silence story quest other than staying in the library with Kaveh...
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Since when does Alhaitham willingly cover anyone else's duties?
But this trend of "Be everywhere Kaveh is" didn't start when they were adults. It was already in place when they were still Akademiya students--and it's a trend that didn't end even when they had their fight.
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Even when they weren't speaking, Alhaitham dogged Kaveh's every step through published responses to Kaveh's research articles in academic journals. He insisted on keeping a line of communication between himself and Kaveh open, even if the only way to do that was through very public ideological clashes. Pulling Kaveh's pigtails to get his attention lolol. It's implied that, for at least the few years between their fight and Kaveh moving in, this was the only communication between them--Alhaitham's refusal to allow their connection to entirely fade away. (And the fact that this is revealed in Kaveh's character stories--through his precious journal that records the moments of his life that had the most impact on him--shows just how deeply he values the fact that Alhaitham didn't give up.)
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Another relevant side note: Alhaitham never asked Kaveh to give up his half of their house. Knowing half of it belonged to Kaveh, knowing that Kaveh may one day want to reclaim his part of it, knowing that it was listed as theirs, Alhaitham moved into the house and made zero effort to change its ownership. He was completely fine with living in "his and Kaveh's house." The stories suggest it was only months later (or even longer) that Kaveh even noticed he had the house, and he transferred away ownership of his portion without Alhaitham ever asking him (or even seemingly wanting him) to do so.
Please, let that sink in. Alhaitham actively left his grandmother's (presumably comfortable) house to move into "his and Kaveh's house," with no apparent explanation for why, and after doing so, he made no attempt to change that "his and Kaveh's" label. He moved into the house with no promise that Kaveh wouldn't show up on the doorstep the very next day and move in too. It almost feels like another deliberate provocation--I've moved into our house, are you going to come stop me? LBR, if Alhaitham had had his way, Kaveh would have been living there with him from Day 1...
There's also the fact that Kaveh literally can't write on a single message board anywhere in the entire nation of Sumeru without Alhaitham hunting his messages down and responding to them (which absolutely no one else does, by the way).
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"NUH-UH!" "UH-HUH." "NUH-UH!"
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Alhaitham's own character stories tell us explicitly that one of Alhaitham's defining character traits is "He is never where you need him to be," yet somehow...
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Shot, and chaser:
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Any time Kaveh is in the slightest bit of need or danger or just wants Alhaitham near, Alhaitham is "coincidentally" exactly where Kaveh needs him to be, whenever Kaveh needs him to be there.
Alhaitham didn't just "happen" to run into Kaveh in Port Ormos, an entirely different city from where he was supposed to be working. He didn't just "happen" to read the same terrible book as Kaveh when we know he otherwise would not waste a moment of his time on poorly-written literature...
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He didn't just "happen" to appear when Kaveh was upset and needed a distraction in the House of Daena during Kaveh's hangout. He didn't just "happen" to be sitting around waiting when Kaveh needed answers after the Archon Quest. He didn't just "happen" to find Kaveh's academic publications and every single message board posting and respond to them at length and in public.
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Which is exactly what Kaveh's mother told Kaveh he needed.
What level of down bad is "Abusing your powers as an Akademiya employee to keep tabs on your crush's library loans"? Just asking for a friend.
The only person for whom Alhaitham just "happens" to be available is Kaveh, over and over and over again--because he is very deliberately making himself a constant presence in Kaveh's life.
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(Like, out of all things, I think people really underestimate the devs deliberately paralleling the romantic relationship between Kaveh's mother and father with Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship. If you want to point to one thing that says "These two characters are intentionally queer-coded," it doesn't get any more obvious than this.)
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Alhaitham, are you not embarrassed to be this transparent??? 🫣
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mercy-burning ¡ 1 month ago
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…I Wonder
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes a full-time nanny to three-year-old Benjamin, but what she doesn’t realize is just how hard the job will be— not because of the child, but rather her growing attraction to his father. Category: Mature (18+) Content: adults with age gap, drinking, dry humping, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, “little girl” nickname, cum play, praise Word Count: 11k (idk how this keeps happening lol)
MASTERLIST
NOTE: This fic is titled after and loosely inspired by "Pony" by Ashley Monroe. It's not required listening, but obviously I recommend the song. It's been a favorite of mine since I was a teenager obsessed with Dean Winchester, so... that probably explains a lot about why I am the way I am... LMAO anyway, enjoy <3 I had a blast writing this one!!
———
ACT I: If I Had A Baby...
The first job I ever had also happened to be the best job I ever had. I was twenty years old, and I found an ad in the paper searching for a full-time nanny to a little boy. I didn't think anything of it, other than I desperately needed the money and I didn't mind babysitting. A few years out of school with no plans to attend college and no solid idea of what I wanted to do with my life, I wasn't sure if I'd even get hired. I was almost certain that no one would want a college-aged kid with no stable ambitions or previous job experience, but I was desperate. And CPR-certified.
It was a start. A shot in the dark.
By some miracle, Spencer Reid apparently was also desperate enough to be willing to take a chance on me.
He explained over the phone that he was away more than he'd like to be, and even if he tried to work from home, doing FBI work and raising a toddler alone at the same time was nearly impossible. I agreed to an interview, absolutely elated that I had a foot in the door and the bright beacon of hope for some sort of routine. Something to occupy my time and something to care about, to care for.
I was expecting the work to be... not hard, necessarily, but I wasn't naive enough to believe that taking care of a child was a walk in the park. There would surely be tantrums or bouts of "I miss Daddy!" or refusal to eat what I made him for lunch... I knew going into these interviews that I would be signing up for a major responsibility that meant a lot, not only to Spencer but also to his child. I had to prove that I could do my job and do it well. That alone was a challenge, but one I was willing to work with. I was ready for it.
What I wasn't ready for, however, was the betrayal I felt when my brain failed to warn me of the possibility that he was not only a single father, but a hot one.
The second I showed up at his door and he opened the barrier between us, I swear it felt like the sun swallowed me whole and burnt me to a crisp. He smiled brightly and introduced himself, and I was done for.
"You must be Y/N! Hi, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid."
Doctor? So he was smart, then, too. Perfect. The Trifecta of Peak Hotness had been achieved. That instantly made this new job ten-times harder than I anticipated, and I hadn't even started yet.
I wasn't sure I could go through with it at first, but the more we talked, the more I relaxed, and I felt sympathy for him. He was a genuinely kind and loving parent who wanted the best for his son, a three-year-old named Benjamin who loved dinosaurs and airplanes and Cheeto Puffs. I didn't get to meet him that day, since he was with his Aunt JJ (who, the way Spencer told it, was most likely feeding his Cheeto Puff addiction as we spoke), but if the interview went well, I'd get to meet him in the next week.
I mulled over my options and almost decided not to show up for the next interview; to call and tell him I'd changed my mind or something, but it pained me to even imagine the disappointment in his voice had he asked me why. For whatever reason, the vivid image of a toddler pouting and crying to his father because he had to leave, and that no one wanted to care for him burned itself into my soul until I relented and just took the job anyway.
It was fair to at least meet the kid first, right?
Benny was insanely talkative— but not really conversational. Most of the time I tried to keep up, but his mouth was moving a mile a minute, and the conversation always ended up falling flat on my end, so I pretty quickly decided to give up and enthusiastically let him carry it.
He had his father's brains as well. For hours that first meeting, he sat there and read me passages of aircraft encyclopedias, and in between two random sections I politely requested that we move on to dinosaurs (which were infinitely cooler). And then, in that adorable toddler voice that made it impossible to be irritated, he looked up at me with wide eyes and said, "I read all my dinosaur books last week. This week is for airplanes."
Spencer looked like he was going to divert the conversation entirely, perhaps suggest that Benny do something else while we talked some more, but who was I to interrupt the kid's routine and crush his dreams? If I was going to be his nanny, then I was going to have to make him like me. Right?
So, I nodded like I'd never considered it and encouraged him to keep going. To which he did, very happily.
Spencer seemed happy, too. He was always delighted to see Benny when he came home from work, but there was something about the way he relaxed and perked up all the same at my first interactions with his son that twisted my gut. What that man was filled with at the sight of me wasn't just joy, but hope, too, and regardless of where that joy and hope came from, it was an incredibly dangerous thing to notice as a young woman.
It was way too easy to fall into daydream territory. I was alert and attentive when watching Benny, of course, but the second Spencer walked in and completely knocked the wind out of me with that joy and relief radiating from his perfect smile, it was like a screw came loose in my brain and turned me into a feral, horny beast. And then I would return home, alone with my thoughts, and I couldn't divert them from the wild direction they took.
At first it was just your standard wet dream, a girl lusting over the older man she nannied for. It was purely pornographic and provided nothing but short-term relief until I saw him in person again, which frustrated me.
I almost thought about quitting, or saying I was looking into schooling so I could cut down on my hours, but...
That wasn't fair to Benny. He and I had actually formed a pretty stellar routine, if I do say so myself.
And every time I thought about leaving, I couldn't help but think about what I would tell him. Would I even tell him anything at all, or would Spencer just omit me from his life completely and give him an explanation in my place? Who would watch over him after I left? Someone old and mean who made him eat vegetables instead of Cheeto Puffs, and demanded he read to them about dinosaurs instead of airplanes, not giving him the option to develop his curiosity in whatever way he chose? Who would tuck him into bed on the nights his father was late or out of town, and would they sleep on the couch soundly and happily like I did?
I hated even thinking about it.
And then there was the first paycheck.
Truth be told, I hadn't even thought about the money, not after I met the boys and introduced them into my daily routine. I remembered Spencer telling me after my first day alone with Benny that he wouldn't get a paycheck to me until the start of the next month, and I was okay with it. Really, I was just focusing on trying not to drool for the entire conversation, but I digress.
Payment completely slipped my mind.
And then I showed up to do my job, and Benny was nowhere in sight.
"Where's the little guy?" I inquired, looking around and hearing nothing either. "He's usually waiting at the door for me like a dog."
Spencer laughed and concealed something behind his back. "He does really enjoy his nights with you... He's actually staying with JJ and her kids tonight, though. Our schedules opened up and she offered to take him for the night. I was going to call and tell you, but I wanted to give you this, anyway."
He handed me an envelope, folded over but not sealed. I took it with an, "Oh," unsure of what it was until I saw the corner of the check. It felt rude somehow to open it in front of him, but his presence was so overwhelming anyway, especially being alone with him, that I needed something to occupy my hands and my thoughts and just about everything else I had in my possession.
At first, I thought it was a joke. A prank. It was too good to be true; He was just messing with me and would hand me a fifty-dollar bill on my way out for my trouble. Surely, if not that, then it was a mistake.
I didn't know how long I'd stood there, staring at the paper with whatever expression was all over my face, but it must have been too long and too concerning because Spencer sounded worried when he asked, "Is there something wrong?"
I blinked for a moment, then finally had the courage to look him in the eye, my mouth completely dry. "You are not giving me five-thousand dollars right now."
"Well... No, technically, I'm giving you a check for five-thousand dollars. What you do with it and when is completely up to you, but... You deserve it. Y/N, you've been a Godsend, and Benny and I are lucky to have you around. Thank you. Very much."
I didn't even think about it. It was an insanely kind gesture, and I was in such a state of shock and gratitude and mind-numbing attraction to him in that moment that I leapt forward and flung my arms around his neck, tears stinging my eyes.
He hugged me back tightly and laughed, allowing me to cry my thanks into his shoulder as we nearly tumbled into the coffee table.
ACT II: If I Was A Lady...
The months flew by, and before I knew it, it was Benny's fourth birthday.
Spencer and his friends heavily involved me in the planning process, a gesture that surprised me, but that I obviously would never be thankful enough for. It's not like I hadn't ever known a loving family or anything, but they were all so warm and welcoming; it was like I'd been friends with them my whole life. My chest bloomed brightly with every laugh and every hug, and I don't think I could have been any happier. I felt like I belonged there.
It was a day, and night, I would never forget.
Everyone had left, and Benny was fast asleep in his bed. Spencer and I looked down at him with smiles so bright, if they'd actually radiated any light the poor boy would have woken up.
"Ah, the cake coma," I laughed quietly, Spencer guiding me out of the bedroom. I couldn't stop giggling even as we walked—Admittedly, I was a little buzzed on champagne. Still, Spencer laughed with me, and we sat down on the couch. I could tell he was exhausted, but happy.
"I still have to clean all of this up..." It was more of an amused I'll-do-it-tomorrow statement, but I had this drunken simmering need to please him so badly that I shook my head and hit his arm.
"No. That's my job. I'll take care of it, you just take your beautiful ass right to bed, you hear me?"
He raised an eyebrow but laughed at me anyway, clearly amused by my banter. "Maybe I shouldn't have allowed the underage drinking after all..."
"Oh, please. I'm not even drunk, just a little loose. Besides, I'll be twenty-one in a couple of months anyway."
"Mmmm."
I hadn't realized how much closer we'd gotten until just then, when he hummed and looked me over. I could feel his breath on my face, and our limbs were just barely touching. Suddenly it was like my entire body was numb, sizzling everywhere we touched, and the champagne had become a part of my bloodstream. The fizz was all I knew, all I was.
Spencer's eyes found mine, and they didn't look away. They pulled me in slowly. I was powerless to stop it, not that I'd ever want to...
In fact, I very eagerly melted into him the second our lips found each other. My head swam, my fingers started tingling, and I was very aware of every movement we made. I straddled his lap, and he welcomed me with open arms, pulling me flush against him as his tongue darted out swiftly to taste mine.
I couldn't believe it was actually happening. Every few seconds I kept thinking to myself, this feels like a dream... It has to be a dream... Between the pent-up attraction I'd been accumulating for him over the last few months and the alcohol that loosened me up and dissolved any ounce of common sense I possessed, I felt like I was in a different world entirely.
He hardened underneath me and my nerves went nuclear, instinctively forcing my body to roll over his. I ground my hips, aching to feel that sweet friction that I'd only felt once before with another man— so long ago and so unbelievably dull in comparison to the sensations I was feeling in Spencer's lap. I was only barely experienced with sex, but I was experienced enough to know that I didn't have anything to be nervous about; This man would take good care of me. I felt it in my bones.
The thought alone sent my body into overdrive. I whined and rolled my hips relentlessly, wishing I was completely bare and feeling him so deep inside me that his absence would leave me haunted. I wanted to feel him forever. I wanted him to ruin my life and claim me as his own, until there was absolutely nothing left of me.
His hands cradled my head reverently as he continued to kiss me deep and slow, raising his hips up to meet mine and aid in getting me off. The gentle tugs of his fingers through my hair and the warm hums of encouragement he offered to my mouth as I climbed higher and higher towards that precipice of pleasure made me weak. I felt so fragile in his arms, like I was meant to be right there, allowing him to guide me wherever. I would have done anything for him, anything so long as he kept holding me and making me sigh—making me glow.
"Fuck—I'm gonna come," I exclaimed in a broken whisper, breaking apart from his mouth to bury my face in his hair. He brought his hands down to my hips then, groaning as quietly as he could into my neck as he helped me rock back and forth across his lap.
It wasn't an earth-shattering intense orgasm by any means; there wasn't nearly enough stimulation for that. But I was so wet and aroused that even the low, quick and burning pleasure that shot through my core for a few seconds was enough to satisfy me. I wasn't in any position to complain.
That was, of course, until I reached down to touch Spencer's belt, and he pushed me away. Not aggressively, but his hands—which had been so gentle and welcoming just moments before—had gone rigid. Frozen and firm, like he'd just been scared half to death.
He scrambled out from my reach and put so much distance between us that I went cold. My name tumbled from his lips in a regretful sigh, and it stung.
"We can't ever do that again."
"Okay," was all I could manage to say. I was still tingling all over, like my whole body had fallen numb and was now just warming up to the idea of having senses again.
"That was irresponsible. And I'm too old for you."
"M-hm," I agreed absentmindedly.
"You should go home."
"Okay."
"I'll call you a cab."
"Thank you."
I went home that night with a deep twist in my gut that wouldn't go away. The rejection hurt. It scared me, too, wondering if I'd still have a job when I woke up in the morning. Was that the last time I would ever see Spencer? And Benny? Had I really just screwed up the best thing that ever happened to me?
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on Spencer's couch, getting myself off in his lap and reveling in his embrace. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, hating myself for being so reckless, and even more so for not regretting it a single bit.
After I was finally able to get a solid couple of hours of sleep, I had a text message from Spencer waiting for me when I woke up.
I sincerely apologize for last night. The job is still yours, but I also understand if you don't want it anymore. Take a few days, whatever time you need, and let me know.
I was relieved, of course, but also deeply curious to know how we would keep things professional after something like that. I guess I was just mostly surprised that he was willing to, considering he seemed pretty rattled by it.
Still, If he was willing to try, then so was I.
I'm sorry, too. I wouldn't give up you and Benjamin for the world. All is well?
He texted back almost immediately; All is well.
It only clicked into place a few months later, once the initial shock of our "escapade" had faded away and we could return to business as normal. Because, really, the truth was we couldn't return to business as normal. We tried, but he never looked me in the eye for longer than a second at a time, he refused to touch me in any way, careful not to even brush my hand as he handed me my monthly check, and his small talk was even more painful than it had been previously.
Still, I continued to be Benny's nanny—and best friend, according to Auntie Penelope, much to her dismay. I still loved that kid more than anything in the world, and I still, unfortunately, wanted his father to kiss me again.
I was willing to let it all go, though, to admit that it was a silly stupid crush that could never come to anything and just deal with it like an adult, and then I had to overhear the motherfucker when he came home one night. I was resting on the couch, about to open my eyes when I heard the door open, but then I heard a voice that wasn't Spencer's. It was his friend, Luke.
Spencer cut him off then. "Quiet, please."
There was shuffling, keys being set down, and then a small laugh as they got closer to me. I didn't move a muscle, focusing only on my breathing. "Right. Don't wake the hot nanny, got it."
"She's right there," Spencer hissed, and I tried not to laugh. My insides flared to life as he added, "And I asked you not to bring that up..."
"Oh, come on, Reid. You have the hots for her; big deal. It's normal."
"So? I'm... I'm technically her boss, and she's far too young for me. It's not right, and you know that."
"Whatever. You do what you think is right, man, but I'm telling you; Ignoring it is only going to make you more stressed."
Spencer mumbled something incoherent, and the two shuffled off into the kitchen for God-knows-what. All I could think about was that he wanted me. It was probably killing him just as badly as it was killing me not to give into each other again. My mind was racing, my heart beat violently in my chest, and I knew then that I had to pretend to wake up or else I'd sit there and burst into flames.
I had to leave. I had to do something; What, I didn't know, but this revelation had me reeling and feeling a myriad of things, and I needed to sit with them, preferably alone so I wasn't tempted to just jump him on the spot.
"Did we wake you? I'm sorry." Spencer's kind voice warmed me from the inside out as I shuffled into the kitchen to say goodbye.
I quickly gathered my things and avoided his gaze. "Oh. No, you didn't. If you're back for the night though, I'm gonna go home. I'm exhausted."
"Little guy was that rambunctious, huh?" Luke joked.
I smiled and gave him a wink. "Oh, no. He was an absolute angel, as always. His daddy raised him well. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, Doctor Reid?"
He cleared his throat, rasping out, "Yes, tomorrow. Goodnight."
"Night."
I tried not to run mischievously out the door, willing my legs to be normal. But the second there was a tangible barrier between us, I bolted to my car, high on adrenaline and unable to wipe the smile from my face; I was wide awake.
Eventually, though, I realized it would be absolutely stupid to do anything about it. Did it boost my ego and my mood? Absolutely. It also softened the blow of his avoidance and his initial rejection that night; All of his behavior made much more sense. Sure, I was a little disappointed that he wouldn't entertain our mutual desire, but as long as it was there... It couldn't be that bad, right?
Wrong.
I'd gotten a text from him earlier in the day, asking if I could come over last minute to watch Benny. I wasn't going to say no, obviously, but when I got there to see him dressed up, I shot up an eyebrow.
"A little fancy for work, yeah?" I told him, hanging my keys up and listening for Benny.
"Oh, I'm... not going to work, actually. I, uh... I have a date."
I froze. I panicked. I didn't know what to do, what to think, or how to react. Naturally my thoughts immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario—visions of Spencer sleeping with another woman, someone older and not a nanny. Someone who was distinguished and well-read and smart, someone like himself. Someone who was more inherently right for him. It... made me sad.
Admittedly, I felt stupid even thinking that way. It wasn't my right to dictate his dating life, no matter how badly I wanted him; I knew what he tasted like, knew how it felt to come undone in his embrace, and yet I wasn't entitled to him solely based on that.
Still. It doesn't mean I had to like it.
"Oh... Um... Good for you," I told him, nodding and turning away in case he tried to profile me. "Have fun."
He said goodbye to Benny a few minutes later, and then gave me a polite, transactional wave on his way out the door. It shut, and it felt like my chest was collapsing.
But I was only able to wallow for a few seconds. Benny tugged on my sleeve and looked up at me quizzically.
"Auntie Y/N, are you sad?"
His sweet face lifted my spirits like it always did, and I didn't have the energy to think about the other emotions that were swimming around in my chest anyway. So I smiled at him and picked him up, shaking my head. "Not anymore, kiddo; I get to hang out with my favorite person!"
We spent all night munching on Cheeto Puffs and building Lego sets, and it was unsurprising to me that by the time I'd finished one, Benny had finished three. Still, our sets combined to make a larger one, and then we were able to give the people names and backstories and adventures.
Either time passed very quickly, or Spencer didn't last very long on his date, because the front door opened and I was surprised he was home before I could put Benny to bed.
"Daddy!" he exclaimed, running and dropping his half-eaten Cheeto Puff in my lap. I laughed and tossed it in the trash can on my way to the door, greeting Spencer, who was hugging his son tightly and making him giggle profusely.
"You're home early," I observed as he set him down.
"Had to make it home before curfew, of course." A joke. He was deflecting. I kind of hated that I felt relief at the insinuation.
"Of course," I agreed.
"So, what did you guys do while I was gone?"
Benny jumped and grabbed his father's hand. "Auntie Y/N and I made a whole Lego village! It has a library!"
"It does?" Spencer asked bending down to his level and positively beaming. The sight made my chest tighten.
"It really does! Do you want to come see?"
"Oh, absolutely. I just have to talk to Auntie Y/N first, and I'll be right in, is that okay?" He nodded and Spencer ruffled his hair. "Okay. Say goodnight."
Benny turned and ran to me then, and I squatted down to hug him. "Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Thank you for building with me."
"Oh, you're welcome, kiddo. You're an excellent building partner; The best in the business."
He laughed and scampered off to his bedroom, and as I stood up, I felt Spencer's eyes on me. I couldn't decipher what the feeling was on his end, but regardless, it burned a hole through me and made my heart pound in my ears.
"How'd it go?" I asked casually, dusting Cheeto off my jeans. Did you do it just to forget about how much you want me? Did it work?
He shrugged and leaned against the counter with a lazy smile. He almost looked exhausted. "I'd have much rather liked to be at home with my boy and his best friend to tell you the truth."
My heart was racing, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was getting at. Was he fucking with me? Or was he simply telling the honest, innocent truth, while I was letting my lust take the drivers' seat and go searching for some insane imaginary intention to help along my hot-single-father/nanny fantasy?
Suddenly, I was the one who felt exhausted, and Spencer could tell. He shifted and continued talking. "Thank you again for staying with him on such short notice."
"Oh, anytime. It's what I'm here for. In fact, feel free to go on all the bad dates you want."
I don't know why it came out of my mouth, but I was glad that Spencer laughed. Still, I scrambled to get my keys and walked past him to leave, kind of embarrassed by the verbalized impulsive thought regardless.
His hand grabbed my arm gently before I could leave, and my heart caught in my throat. I dared to look up at him and immediately felt that familiar heat return to my core, suddenly very fragile under the weight of his gaze.
He studied me for a moment before he let go of my arm and cleared his throat. "Goodnight."
I couldn't help the feeling that he wanted to tell me something else. He did say he wanted to talk to me before putting Benny to bed, after all... So, what? That was it?
It was stupid, and I should have just told him, "Goodnight," back, but those damned impulsive thoughts kept dancing on my tongue with reckless abandon, and I couldn't stop them from escaping. So, without another thought, I tilted my head and asked him instead, "Was she my age?"
Spencer stared at me, something darkening in his eyes when he responded, "No."
I threw back one of his considering hums, glancing down at his lips before looking him directly in the eye and giving him a firm, "Oh." There were plenty more things I could have told him, none of them appropriate. But I figured I'd already had enough pushing my luck for the night, and reached for the doorknob instead of dragging it out. The night would end like it always did, with a formal, professional farewell.
I was about to finally tell him, "Goodnight," but his hand came down very gently over mine and rendered me silent. Our eyes met once more, and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Even if she had been, she wouldn't have been you."
And then he opened the door for me, and I walked out without another word, my head spinning and my heart threatening to give out on me. He hadn't even kissed me, but he might as well have; I was just as breathless.
ACT III: He Is Nice, But He Looks So Mean.
I was actually littered with nerves walking in the door the next time I came over to watch Benny.
I hadn't heard anything from Spencer for a week, until he called and asked me to come over for the night to watch him while he went to work. I was going to do it with no questions asked, obviously, but because that insane confession was echoing in my mind on a continuous loop since it happened, I couldn't even bring myself to think about seeing him again and knowing... I had no idea what reaction my body was going to have to being in his presence again.
It scared me, but also deeply excited me.
Once my body had enough courage to step through the doorway, my heart rate sped up exponentially, and then upon seeing what was in front of me, it stuttered with a terrifying halt.
Warmth flooded my veins and brought a smile to my face when the four-year-old boy I nannied for and loved more than anything threw his hands in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Happy Birthday!"
He ran up to me and nearly toppled me to the ground, and on instinct, my arms reached out to pick him up as he hugged my neck and listed off the things he did to celebrate.
"Daddy said your birthday was yesterday, but we wanted to give you a party just like you did for my birthday! So we went to the store and got you ingredients for your cake, and we made it just for you!"
"You did?" I exclaimed, setting him down and letting him lead me to the kitchen where the cake was sitting out on the table, clearly homemade by two boys who didn't know the first thing about baking or decorating anything. Spencer was standing across the kitchen table with a proud, albeit I-know-it's-not-much-to-look-at smile, but I barely had time to thank him before Benny told me about the process, step-by-step.
As he went on, I nodded and admired the cake, complimenting the purple and green swirls of frosting (his favorite color and mine, he explained), and the trail of assorted candies in the shape of a stegosaurus in the middle (my favorite dinosaur).
"Do you love it, Auntie Y/N?"
I hugged him again with tears in my eyes. I tried not to actually cry, but the tugging at the back of my throat and the blurring of my eyes was extremely difficult to push away. I realized then, as Spencer watched me with his son and looked like he might have been ready to cry himself, that it wasn't worth trying to hide. I was extremely moved and even happier in that moment than I think I'd ever been. I loved that man and his child more than anything I'd ever known.
So, I blinked hard and let the tears silently descend down my cheeks, kissing the side of Benny's head as I told him, "I love it so much. And I love you so much. Thank you."
I looked up at Spencer and said it again. "Thank you."
He nodded, reaching for the star-shaped candle next to the cake. "You're very welcome. Benny, do you want to help Auntie Y/N light the birthday candle?"
The boy squirmed in my arms and I let him down with a laugh as he excitedly reminded us, "That's my favorite part of birthdays!"
"I apologize if you find an eggshell," Spencer warned a few minutes later, slicing the cake after the song had been sung and the candle had been blown out. He slid my plate over and handed me a fork. "Benny and I did our best to fish them all out, but it's... surprisingly harder than it looks."
As Benny nodded in agreement, I looked down at him and took a forkful of cake. "Oh, I don't have anything to worry about. I'm sure you two are excellent eggshell fishermen."
The four-year-old giggled, but his father sighed as if to say, Don't say I didn't warn you...
To no one's surprise but Spencer's, the cake was delicious. I may have played it up for dramatic effect, putting on a whole show as I chewed and considered every bite, playing as if I was unsure and really critiquing the dessert. I set my fork down and looked at Spencer with squinted eyes, then slowly to his son. The suspense was obviously killing him, his small limbs bouncing with anticipation and a smile that suggested he was going to urge the verdict out of me if I didn't announce it very soon.
I decided to spare him the wait.
"Benjamin Reid... That might just be the best cake I've ever had."
"Really? No eggshells?"
I laughed, reaching to give him a high-five as he beamed up at me with sparkling eyes and a wide-open smile. "Not a single one. You should be very proud of yourself. You and your dad, both."
Benny hugged me again, and I glanced over to Spencer, who was slicing another piece of cake and staring at me with that intense look in his eyes, a satisfied half-smile adorning his face. A rush of heat came surging through my bloodstream like a tidal wave, and I had to look away from him or I was afraid I'd collapse on the spot.
Benny didn't know it, but he was saving my life in that very moment, as the three of us ate cake together. I refused to look at his father. I needed literally anything else to keep me from even glancing his way, and my four-year-old best friend's rambling habits were the perfect focus.
He told me more about his process for decorating the cake, and while I was genuinely a little surprised at how much thought there really could have been with the task, with an ever-moving mind like Benny's, it was actually quite clear by the end of it. It charmed me to no end and filled me with pride to know that I'd had enough of an impact on him to trigger this level of detail and consideration. Again, it's not like I'd never had people who cared about me before, but when it came to the Reids, my heart sang a tune I'd never heard, and it was the most beautiful, brightly vivid sound I'd ever had the pleasure to hear—to feel.
I was thinking too much about it, letting the song swallow me whole as tears stung in the back of my eyes and threatened to fall again, when Spencer's phone buzzed on the table. The sound grounded and intrigued me, even more so when he glanced up at me for a moment, right before directing his words to his son.
"Benny, Uncle Will is outside. Is your bag ready?"
He jumped from his seat and nodded. "In my room."
"Okay. Before you grab it, say goodnight to Auntie Y/N."
I felt the toddler's arms hugging my legs, and turned all my attention to him, refusing once again to look at the man whose eyes I could feel burning me alive with something deeply ravenous, begging to be unfettered. I had a feeling, creeping over my senses like a thick blanket of ivy, that I wasn't making it up and letting my desire for him take the wheel, either; Just as the loving, family-friendly song in my heart had been—bright and vivid—this feeling was just as much the same in its intensity, only echoed with a sound that felt very much like those dark, low hums Spencer always emitted alone in my presence. I felt it all around me and hoped to God that I wasn't about to leave this place feeling like a hopeful, stupid idiot.
"Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Did you like your birthday?"
"I did, Benny," I answered in earnest, ruffling his hair. "You're very thoughtful and kind. Thank you so much."
"I love you, Auntie Y/N."
I squeezed him tight and made sure he understood every word as truth when I told him, "I love you, too."
ACT IV: When I Grow Up, I Wanna Be Your Girl.
The apartment was quiet when Spencer took Benny outside to meet with Will. I did my best to keep myself busy, cleaning up forks and plates, and wiping down the counter tops while simultaneously ignoring the hammering of my heart against my chest. The organ wouldn't calm down, even as I hummed to myself. It's like those nerves that I had walking through the front door that night never actually went away— only subsided for a little while in favor of wholesome celebration.
Part of me wanted to flee, but I knew it wasn't an option. Not really. I had to at least talk to Spencer and thank him for the effort. Perhaps I was good enough of an actress that I could pretend to have been ignorant of his glances all night, or at least that they didn't affect me like he maybe wanted them to.
Catching myself in the act of overthinking again, I grunted and slammed a glass of water, willing the fresh liquid to wash away any insanity. There was no use going through all the possible scenarios in my head, not when there wasn't much time before Spencer returned. No matter what happened, I wasn't going to be prepared for it.
I certainly wasn't prepared for the way my heart practically leapt out of my chest when he returned, softly opening and closing the door. It took everything I had not to turn around and allow him to see how nervous I was. I kept my back turned, hoping and praying I wasn't visibly shaking as heavily as I felt. I was warm all over.
His presence behind me was dense and ever-present― almost suffocating. I took my time drying off the plates and forks I'd washed while he was away, hearing him rustle around without a word or acknowledgement of me, and then he finally spoke. I almost dropped a fork.
"Why are you doing my dishes, Birthday Girl?"
"My birthday was yesterday..."
He laughed and came up behind me, a gentle hand on my lower back as the other reached around and took the silverware from my grip. I relented, feeling myself numb at his touch and trying to steady my breathing.
"Yes, but we're celebrating today. In my household at least, that means you're not allowed to do any work."
I turned around to face him as he set the fork down on the counter, his other hand still hovering over my back. It returned to his side, disappearing into the pocket of his pants as I crossed my arms and looked up at him. Thankfully, despite the constant whirring of nerves and desire coursing through my entire being, I was able to hold a conversation without hesitation.
"You're not my dad."
Another amused grin. "No, I'm not. But I am your boss. And as your boss, I'm asking you to take the night off and enjoy yourself."
The way he was staring down at me seemingly punctuated his words with a gentle seduction that made me ache with need. I was getting stronger and bolder by the second, leaning forward just enough to be toe-to-toe with him.
"Okay, then, Boss... Tell me, are there any restrictions to enjoying myself in your household? Because..."
The second I heard that familiar hum rumble from his chest, I knew I was in danger― glorious, beautiful danger. His eyes glanced down at my mouth for a second before returning to my own, his body leaning into mine and his free hand reaching out to trap me against the counter.
I tilted my head and brought my fingers up to toy with the tie hanging from his neck. "I am all grown up now, after all..."
"And I suppose you know exactly what you want..."
"Mm-hmm," I drawled, pulling him in closer by the tie. Our lips were barely touching by that point, and I felt my head start to pulse with anticipation as he urged me to go on.
"Well?"
"I want to be yours."
He hummed again, pushing his body to mine and bringing the pocketed hand up to hold the side of my head. "Mmm, Darling, you always have been."
And then he kissed me.
He tasted like sugar, but his intentions were anything but sweet. His mouth devoured mine with a fire that threatened to turn me to ash. Every sense I had was alight, engulfing me in a heat so intense that it was all I was sure to know for the rest of my life. It's all I wanted and all I needed.
I met his intensity with eager hands, exploring the planes of his body as his tongue did wicked things to my own. This time I didn't even need the champagne; I was dizzy on Spencer alone. The fizz boiled me from the inside out and urged my limbs to cling to him like it was my life's purpose. Hell, for all I knew, it was my life's purpose― to burn for him and let him consume me. To revel in his dancing flame and allow it to become my life force. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything.
And I was sure to let him know that, too, refusing to hold back the string of whines and moans that escaped me every now and again. The hand that had been resting on the counter behind me came down to grip and hike up my thigh, our hips colliding just as beautifully this time as they had the last. The memory caused another wanton sound to tumble from my mouth, and Spencer caught it greedily, pulling back for air long enough to squeeze my thigh and sing me a praise of his own.
"God, I love the sounds you make..."
His lips were on mine again before I could respond, but I didn't even need to. Not verbally, anyway; I guided his hand down the side of my face and over my chest, pushing my body into him and feeling his fingers tighten. His kisses grew hungrier, and suddenly I was starving.
I was finally able to break away from his mouth in favor of tasting the skin and stubble along his jaw. Then, I buried my face in his neck and reached for his belt, praying he wouldn't jump away like last time.
Thankfully, he didn't. His grip on both my breast and my thigh tightened again, but he didn't pull away from me. His breath didn't even hitch.
I took that as a good sign and slowly undid his belt. The sound alone was enough to send a jolt of excitement between my thighs, though the visions dancing behind my eyelids of what I planned to do in just a few moments helped my pleasure immensely. I dragged my tongue softly along Spencer's neck before freeing the belt and sinking to the ground alongside it. His hands fell away from my body and chose to root in my hair instead. The gentle tugging at my scalp admittedly made me stumble, but not out of discomfort; I was actually quite surprised at how much I liked the feeling.
Spencer noticed, humming again with amusement as I went back to tugging down his pants. Still, he said nothing, instead watching me intently as I continued my journey.
I didn't hide the desire I felt as I palmed the length of him through his underwear. In fact, I couldn't decide if I wanted to keep my sight leveled or to angle it up at him, because it was a damn good sight either way; The sensual nature of my fingers gently caressing him, knowing what was resting beyond that thin layer of fabric and imagining how it probably felt to him, or the thick and domineering air between his face and mine, his gaze committing every movement I made to wicked memory...
With a sigh, I opted to lean forward, ignoring the sharp bruising on my knees and putting all my focus into the task at large.
Spencer seemed to tell I was thinking too much, gently massaging my scalp and cooing, "Have you ever done this before?"
Yes, but... "Not with anyone I've actually wanted this badly..."
"Mmm, that does make a difference..." he observed. "Whatever it is that you need to be comfortable, Y/N― tell me. Okay? Promise me you won't hurt yourself in any way just to please me."
A surge of heat exploded through me at the intensity of it all. He was sincere, and by the sound of things, sympathetic to my overthinking. It was another show of just how much I wanted him to guide me, to hold me in his comforting, knowing embrace and show me exactly how life should be lived. Every life experience there was to know, I wanted to know it with him.
"I promise," I told him firmly, not breaking eye contact as I tugged at the cotton between us.
His eyes struggled to stay open when I finally gripped his cock, feeling the weight of it in my hand and bringing it to my mouth. I glanced down then, taking in every ridge as it disappeared slowly down the length of my tongue. I reveled in the taste, in the fullness I felt the deeper it went, and once it hit the back of my throat and caused me to choke and pull back, I angled my eyes back up at his face to find the most heavenly sight I'd ever seen.
Spencer watched me all the time. I was no stranger to his intense gazes. But when I looked up at him that time, his mouth open and eyes so deeply darkened with need that they could have drowned me, I truly thought I might have died and entered the afterlife. Perhaps that was dramatic, but there was no other possible way for me to describe the feeling that coursed through me in that moment. Suddenly I was chasing it, longing to be in that state of euphoria forever, and my mouth eagerly went to work in pursuit of it.
I took my time, exploring the ways he could fit in my mouth and the ways my tongue could cover the length of him. I went in search of any pleasure point I could find, occasionally looking up to gauge his reaction and finding nothing but those beautiful, salacious pools of liquid gold.
Eventually, I was brave enough to take him to the back of the throat again, holding him there and seeing how long it would take before I felt the air leave my lungs. I repeated the process a few times, stroking him with my hand in between gasps of air and shivering at the way he tugged my hair. My vision was starting to blur, but I persisted, aching to know what he tasted like as he came undone.
Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards for me to find out that night.
I whined as he held my head away from him, praying he wasn't backing out.
"Stand up, please," he asked softly. It sounded like he'd been breathless, and maybe he had. The thought that I had that effect on him calmed my nerves and made me dizzy as I stood, and his hands cradled my head once again.
"You are so good," he whispered, kissing me deeply. I melted into him, only for him to pull back and continue his praises. "So beautiful..." Another toe-curling kiss, and then, "So perfect."
My eyes fluttered shut as his mouth moved over my jaw and to my pulse-point. "My good, sweet girl," he murmured, and the words caused me to clench around nothing.
"Please."
The word fell out of me with a whimper and at its urgency, Spencer's mouth attacked my neck with a gentle, hungry bite that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Follow me."
And I did. I always would.
As much as I would have loved the opportunity to look around his bedroom and make banter about what I discovered on any normal day, my brain was so overwhelmed and numb with desire that the thought hadn't even crossed my mind.
Not that I would have had the time to think about it anyway; He was on me the moment my legs touched the edge of the bed, devouring my mouth once more and pulling me into his atmosphere with fervor. Willing myself to get even closer to him, I brought my fingers up to thread through his hair and was rewarded with another gentle tug of my own.
Suddenly I was extremely hot, squirmy and anxious to break free from the confines of clothing, and Spencer could tell.
He broke apart with a laugh, bringing a hand down to trace the collar of my shirt. "Have you no patience?"
"You're the one sucking my face like it's the end of the fucking world," I breathed when he shifted the collar and exposed more of my skin to the air, earning me another low grumble of a laugh.
"You're not complaining are you?"
"God, no."
"Mmm, good," he hummed into my cheek, reaching down and tugging my shirt over my head. The fabric caught on his nose for a second, bringing a laugh to the surface of my tongue before he swallowed it with another kiss and tossed the shirt to the ground.
Warm, nimble fingers spanned my bare stomach and thoroughly explored the surface area of me, up and up until they slipped under the backside of my bra.
"Is this okay?"
I pushed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip. "Yes, Doctor."
Goosebumps littered my arms as he deftly unhooked the bra and slid it off my body, and I barely had time to take a breath before he was kissing me again, pawing at my chest and slipping me his eager tongue. My senses were on overload, that hot pang of need pulsating between my legs as I then fell backwards, letting him lay me down and settle himself between them. His kisses traveled lower, tongue darting out to flick over my peaked nipple, and I involuntarily arched up into him.
No one had ever paid this much careful attention to my body before—It was always a quick pleasantry to get out of the way before the main course. But the way Spencer held and touched and tasted me felt like a crash course in intimacy. He was still hungry for me, obviously, but he made it feel like it wasn't just about the destination. He savored each and every second of the moment in all its pent-up, beautiful glory.
Which is why, when he finally slipped a hand down the front of my pants, he seemed delighted to find that I was practically soaked through my panties already.
His middle finger pressed firmly at my clothed heat, and I sighed into his mouth.
"Look at what I've done to you... Poor thing. You're just aching to be filled, aren't you?"
My head had no choice but to arch backwards as I moaned into the open air at his words, my legs clamping around his hand. "God, Spencer, please..."
"So I'm not wrong, then?" he mused, teasing me some more and just barely pushing the fabric aside. I squirmed and lifted my hips, trying to guide him in the right place, but he pulled away from me then, leaving me cold.
Only a second later did the heat return; Spencer stood at the foot of the bed and gently helped me scoot to the edge. He removed the rest of my clothes and stared down at my bare figure as he unbuttoned his shirt, debauchery settling in his eyes as they raked over me. With careful consideration, once his shirt was on the floor with the rest of my clothes, he came down and caressed my inner thigh, slowly spreading my legs apart.
"You're so wet and needy, I'm willing to bet you don't even need me to prep you..."
All it took was one lithe finger to prove his theory correct. It slid into me with ease, and I whined out at the contact. One finger swiftly became two, and after a few slow pumps with no resistance, he seemed satisfied. "Mmm, that's what I thought... You've been ready for me for a long time, haven't you?"
"Uh-huh," was all I could manage under the circumstances. Every word and every touch was rendering me incapable of anything more complex.
He removed his fingers from me then, and leaned down to nudge my nose with his own. "How are you feeling?" he asked me in a whisper, fluttering a gentle kiss over my lips as his cock barely teased my entrance. It was such a simple question, but it only deepened the desire I felt for him— It was gentle and attentive and intimate...
"Never better," I responded earnestly.
"Yeah?" he cooed. He pushed into me slowly then, and I gasped at the pressure. "Are you ready to take it?"
"Uh-huh," I stuttered once more, crying out silently when he finally bottomed out and ground his hips in a slow circle against my own.
"Tell me what you want, little girl," he begged sweetly against my lips. "Please, I need to hear you say it."
I gripped his shoulders and pulled back a little to hold his gaze, almost gasping out again at the way his hips pinned me down. It was difficult to form the perfect sentence, but I figured I didn't really need to say much at all― only the whimper-y, pathetic truth, which was, "I want you so bad..."
"As you wish."
The words barely left his lips before he began to move, hooking my legs around his forearms and spreading me apart further. He fucked me deeply, and with a steady pace that knocked the wind from my lungs and already had me seeing stars. That had never happened before.
Spencer could tell, a grin forming on his face as he freed one of his hands and softly traced my jaw. "Better than you thought?"
Absolutely. But there was something about that cocky grin on his face and the lilt in his voice that made me want to be difficult. I struggled to talk through heavy breathing, but I managed to choke out, "Don't... flatter yourself."
I don't quite know what I expected, but it was a bit of a shock to me when he hooked his thumb into my mouth and pressed down gently on my tongue, quickening his pace inside me and making me gasp out again.
"Aw... Are you not enjoying yourself?" he pouted without a single hint of sincerity; He knew I was.
I cried out and involuntarily closed my mouth around his thumb, my insides burning alive at all the sensations coursing through me. My cunt clenched around him, and he cried out himself, laughing softly as he did so. "That's what I thought..."
I wanted to watch him the way he watched me, to study his features and his movements and take it all in with reverence, but he was too fucking good at this. He was so skilled in the art of rendering me senseless, all I could do was lay there and take it. He gave himself to me in the most intimate, soul-crushing way, and I wanted to bask in it forever.
His other hand snaked along the inside of my thigh and held me open for him as he looked down, watching himself fuck me. I barely caught glimpses of his wandering gaze, wondering how he could be so focused when it was taking everything I had to stay cognizant. I blamed it on my lack of experience with good sex, and silently vowed to myself that one day I would return the favor.
Until then, I would lay at Spencer's mercy and take pleasure in the simple fact that he was willing to give me this― to give me a piece of himself that would no doubt ruin any other partner. He was setting the standard and exceeding it simultaneously. He was kind and caring and considerate. He was thorough and thoughtful.
And he was making me come. Hard.
The orgasm hit me out of nowhere, my body stuttering in quick, pulsing flashes of pleasure that got stronger and stronger each second. Spencer fucked me through it with ease, never missing a beat. His thumb slid out from my mouth and down my chin, allowing me to cry out for him all I wanted, which, seemingly was his goal.
"That's my good girl," he breathed, his voice tight. Perhaps he wasn't as put together as I thought. "Let it all out for me... Please..."
Please... God, that word sounded so good falling from his lips. It echoed in my mind as I gave him what he wanted, though not from choice. It was like his movements and his words were designed specifically to draw the sounds from my body. I would have given them to him anyway, but I didn't have to try, and that was the magic of it all. He knew exactly what would keep me mewling through the most intense pleasure of my life, and I was more than happy to allow him the pleasantry.
His orgasm came at the tail-end of mine, and though I was steadily growing tired at the exertion, I found the strength to clench around him again, recalling how he'd reacted before. I reached for his hand and allowed him to lace our fingers together as he came with a loud shuddering sigh.
Finally, I was able to focus, another chill running its course through my nervous system as Spencer pulsated inside me. His movements faltered as he spilled over, filling me so deep that I had no choice but to gasp again. My name sounded heavenly on his tongue as it danced in the air behind curses and sighs, and suddenly I understood why he enjoyed hearing my sounds so much. The warmth that bloomed in my chest as I watched and felt and heard him come undone above me delivered me to the most prideful of feelings.
I watched as his face relaxed, felt as his body eased and fell away from mine, and before I had time to even think of what to say, he was moving, kneeling at the end of the bed and spreading my legs again.
Oh, my God...
I couldn't even tell if I said the expression out loud, but I certainly felt its gravity in my bones, low and reverberating as Spencer inspected his work.
His fingers barely caught what had leaked out, and then his tongue followed suit, licking a gentle hot stripe up the seam of me. My fingers clutched at the comforter underneath me, searching for any sign of stability as my senses started to lose control once more.
"Darling," he praised, kissing the inside of my thigh, "you took me so well..."
I was halfway through telling him, "Thank you," when he started licking at my clit, making me stutter. He took his time, tasting me thoroughly while filling me with his fingers. Between drowning in the residual pleasure of my previous orgasm and also in the sounds he was making below me, it wasn't long before another one approached. It was sharp and quick, making my back arch up off the mattress as Spencer sucked my clit into oblivion.
Rather than incoherent cries of pleasure, the only thing that dared to leave my mouth at the sensation was a very loud, very appropriate, "Fuck!" to the evening air.
The curse tumbled out over and over again as the orgasm rocked through me, and he pulled himself away from me at the end of it with a shit-eating grin. "Such a dirty mouth..."
It took me a few seconds to catch my breath, shivering as he climbed back up on the bed and laid beside me. "You're one to talk, Doctor."
"I guess I'm a poor influence. Sorry."
It was mostly a joke, but I could tell that he believed there was some truth to his words. I did my best to reassure him, not only because he was my boss and I needed to reinstate the idea that we both made the decision to sleep together, not just him, but also because I secretly hoped he wouldn't regret the decision at all— regret me. Selfishly, I wanted to know if he'd consider keeping me around as more than just a nanny. I wanted to know if there was even a slight chance that this wouldn't end in total emotional disaster.
"You have nothing to be sorry for... Nothing..."
Spencer studied me for a moment, something settling in his eyes that I couldn't quite place, but it felt... warm. It was a different warmth than the searing heat that his gazes had radiated before. Perhaps it was wishful, foolish thinking, but I almost imagined it feeling akin to the realization that you were falling in love— the type of warmth that terrified yet excited you all the same, that triggered your nerves and also gave you hope.
It reminded me of that dangerous, beautiful hope that lingered in his smile every time he'd come home from a long day at work to see me and Benny safe and sound in the comfort of his home.
His hand gently brushed mine, I laced our fingers together, and that's when he finally responded.
"Neither do you, you know... I meant what I said. Every word." His fingers tightened in mine, and I felt myself become breathless again. "You're perfect. And I'm lucky to have you."
"You're just saying that because it's my birthday," I joked, trying to keep myself from crying in front of him. I didn't know why that was so important to me, especially considering just a few hours ago I'd decided not to hide the truth from him, no matter how emotional and teary of a truth it was.
Spencer pressed his forehead to mine, sighing my name through a smile. "You are... the best thing that has happened to me since Benny. I was afraid to admit it at the start, but... You're so good to him, and so good to me... I genuinely don't ever want to know what life would be like without you."
I couldn't help it then. My vision was suddenly obscured by tears, and I was blinking them away, letting him capture my lips in a tender kiss that rivaled any other.
I prayed in that very moment that there would be more like them in the future.
CODA: All My Rings Will Be Made of Gold.
Turns out, there had been plenty more, and then some.
It's hard to choose a favorite, though obviously I'm quite biased when it comes to my boys. So, I suppose it's easy for me to recall the night I got engaged as my favorite.
I wasn't nannying for Benny anymore; He was in school during the day (Kindergarten! I cried dropping him off on his first day, and Spencer had to console me with kisses and ice cream), and by that point I'd been moved into the apartment for almost a year.
I was out grocery shopping, and when I came home, there were flowers all over the floor, bright colors scattered in an obvious trail that led to the bedrooms. I didn't quite understand what was happening, but my heart still hammered in my chest, unable to shake that feeling of warmth and hope.
"Boys? What are you up to?" I called, dropping the bags off in the kitchen and following the flowers.
They were both kneeling on the floor of Benny's bedroom, Spencer with an open ring box in his hand, and Benny with a piece of paper in his.
"Will you be my mom?"
Really, how could I have said no? There isn't a world in which I ever would have, but even still. Benny was unable to sit still, waiting for me to answer him, and I remembered the night they presented me with that first birthday cake of many for years to come. He was the same way then, happier than ever to surprise me, and meanwhile all I wanted to do was burst into tears over how much love I was feeling.
Unlike that night, however, I was simply unable to tease him with the anticipation of an answer. I couldn't even pretend to consider it, not for a moment. It was the easiest answer I'd ever given. To this day, it still is.
Benny ran up and hugged me the tightest he ever had before, and Spencer got up from the ground to meet us, slipping a thin gold band on my finger as I repeated the word to him through the tenderest of kisses.
"Yes."
THE END.
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parfaitblogs ¡ 5 months ago
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risk ❀ s. reid x reader
in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!
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pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 
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There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 
Except for you. 
It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 
You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 
He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 
"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 
But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"
Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."
"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 
"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 
"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."
"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."
"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 
Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 
Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 
"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"
He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 
"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."
"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"
He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.
"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."
"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 
"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."
"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"
"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."
"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."
"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."
He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 
When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 
It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 
Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 
It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.
"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 
"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.
"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"
"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 
"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"
"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 
He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 
And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.
Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 
But you were yet to kiss. 
Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 
But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 
In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 
Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 
"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 
"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."
"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.
You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."
"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 
Which confused you. "Yes?"
"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."
"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 
"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"
You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 
"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 
"No. We haven't," he agreed. 
"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.
He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 
"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."
"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."
"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 
"Only one way to find out, right?"
He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.
The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 
"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 
But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 
His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 
Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.
And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡
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munsonsmixtapes ¡ 2 months ago
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As You Wish
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Eddie Munson x fem!reader
summary: you and Eddie meet at Robin’s Halloween party and realize that you’re dressed up as a couple
based on this request!
Eddie was convinced that he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but the second you walked through the door to Robin’s apartment, he was beginning to think that his mind was changed.
You looked absolutely breathtaking in your Buttercup costume and he was realizing that you were the new friend that Robin had made at work. The one she had gabbed about endlessly, always wanting to make it clear to Eddie you were very pretty and very single.
That was always something that his friends told him and faster many failed dates, he had revoked all of their setting up privileges. But this time…this time maybe he’d let it slide.
He turned away from you when you approached the snack table where he and the other three in his group had been standing. He wanted to remain cool and mysterious even though he knew that he was nothing of the sort. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been chronically single.
“And who might you be?” You asked and Robin patted Eddie on the shoulder to let him know that you were speaking to him. He whipped around, knocking over the bowl of chips in front of him in the process and was grateful that a mask was covering most of his face because it hid his blush.
He was quick to drop to the floor to scoop the chips back into the bowl and was so focused on what he was doing that he hadn’t even been aware that anyone had been helping him until a hand brushed his.
Eddie looked up slowly to see your eyes looking into his, a warm smile on your lips. His gaze shifted to your hands to see m that they were full of chip crumbs that you were picking up from the floor and he was about to thank you, the words on the tip of his tongue, but you had somehow rendered the man who never shut up speechless.
“I-“ he started, but his mouth was now dry and he was suddenly very aware of how hot his costume was. Jesus, he really needed a glass of water.
“Yeah?” You asked, your voice so gentle and he appreciated that you were being so patient with him. A lot of women he had come across would have made fun of him, but you didn’t. You had even gone as far as helping him clean up the mess he had made.
“D-“ he cut himself off again, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. He was blowing his shot at getting a date without and he hadn’t even said anything yet.
You gathered the rest of the chips into the bowl and then stood, offering him your hand and he took it, letting you help to his feet.
“Well, look at that,” you smiled as you got the full view of his costume. “It seems we’ve somehow dressed up as a couple.” You let out a chuckle and Eddie swore it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
Your words finally registered in his brain and he looked down at his costume before looking at yours, seeing that the two of you actually did look like a couple and that made him feel even more sweaty than he was previously. What were you doing to him?
“Guess it’s fate,” you added with a wink and the man thought he was going to die right there.
“G-guess so,” he was finally able to get out and your smile widened at his agreement. Robin had told you that he was cute and she had been right, at least, you thought she had been even though you couldn’t see most of his face. And you thought his clumsiness was adorable. Most men you had come across had been cocky or way too confident so it was refreshing to see someone who wasn’t.
And his costume was impressive, so close to the one that Westley had worn in the movie and you wondered how much he paid to have it made. Surely something custom like that had to cost a pretty penny. Yours had just come from items you already had in your closet and you were lucky just how accurate everything looked.
“I really love your costume,” you complimented and you watched what you could see of Eddie’s cheeks turn bright pink. “Where did you get it?”
“I um-I made it,” he replied, stepping closer to the table to grab his bottle of beer that he had left sitting there. He took a sip, watching your face the entire time, gauging your face for any negative reaction. How many times had he told a girl that he made his own cosplay costumes only to be met by grimaces? It was all so exhausting to try to put on a facade, to pretend to be someone else and he was tired of it. That was why he had stopped putting himself out there, why he decided that it was better to be by himself.
But your face lit up as soon as the words left his mouth, fascination written all over it and the man swore he was dreaming for a second.
“You made this?” You asked, your beautiful smile getting even brighter. “That’s fucking awesome!” You were now grinning and Eddie resisted the urge to clean out his ears or make you repeat yourself.
“I did,” he nodded, your smile feeling infectious as one spread across his own lips. “I um-“ he cut himself off, but then thought he should continue, deciding that you were a safe space for him. “I make costumes all the time. I love to cosplay.”
Now you were beginning to understand why Robin was trying to set the two of you up. Not only had she probably (definitely) known that you two were going to coincidentally dress up as a couple, but she also knew that you both were into cosplay.
“Me too!”
“Now you’re just pulling my leg.”
“No, seriously, I’ll have to show you my photo album sometime.” Sometime as in…were you setting up a date?
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” you nodded. “Do you want to get a drink-oh-you already have one.” Eddie took another sip of his beer and realized that the bottle was in fact empty.
“Empty,” he held up the bottle and you nodded, feeling a shy smile appear on your cheeks that were starting to burn.
“Let’s go, then,” you held your hand out and Eddie took it without hesitation, letting you lead him into the kitchen for another drink.
“As you wish,” he responded with a smile as he looked down at your entwined fingers, subconsciously letting the pad of his thumb rub along your knuckles gently as he followed you, wondering what the hell he had done to deserve you.
You spent the rest of the night side by side on Robin’s couch, drinking and laughing with the rest of the group. And when the party came to a close and the two of you went down to where you had parked, you exchanged numbers, deciding that maybe Robin did know what she was talking about in regards to setting the two of you up.
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erodasfishtacos ¡ 10 days ago
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You Belong With Me | pilot!h |
Prompt: YN and Harry are enemies until they’re not. YN doesn’t need another relationship but neither does Harry. It doesn’t go smoothly.
Word Count: 19k+
Warnings: discussion of miscarriage
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There are currently 400 + pieces available to read
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—-—
It isn’t love.
At least not a first.
YN cannot tell you the moment she fell in love with him.
However, she can tell you the moment that she knew.
-
YN had never had a casual hookup, she’d always been in committed relationships, and had pretty vanilla sex that almost always took place in a bedroom without much excitement.
For a long while, she never thought anything of it and deduced that maybe she just was not one of the people who had a wild adventurous sex life or was bold - it was just fine with her boyfriend in the past, it was never anything to write home about.
She definetly never thought that she would find out that she did in fact have a wild side at work of all places.
YN reveled in not rocking the boat, she’d never do anything unprofessional at work, and she was always one of the best employees - some whispered that she was a kissass or a try hard, YN just wanted to do a good job and hope that most people liked her.
YN had just gotten out of her longest relationship so far - she’d been with Noah since her first year of college and had broken it off after nearly six years of being together just about five months into her new job.
It wasn’t working out any longer, if they were honest, they hadn’t been working out for quite sometime.
YN doesn’t know exactly when she had fallen out of love with Noah but she had.
It was a rocky breakup.
They wanted different things.
YN wants a ring.
Noah didn’t want to get married.
Even though it wasn’t the worst breakup ever, YN really was struggling with all the stress it had put on her because her whole life had changed now that she was a flight attendant.
She had to let Noah keep their two dogs which really felt like she gave away custody because he could be home every night to take care of them while YN was never home for more than a few nights at a time.
Noah had owned the house they lived in which meant YN moved into an apartment that wasn’t that bad but it really wasn’t anything special, it didn’t really matter because she wasn’t home often enough and packed boxes lay untouched for a long time.
YN decided that being single was best right now, it would be near impossible to find a relationship that would work with her hectic hours and she wasn’t going on a dating app to have mediocre sex.
It only takes one person to flip her whole life around.
And that is a fucking understatement.
-
It officially marked her seventh month at the company and her second of being single - both were going somewhat well in her eyes.
Her parents wanted her to find someone, wasting no time in pestering her because they wanted her to have a wedding, to give them grandchildren.
Honestly, YN’s has not been looking.
At first, the breakup with Noah went fine, pleasant even but just a few weeks ago, it had turned completely sour after Noah had told her she wasn’t able to visit their two dogs anymore.
When YN was home, she’d swing by at least once a week to spend some time with her two fur babies whether in his backyard or taking them to the local park for a hike.
However, he’s found a new girlfriend and has stated that it’s no longer a good idea for her to come see the dogs but also said she’s not allowed to take them either which means she has completely lost them.
Noah: It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want my new girlfriend getting the wrong idea, you know? Sorta a buzzkill to have my ex and me sharing dogs like they���re kids or something. I hope you understand, maybe I can send pics
“YN, hello?” Her friend Elaina waves her hand in front of her cellphone screen to break her gaze from Noah’s text message.
“Sorry,” YN mumbles as she locks her phone and puts it on airplane mode.
They were waiting in the employee area for their flight to be ready, a little lounge that was a bit too humid and the coffee was always out.
“I was saying that today is Pilot Styles’ first day with Paradise Airlines after moving from Coastal,” Elaina explains to YN and the few other women that were huddled on the worn couches.
YN’s brow furrows at that, “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
She had heard rumors that a new pilot would be joining their team, be their captain as Paradise Airlines were unlike other companies - they tended to keep crews together on the same flights to build a good coworking relationship.
All the girls look at her like she had a second head, Justine speaking up first, “How do you not know who he is?”
YN doesn’t quite know how to answer that, shrugging her shoulders, “I don’t remember anyone ever saying anything about that captain to me. Why is it a big deal that he is changing to our airline?”
Perry jumps in, excited that she gets to spill some gossip, “Well, we’re surprised you don’t know him because of the amount of shit that the stewardess’ bitch about him. It’s a big deal that he’s coming to our airline because every attendant I know hates him.”
YN wasn’t expecting that for the reason that he was so well known.
“I mean most pilots are a bit grouchy,” YN responds as she sips her coffee that has enough espresso to get her through the next ten hours, “They all seem a little miserable if I’m honest.”
Elaina laughs at that, leaning forward, “He’s not just a bit grouchy. He’s a straight up asshole. He’s probably the most unfriendly, unwelcoming person that I’ve ever met and I’ve heard from others that it’s the same. He treats everybody like they’re less than and is demanding, like everybody needs to bow down for him.”
“You’ve worked with him before?” YN asks Elaina, it sounds like she was speaking from personal experience and there was still annoyance in her tone as she recounts how she knows the captain.
“Unfortunately, I worked at Coastal Airlines for a few years before I moved here. Styles is probably around forty years old so he’s been here quite a while now. I didn’t have many experiences with him but I swear he made at least one attendant cry each flight.”
“Did he make you cry?” YN responds because that seemed to be what Elaina was insinuating as her friend picked at the foam of her cheap coffee cup.
“Once,” Elaina nods with a pursed smile, “I accidentally turned off the seatbelt sign right before major turbulence which was totally on me but Harry lost his shit on me, he wrote me a formal warning, told me that if i can’t do something as simple as button control that I should be working somewhere ‘more my speed’, and when I started crying - he fucking laughed at me for and told me I was being childish.”
“Maybe he was just having a bad day?” YN tries to justify because why would someone be so cruel for no reason, it didn’t make sense unless he was perpetually miserable.
Justine finally jumps into the conversation, “He has a bad day everyday. He usually sits down at the hotel bars for an hour or so after check-in. I’ve watched stewardess’ try to hit on him, get him to take them back to his room because even though he’s a dickhead, he’s fucking hot. A lot of the time, he just turns them down but sometimes he’ll toy with them. He’ll flirt, buy them a drink, and then laugh at them because they thought they had a chance with him.”
It’s official, YN already hates this Captain Styles, he sounds like a chauvinist pig and she hopes that she can just manage to keep a safe distance from him.
YN misses the social cues of the situation, she misses the way the other girls tense up, she misses the warning glances that they’re trying to silently give her, she misses the way their eyes widen at the doorway.
YN’s back was turned toward the door so she couldn’t see who walked in, didn’t even hear anyone, and shakes her head with a soft chuckle, “I don’t care how good looking Captain Styles is, he can fuck off if he thinks he can be an asshole to me. I’m not in the mood.”
And she was expecting some type of response from her fellow coworkers but instead they are absolute dead silence, sitting stock still, and looking down at their laps.
“Is that right?” A deep voice asks from behind her, it nearly sent chills down her spine at the tone, cool and collected but the sharp, authoritative edge was not going unnoticed by her.
YN squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment, already having a sinking feeling that it was none other than the captain, her new boss, behind her and had just heard her brave declaration.
She stands up, straightening out the pleats of her freshly ironed dress, and turns towards him.
YN feels her breathing stutter when she finally comes face to face with the man who no one has had anything good to say about and she feels a weird flip in her stomach.
They said he was hot.
But that really didn’t do any justice to the man standing in front of her.
He was hot, sure but he was devastatingly, intimidatingly handsome.
She’d never been so intimidated by someone based on their appearance alone, he was so beautiful that it was startling as he stared her down with a bored expression.
He was tall, lean but not in a scrawny way, it was obvious that he had lithe muscle on his body that was hidden away under his uniform, and said uniform fit him like an absolute glove.
Captain Styles had cropped brown curls with individual gray hairs scattered within, mostly near his temples which was the one of the only signs of his age, his eyes were a piercing green surrounding by dark lashes, and his lips were puffy, pouty, and currently in a frown.
YN realizes that he’s expecting a response and in that moment, despite his good looks, she decides that she’s not going to let herself be treated like shit because she has had enough of that from other men in her life lately.
She knows it’s only appropriate to apologize but she’s not going to grovel for his forgiveness, he could hate her because she already disliked him, and so she swallows her pride for the moment.
“I apologize, Captain Styles,” YN says clearly, not letting once ounce of anxiety slip into her tone, “That was inappropriate and uncalled for. It won’t happen again. I look forward to working with you.”
He narrows his eyes at her, studying her face and not letting the scowl leave his, its like he’s trying to look at her soul with how intent his stare is, and then he’s replying, “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same. It doesn’t seem like such a pleasure to work with you. However, I am hopeful you’re not as unpersonable with customers as you are with your superiors.”
YN’s has to stop herself from letting her mouth drop open at the harshness of his words, a ball of red hot fury beginning to build in her as she drops the faux smile from her face.
“I don’t think you have much room to talk about being unpersonable, Captain Styles,” YN tells him, making sure the words sound soft and just casual conversation even though it’s anything but - she can feel the eyes of her coworkers bulging at the confrontation.
Harry smiles brightly, his bright white teeth flashing almost dangerously at her words, “Even though it’s adorable, the attitude won’t last long. Not if you want to keep your job.”
YN doesn’t let that worry her, she could always find a job with another airline, there’s always a need and for some reason, she decides that she wants to pick a fight with this man when she’s never done something like this before.
“I’m good at my job and I’m friendly,” YN shrugs like she’s unbothered, she catches Harry’s fist clench tightly at his side in annoyance but it’s the only sign of it in his body, “I think you may be able to take some lessons from me because the latter seems pretty difficult for you, Captain.”
Harry’s eyes are dark, laser focused on her and no one else in the room, and her words don’t change his facial expression, he simply states to the room at large, “Change of plans for the flight to Heathrow,” He takes a minute to look at her name badge, “I would like Perry and YN to switch positions on today’s flight. The plane is boarding in fifteen minutes, please be prepared to board and prepare for takeoff.”
With that, he’s turning on his heel and striding right back out the door.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Elaina hisses as she smacks YN’s arm, “What the hell were you thinking?”
YN doesn’t really know what got into her, that man just brought something out in her that made her want to fight, to be a little be feisty, and get under his skin when no one else could.
“I wasn’t really,” YN admits with a nervous laugh, flopping back down on the sofa, “He’s just so arrogant, cocky. Men like that get on my nerves and I’m not going to let him treat me however he wants.”
“I have to say I’m relieved I’m no longer on cockpit duty but I’m sorry for you, it’s going to be a long flight,” Perry sighs as she sits up to throw her empty drink away.
Fuck.
“Of course,” YN shakes her head in annoyance, “Of course, he’s going to make me wait on him hand and foot now.”
“Depends, sometimes he really keeps to himself. Especially on the long flights but when he’s on a rampage, he’ll make the whole flight awful. Thanks for that,” Justine snorts but doesn’t actually seem that mad, like she knows YN is going to get the brunt of it.
“Lucky me,” YN responds sarcastically, it was about time they headed out to board.
Paradise had the nicest planes in the game, newest and most expensive, an average seat on board cost no less than a thousand dollars, and everyone had pods instead of normal seating.
It was for long flights, international which YN didn’t mind - she liked getting out of the country, sometimes she got to experience the cities for a day or so, not always.
The cockpit attendant was exactly what it sounded like, they were responsible for communicating with the pilots and then passing that message onto either the passengers or other employees.
They would ask the stewardess to check on things, give them drinks or prepare their food, and give them any updates that may be necessary for them to know.
Most flight attendants want the cockpit because it tended to be the easiest spot, didn’t have to deal with the unruly passengers much, didn’t have to be at their beck and call, and most pilots were pretty low maintances and kept communication to a minimum.
However, everyone seemed to want to face the customers for a ten hour flight than even have to talk to their pilot which wasn’t what YN had considered - it just shows how awful he is and she just subjected herself to it.
-
Takeoff is smooth, after a few minutes, Captain Styles’ voice filters through the intercoms where he discusses the flight, the weather, the time, and cursing altitude before wishing them a good trip.
He doesn’t bother YN until three hours in, pressing the button that signals to her that she is needed in the pit which she punches in the code and sticks her head in where Harry and his co-pilot are.
“Yes, Captain Styles?” YN uses her most professional tone because she truly wasn’t trying to get fired.
“Club soda with lemon,” Is all he responds without looking back, no please or courtesy - it was demand because he could.
“Yes sir,” YN has to make sure it doesn’t come out as sharply as she wants it, he’s already creating an itch under her skin, and its making her want to tell him off again.
She takes her time preparing the drink, no rush to be back which she’s hoping annoys him, and when she steps back into the cockpit, attempting to hand him the beverage - he doesn’t reach for it.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’d actually prefer a raspberry la croiax,” He again doesn’t make any effort to look at her and she swears she can see the slightest smirk at the corner of his lips.
“I’ll take the club soda,” The other man shrugs, taking it off of her hands so that it doesn’t go to waste, oblivious to the obvious tension in the small space.
YN knows that he’s doing it just to fuck with her, its unprofessional and immature but that shouldn’t surprise her with how much people have been warning her about him, right?
She again drags her feet and inhales deeply before reentering, hands out with the drink, and this time Harry reaches for it - she tries not to startle when their fingers brush momentarily, one of his rings bumping her.
“Miss. YN, I know I switched you position last moment,” Harry hums like he’s thoughtful, it actually makes her more irritated than when he’s blunt and cold, it like he’s playing a game right now, “But I think cockpit attendant is most likely the easiest job on this plane. If you cannot even get beverages in a timely manner than maybe you need some additional training or an even easier job.”
YN is absolutely staring daggers into the back of his head, she knows that this is usually when the other women cry or back away with their tail between their legs but YN wasn’t going to do either of those things.
She was going to kill him with kindness.
“Abolstuely, Captain Styles. I apologize for any inconvenience, I know you have such a hard job and I’m making it difficult. I’ll try better in then future, thank you for your feedback,” The fake enthusiasm is dripping into her voice and it’s obvious how much acting is put in to her demeanor.
She preens a bit when she realizes that it catches him at least a little of guard, his smirk faltering for a moment before his eyes narrow again and his nostrils are flaring, “Get out my pit.”
And YN has to contain her giggle, overjoyed that she’d managed to irk him, and it seems to do the trick as he doesn’t request anymore beverages for the rest of the flight and doesn’t interact with her nearly at all.
-
YN can at least give it to Captain Styles that it was a smooth flight, as they were landing and finally able to exit the aircraft - all the girls looked at her with wide eyes, most likely expecting it to look like she had cried recently but she hadn’t.
It was a tradition to dine together when they landed in a new country since Paradise made them a team and always paired them together, they were also at the same hotel which worked out for them to hang out.
Elaina, YN, Perry, and Justine were all sat in the hotel restaurant gossiping about different attendants and recounting atrocious customers when out of the corner of her eye, she sees Harry walk into.
He had changed from his uniform into a pair of loose black slacks and fitted black t-shirt as he headed straight toward the bar, he didn’t glance around to see his surroundings and slid onto a stool.
“He has no right to be that attractive when he’s that much of an asshole,” Justine grumbles, crossing her arms dramatically, “Almost every pilot sleeps around. Why is he the only one who doesn’t?”
“You don’t think he’s ever slept with one?” YN asks curiously because she doesn’t put it above Harry to do one night stands and then act like the girl didn’t even exist the next day.
“I think he was married at some point,” Perry shrugs, “And from what I know he didn’t cheat on his wife like most pilot’s do. I don’t know what happened but Brandy said she heard Harry tell one of his copilots that he was single a year back or something. So they must have gotten a divorce.”
That surprised YN, she knew that many people who worked for airlines and travel constantly tended to do quite a bit of sleeping around because they weren’t home often with their significant others.
There was a lot of cheating in this line of work.
So once again, it did throw YN through a loop that he wasn’t known as one of the serial cheaters like most pilots are - that’s not saying he didn’t cheat on his wife, he could have done it much more secretly but it’s hard to keep it that much under wraps.
“I’d divorce him too. I can’t imagine he treated his wife too well,” Justine adds in with a sip of her margarita and a chuckle, “Despite how handsome and charming he can be, he seems like a bit of a loner.”
YN was not going to feel bad for him.
The rest of the dinner goes well, Harry doesn’t turn to look at them once but he has to know they’re there - Perry and Justine got a bit rowdy towards the end of the night and their giggles were echoing through the room.
When they file out, YN glances at Harry which she doesn’t know why, and is startled to see that he’s staring at her through the mirror opposite the bar, only for a moment before he purposefully looks away.
-
“Fucking shit,” YN curses loudly in the empty bathroom, she’d only been back from dinner for not more than fifteen minutes and was about to hop in the shower when dropped her hairdryer right on the top of her foot as she unpacked her toiltery bag.
It was already showing signs of discoloration and there was a nice sized abrasion across the top - it was absolutely throbbing and the shower was forgotten.
She had showered before the flight and wasn’t too dirty which meant she was just going to wait until the morning.
Instead she slips into her pajamas which consisted of a plain black tank top and a pair of cotton shorts that had sushi rolls all over them - a gift from Elaina after a girls night of bad sushi which resulted in food poisoning in Japan.
YN had a bad habit of walking around barefoot, it didn’t matter whether it was her house, the woods, the hotel hallways - she’d grown up in the country and it was just a habit to not wear shoes when she didn’t have too.
She grabs the ice bucket from the countertop to go fill it with ice, she could wrap some up in a towel and ice her foot - hopefully to prevent it from swelling too much.
They had a flight back to the states tomorrow and it was another ten hour trip, they were required to wear a specific kitten-heel shoe and she knew a swollen foot would feel awful in it.
It was nearly eleven at night, she didn’t think there would be many people patrolling the hallway, and wandered out of her room down the corridor - following the signs that guided her to the ic machine.
She passes the elevators and continues down the row of room when she hears it beep and the heavy doors open, she doesn’t bother looking back because she’s sure it’s just someone going to their room.
Of course that’s not the fucking case though.
“It’s pretty disgusting to be walking around barefoot in a hotel,” A voice from behind her states with clear disdain in his low tone, “Then you get into a clean bed with filthy feet?”
YN internally groans because of course it’s him.
“Mind your own business, Captain Styles. We’re off the clock,” YN retorts back with more bite than she’s had all day as she continues to walk albeit at a slower than usual pace.
“Why are you limping? You weren’t limping earlier at the resturaunt,” Harry asks pointedly, his voice hasn’t softened and it’s like he is literally demanding the answers out of her, not asking.
Huh.
He was paying attention to her earlier.
Interesting.
“I dropped my hairdryer on my foot. I’m going to get ice for it,” YN can’t help the low but audible gasp that leaves her mouth when she steps down and a sharp pain shoots up through her already tender foot but then she feels the ice bucket being ripped out of her hand, “Hey! What the hell-“
“Quiet the fuck down, will you?” Harry hissed as he steps in front of her, cutting off her path, there was still quite a long way to go until the ice dispenser and she’d like to get this over with so she can rest her foot, “Go back to your room. I’ll bring the ice to you. What room number are you?”
He doesn’t sound like he’s doing it because he feels bad for her, his tone is making it seem like she’s being annoying and an inconvenience and if he gets her the ice then she won’t be such a bother to him - his facial expression isn’t saying anything different than that either.
“I can get my own ice,” YN tries to reach for the handle but he jerks it away childishly.
“I didn’t ask you whether you could or not. With how long it took you to bring me a fucking drink by the time you hobble back to your hotel room, the sun will be rising. Don’t make me ask again, what room number are you?” Harry grits out because he’s definitely annoyed but YN doesn’t know whether he has another state of being besides that.
“Three twenty seven,” YN mumbles defeatedly, she wasn’t going to stand in the hallway and argue any longer about a stupid bucket of ice, it pains her but she manages to say, “Thank you.”
Harry stares at her for a moment longer, frown etched onto his face, and he looks like he’s about to say something nice but then his eyebrows furrow once again and says, “Be more careful. I don’t want to have to deal with a new stewardess because you can’t walk and put some fucking shoes on.”
Then he’s sauntering off without waiting for her response and she can’t help but just look at his broad back for a moment in disbelief at what an asshole he is but there is at least some type of kindness underneath….maybe she’s imagining things because she’s tired and in pain.
There’s a knock on her door a few minutes later, she thought he’d be back with the ice sooner and she started to believe that he was purposely taking long because of what she did with his drinks on the flight earlier.
So when she swings open the door, she already has a major attitude as she snatches the bucket of ice out of his hand and scowls at him, “I know I took a long time with your drinks earlier but I’m actually in pain, its really rude of you to -“
Harry extends his hand, showing that he has a bottle of aspirin in it, “I went down to the little shop in the lobby and got this for you, didn’t know if you traveled with it but should help the swelling and pain for tomorrow’s flight.”
And YN actually feels bad because that was nice of him to do and so she sheepishly takes it, “I’m sorry I know we got off on the wrong foot. I just thoug-“
“I’m not going to be your fucking friend, save the apology or whatever you’re about to say. I do not care,” Harry shakes his head as his hands go back to his sides, “I’m looking out for my crew, nothing more.”
YN thinks she’s starting to see past his tough guy exterior even if she’s only known him for a few hours at this point.
“You bring every stewardess aspirin?” YN shoots back with a raised eyebrow.
Harry grits his teeth, jaw clenching, “I haven’t met one as clumsy or unbearable as you before.”
“It’s an honor to be the most unbearable one you’ve met in all your years of being a pilot,” YN flutters her eyelashes at him but there’s so much tension between them that she can almost taste it, she’d never felt this with someone before, “I look forward to living up to my title.”
It surprises her when Harry steps forward, their chests nearly touching, and he is looking down at her, “I’m not someone you want to fuck with, do you understand me? Listen to your little friends when they tell you about me, it’s all true.”
“I’m not scared of you,” YN shakes her head defiantly, crossing arms and bumping his chest just barely in the process but he doesn’t move back yet.
“I never said anything about being scared of me,” Harry responds almost conversationally, if he leaned forward just a bit more their lips would be connecting and….
And what the fuck.
No, YN, No.
“I don’t understand why you’re such a miserable asshole,” YN responds tightly, trying to reign in her thoughts, “But you’re going to have a hell of a time trying to make me fucking bow to you.”
Harry doesn’t like that, not one bit because he nearly snarls, and bites out, “You’re not going to last long on my crew. I’ll make fucking sure of that. I won't fire you but by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to quit.”
YN finally snaps at that, this arguement clearly going no where, and she would have thrown the aspirin back at him but she actually did need it so as she reaches for the door handle to close it, she makes sure to let him know, “Fuck you.”
Harry's face transforms into a sickeningly sweet smile, dimples popping in his cheeks as he steps out of the room and into the hallway, “It’s been a lovely first day working with you, Miss YN. If you want to be intimidating, you might want to try it when you’re not wearing pajama shorts with sushi rolls on them.”
And with that, he’s disappearing down the hall.
-
As expected, the next day YN’s foot was swollen which made getting her feet into the kitten heels exceptionally hard this morning, her foot was already pulsating in pain by the time they got to the airport.
When they’re in the staff room, checking any updates for the flight, there’s a collective sigh of relief when positions are posted before they all look over at YN, she doesn’t even have to look to know what they’re thinking.
“You really pissed him off,” Elaina states as she frowns at her friend, “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Styles put the same attendant on cockpit for two flights in a row.”
YN was relieved in all honesty because she was going to be able to sit more than the others and she’d rather not be on her feet for hours on end with her bruising in the just the very beginning of the healing phase.
“It’s because I’m not going to take his bullshit,” YN responds with another sip of her strong coffee, “I can see why he makes people cry, he’s a jerk but I'm not going to let him win with me. He gets on my last nerve so I’m going to make sure to get on his.”
“And if he fires you from his crew?” Perry asks and it’s clear that she’s trying to tell YN to cool it with the attitude because they really don’t want to see their friends lose her job.
YN almost spills about the conversation her and Harry had last night, how he doesn’t want anybody new on his flights which makes her somewhat confident that he won't get rid of her easily but she wasn't going to tell her friends about that interaction.
Instead she tries to come off as nonchalant as possible when she shrugs her shoulders, “So be it. I’m not going to kiss his ass for this job.”
Elaina and Justine are giving her the same disapproving looks like they don’t want to see the Rama unfold which will most likely end in YN getting the boot as it was much easier to replace a flight attendant than a pilot.
-
It must be tradition for Harry to come into the staff room before the flights to let them know that boarding is happening soon and if there’s anything that they need to be aware of.
When he walks in today, he notices how the others straighten up and sit more proper than they were before, giving the captain their full attention and YN can’t help but roll her eyes.
She knows it's outwardly rude but she doesn’t put her phone away when he begins to speak about the potential weather hazards and turbulence that may occur on the upcoming flight.
YN wants to smile because she can feel the daggers that Harry is boring into her as he speaks and she blatantly lets him know how uninterested she is in what he has to say.
After he is done speaking, he asks if there’s any questions or anything that the staff needs and they all respond pretty much in unison saying ‘ no Captain’ everyone except YN.
YN has never, not once been so insubordinate at work, she fucking thrived on being a model employee and for the life of her, she could not explain the brattiness that Harry brought out in her.
She was having fun making him angry and she’s never been that type of person, it was like she was also enjoying his attention even though it was negative but YN wouldn’t admit that.
It seems pretty easy to rile him up, get him on-edge, his bullshit tolerance was seemingly low which made it easy for YN to succeed.
“Miss YN, I’d like to see you privately. Now,” Harry orders with no budge, he hasn’t raised his voice but the words are distinct and pronounced.
“She’s just having a bad day,” Elaina, always the good friend, tries to justify because she’s definitely afraid that YN is about to get fired, “She doesn’t usu-“
“Did I ask you?” Harry snaps at the women, his eyes fiery now with confrontation, “Did I ask for your opinion? I think I can do my job just fine without your input, stewardess.”
He managed to make the job title seem less than or demeaning in the way it came out but Elaina’s eyes go wide in surprise and she instantly quiets back down.
“If you find it necessary to try to tell me how to manage my crew, you can start looking for another airline to work for,” Harry threatens but his gaze is already back on YN, her heart absolutely sinks when she hears Elaina start to sniffle to hold back tears.
That was the normal effect that he had on others, a few really harsh and threatening words would make them cry because they were scared of him and his wrath.
YN pats Elaina’s thigh, in a silent ‘thank you’ for trying to stick up for her but she pushes herself off the couch, quickly hiding the grimace when her foot reminds her it’s injured and grabs the handle of her heavy luggage.
“Fifteen minutes,” Harry tells the rest of them before he’s going back out the door but this time with YN in tow, again slower than usual as she’s trying to manage this bruised foot in heels.
Harry doesn’t take her far, just down the hall to an empty conference room and shuts the door - she wants to smile with how angry he seems to be but she also hates how handsome he was when he was like this.
His jaw was clenched but it showed off how defined and cut it was, his puffy lips were pouty and a bit swollen from biting them, and he made his shoulders as broad as possible like he was trying to puff up in defense.
“I think it’s a fucking record,” Harry almost growls as he crosses his arms, putting his hat on the table, “I don’t think I’ve ever despised a stewardess as quickly as you. How have you gotten anywhere in life with that spoiled attitude?”
“I could ask the same,” YN raises her eyebrow because he doesn’t have room to talk on attitude, “I’m not normally like this. You just bring out the absolute worst in me.”
“Good to know I have such an effect on you,” Harry smiles smugly, his teeth gleaming and those same dimples popping, “That I can get you so worked up.”
It definitely had a double meaning laced in those words.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” YN laughs like he’s told the funniest joke, “You’re not as great as you think you are. I’m not impressed.”
And bingo.
That must strike a nerve with him.
YN can already tell nobody ever tells him that.
His teasing smile drops into something stormier, “Cut the bullshit now. When I’m talking, you listen and pay attention, you’re not some silly little teenager who can’t take a moment away from her phone. I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to be disrespected so blatantly in front of my crew.”
YN’s insides sorta twist at that because when he lays it out like that, it was really fucking rude of her and just because they’re having issues doesn’t give her the right to be so outwardly disrespectful in front of the crew.
She actually means it when she says, “I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”
Harry’s eyebrows raise like he’s surprised that she sincerely apologized but it relaxes him a bit after the apology, shoulders dropping just the slightest, and YN’s mind starts to drift on what his broad shoulders look like underneath the perfectly pressed uniform…
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
But god, even if YN couldn’t stand his personality, she really couldn’t deny how fucking attracted she was to him, it would be hard not to with how beautiful he is.
It helps to know that he doesn’t sleep with people he works with which means that she could fully keep this a fantasy.
“See you can be an obedient little puppy,” Harry lets the condescending tone lace through his words.
YN has to clench her fists by her side to avoid smacking the ever living shit out of him.
“Go fuck yourself,” YN hisses because he’s now managed to completely piss her off, “I take back my god damn apology. You absolute douchebag.”
Harry smiles again, eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights because he got the reaction he wanted out of her, and watches in amusement when YN grabs her luggage handle and though she can’t storm out of the room as she’d like with her foot, she exits without another word.
When she’s a bit down the hall, she stops, leaning against the wall as removes her shoe, massaging at the tender skin that was already pulsing from being in the heel.
It felt good to have it off for a moment but of course, Harry decides to come the same way down the hall which makes YN cut her rest short and slip back on her heel without looking at him.
As she starts back down the hallway, almost like yesterday night, the handle of her suitcase is pried from her hand by none other than Harry as he strolls down the hall, “What the fuc-“
“Keep your voice down,” Harry chides sharply, taking the duffle off her shoulder and swinging it over hers, “We’ll never make it to board on time with you limping around like this. C’mon, I don’t like being late and you’re going to make me.”
YN’s argument dies on her tongue because it’s actually very nice of him to be lugging her suitcase and duffel which they don’t say anything else but when they get inside the plane - Harry tucks them away for her too.
She’s relieved none of her friends are on board yet because she knew they would have a ton of questions if they saw what just happened.
And YN would not have a fucking clue how to explain it.
-
The next three months go on basically the same since being on the same flight crew with Harry, they would constantly go at it before flights, Harry would drag her into a private room and they’d argue a bit before he’d take her luggage to the terminal for her.
They never interacted at the hotel restaurant or bar but they happened to bump into each other a lot as YN made it a habit to get ice at night around the same time and they both never mentioned how Harry was magically coming up to his room at that time and would walk to the ice machine and back to her room together.
As time went on, the night walks with Harry, there wasn’t always much conversation, occasionally bitching about an unruly passenger or an idiot staff member, quite a bit of jabbing and poking at each other but it didn’t seem so filled with hatred anymore.
It wasn’t a pleasant relationship at all, they were both pretty awful to each other and YN typically ended every conversation they had with a ‘fuck you’ or some variation of it but now there were some not so hostile moments mixed in between them.
They weren’t friends, not even cordial really but YN knew that she had a closer relationship to Harry than anyone else on the crew and she’d had kept that hidden from her friends.
She didn’t want them to get the wrong impression, she knew they would jump to the conclusion that they were hooking up or that she liked him in that way - it was better to keep it on the down low even if there really wasn’t much to report.
It had been a late flight in, everyone had eaten one of the lackluster meals on the plane, and headed up to their hotel room the moment they landed to go to sleep.
YN was on the same boat, not bothering to get the unnecessary ice tonight, and she’s just stepped into her room when her phone buzzes with a text message from her friend back home.
Micah: What a dick. I didn’t even know he was in a new relationship, let alone that serious. [image attachment]
YN opens the conversation to a screenshot from Noah’s instagram, she’d blocked him after he refused to let her see the dogs anymore, and it was a picture of his most recent post.
He was holding a girl she didn’t recognize, her legs wrapped around Noah’s hips and her left hand held up to their face where they’re kissing, and a prominent diamond sat on her finger.
The caption was something sickeningly sweet about her saying ‘yes’ and how excited he is for the rest of their lives together.
They hadn’t even been broken up for an entire year yet.
One of the main reasons that they broke up in the first place was because after six years, YN was ready to settle down and get married but he said that he just didn’t want that right now and he wasn’t sure if he ever really wanted to get married.
It turns out that he just really didn’t want to marry her.
God, she was over him but the rejection still fucking stung.
She deletes the photo from the conversation so she doesn’t have to look at it any longer and she can’t go back to hyperfixate on it later but she felt like a bus just hit her suddenly as she sat in her empty hotel room.
YN wipes her eyes roughly, refusing to let herself cry over it, and instead, she does something she typically never does while she’s traveling for work - she slips on her shoes and heads right down to the hotel bar to get drunk.
The flight the next day wasn’t until noon so she didn’t have to roll out of bed super early and she just wanted to feel numb right now which alcohol had a great way of doing.
It was a bit busy for a weeknight, quite a few businessmen scattered around the lounge, a few couples, and a few lone people like herself when she sits down on a bar stool and orders Long Island.
YN wasn’t a light weight per se but it really didn’t take her much to be feeling good and by her third one, she was feeling warm and fuzzy, not as awful as she felt an hour earlier.
She was drunk, not to the point of blacking out or being belligerent but enough that she was ready to curl into bed and have a night long sleep and pray not to have a nasty hangover.
YN’s just ordered her fourth, a bit surprised that the bartender allowed it but she wasn’t showing any sign of being smashed, and then someone slid up beside her, close to where their shoulders brushed.
It was stupid but momentarily she wished it was Harry, thought it would be him but she frowns when it's one of the businessmen from the lounge that is grinning at her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks even though he can see that she has a completely full one right in front of her.
“I’m good, thank you,” YN tells him without much kindness in her tone to let him know that she’s not interested in whatever he wants from her but that doesn’t seem to deter her.
“C’mon, just one? It’d be a crime not to buy a drink for someone so gorgeous,” He lays it on hard, he wasn’t sitting and he was too much in her space for her liking.
“I said no,” YN replies firmly, it was obvious in her body language that he was making her uncomfortable but he really didn’t seem to care.
“Are you married? What’s the big fuckin’ deal? I don’t see a ring on your finger, just have a drink-“ The man pushes, angrier as he realizes that he’s being rejected, YN ignores the wedding band on his finger.
“Is there an issue here?” A startling loud voice states from behind them and YN slumps in relief when she realizes that it was Harry.
“Who the fuck are you?” The businessman retorts, puffing up his chest and posturing like he was ready for a fight.
“Her husband,” Harry lies easily, he’s not as worked up as the man he’s confronted but he doesn't need to be - his presence and the way he holds himself is ten times more intimidating than the other man.
The businessman looks between the two of them before rolling his eyes, snatching his freshly ordered beer off the counter and going back to the table with his friends.
“Thanks for that,” YN tells him as she goes to take a sip of her drink.
Harry doesn’t allow her, intercepting the glass and putting it back on the bar, “You’re drunk. I think you’ve had enough to drink. It’s time for you to get to bed.”
YN frowns at the full drink, she can’t help the spoiled whine in the back of her throat, “But I want it.”
Harry surprisingly lets out a soft laugh, his hand coming to her shoulder and his thumb rubs a circle for a moment before he’s pulling back - realizing what he did but doesn’t lose his smile, “I know you do, seem to be really enjoying them but I think it’s time for you to get back to your room.”
“Mm, a few more sips,” YN coos which isn’t her normal behavior but she was drunk, she couldn’t be blamed for being a bit flirty with the prettiest man she’d ever seen, “S’good and sugary, make me forget.”
Harry’s brow furrows, “That’s an awful reason to drink. What are you trying to forget?”
YN shakes her head as she begins to pull out her wallet, grabbing a few bills but she stops when Harry directly hands the bartender enough to cover it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” YN mumbles because she doesn’t know why he was being nice to her.
“I know I didn’t, come on,” Harry replies, he gently holds her shoulder as she clumsily gets off the bar still and when she stumbles, Harry wraps his arm around her waist but just barely touching her to guide her, “You’re a sloppy drunk, aren’t you?”
YN pouts at that as they leave the bar, “I don’t drink a lot. I don’t think I’ve gotten drunk in the last year or two.”
“Why now?” Harry asks as he presses the button up when YN starts to tilt - the hand on her back finally moves to her hip, gripping her with more pressure to keep her standing.
YN snorts unattractively, her eyes were getting bleary and heavy, she was getting tired which happened when she drank liquor.
“Like you care why I’m sad,” YN scoffs as they’re stepping into the lift, he leans forward to press the number to their floor.
Harry pauses for a moment, he doesn’t tell her he cares but instead repeats more firmly, “Tell me what’s going on. I’m sick of asking.”
“My ex just got engaged,” YN whispers and fuck, she feels tears begin to prick at her eyes as she say it out loud.
“He’s your ex for a reason, why are you upset?” Harry responds but he doesn’t seem judgemental but curious.
“I was with him for six years. We broke up two months into this job. He said he didn’t want to be tied down, he didn’t think he ever wanted to get married, and he didn’t want me waiting around for a ring and babies,” YN swallows as she wipes at her cheeks, mascara was definitely starting to rub, “Less than a year later, he’s already proposed to a girl he barely knows. I don’t know why I wasn’t good enough for him. I was a good partner.”
Harry’s silent as the elevator goes up, his hand doesn’t leave her hip even though she’s not swaying but she appreciates it's ground her and makes everything seem a little less worse.
“I’m sorry,” Harry finally says and he doesn’t sound like he’s being condescending - it actually sounds like he means it, “I cannot imagine what that feels like to go through. I can’t imagine why he would do that. You’re smart, intelligent-“
“Don’t act like you don’t hate me, Harry. Just to make me feel better,” YN butts in because she doesn’t need him to butter her up when she knows he doesn’t mean those things.
“I don’t hate you,” Harry’s voice is deep but quieter than it usually is, “You get on my nerves nearly every fuckin’ second of the day but that doesn’t mean that I don’t see how smart, quick-witted, beautiful you are.”
YN bites her lip because she didn’t realize that she needed to hear that, it’s been a long while since she’s got a compliment, and in about the year leading up to ending her relationship with Noah - he’d never say anything nice like this.
“Thank you, I-I haven’t heard anything nice like that in a while,” YN tells him as she continues to swipe away tears and look down at her feet because she can feel Harry’s eye watching her and she’s embarrassed she’s responding this way.
“You should be hearing those things everyday,” He sighs and squeezes the plush of her hip kindly, guiding her again when the elevator at or door opens, “I know it’s a bit ironic considering our style of communication but I do mean those things.”
YN tells him her room number and they begin walking down the left of the hallway, her mind is fuzzy but feels a little more clear after their conversation, “It’s fine, I’m just as bad and I started it for the most part. I don’t expect to hear those things from you.”
As they wind up at her door, Harry steps back and puts his hands into his pockets, “I should be nicer to you but I hate to admit I enjoy getting under your skin and making you angry. You’re quite pretty when you're pissed at me.”
And YN’s mind goes to insecurity right away because she knows that Harry doesn’t like her even though he said he doesn’t hate her, he has no reason to be this nice to her and even though they’ve had moments through the past months of niceness …
She doesn’t know what makes her blurt this out and she wishes she could swallow it as soon as it came out of her mouth.
“Are you trying to be all nice to sleep with me or something? Then you’ll be a dick again once you get what you want?” YN’s words are just a bit slurred but hold a somewhat curious, somewhat accusing tone as she watches him.
The small smile that had been on his face for their conversation drops and in its place was a frigid scowl and before he even spoke, she knew that she had offended him but the way his shoulders tense up and he takes another step back from her.
“You know what’s fucked up? I finally try to put myself out there just the littlest bit for you and all you can think is that I want to fuck you? You think that lowly of me?” Harry’s soft whispers were gone and back was the cold, emotionless bravado that echoed off the empty hallway walls, “That I was just trying to use you?”
“I-Harry, I didn-no, I didn’t,” YN begins to stumble because unlike their usual back and forth arguing that dissipates in meaningless banter, this wasn’t that - she had actually upset him and that was never her intention.
“Save it your bullshit apology,” Harry replies to cut her off, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in how idiotic he’s been, “I’m done trying if this is where it fucking gets me. I knew it wasn’t fucking worth it.”
And with that, he’s storming away from her without another word and he doesn’t look back as she stares after him dumbfounded at what the fuck just happened.
The flight the next day home, Harry puts her back on the back crew which was the further position away from the cockpit who dealt with the consumers in the back of the aircraft.
Her friends congratulate her on getting away from the pit because they didn’t know anything about how Harry and hers relationship has developed but all she could feel was anxiety about how much she’d fucked up.
He doesn’t come into the staff room before takeoff and is already in the pit when the stewardess’ board, YN doesn’t see him until the crew is heading off the plane.
Harry makes it clear he’s looking for no interaction as he hustles through the terminal with long strides.
-
They have a three day break and during that time, YN isn’t even thinking about Noah and his new engagement that originally had her so torn up in the first place.
All she could think about was Harry.
She had a wishful thinking that the time off would heal the wounds and they’d be back to normal but she knew that wasn’t the case when Harry put her again on the back crew.
She did not see him throughout the flight once again and stayed behind while the stewardess got off the aircraft when they landed which meant YN knew she wasn’t going to see him.
He makes a habit of this for the next three flights as well before YN can’t take it anymore, knowing that he’s actively avoiding her because she’d hurt his feelings.
He didn’t come to the hotel bar, he didn’t meet her in the hallway for their ice run, and it was more devastating than YN though which made her come to the frightening revelation that she might have a crush on the man she’d been mostly enemies with for over six months now.
She missed interacting with him, she missed fighting with him.
She missed the way his jaw clenched when she made him irritated, the way he looked like he wanted to reach out and manhandle her when she purposely ignored him when he called for her on flights and he had to come out of the pit, or the way he would squeeze her wrist lightly sometimes as a thank you when she would bring him a drink.
YN didn’t want to admit to herself that she felt something, maybe it wasn’t full blown feelings but just a smidge of fondness for the grumpy bastard.
And maybe part of it was that she felt special, Harry didn’t soften for anyone else but her and even though she didn’t tell her friends about it - she knew they were suspicious that YN was constantly on pit duty or that she hasn’t gotten fired after how sassy she can be to her captain.
After the fourth flight of no sign of communication, YN decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands because she didn’t know what she wanted with Harry but she didn’t expect it to suck this much when he didn’t engage with her.
They’re in Milan and when Harry doesn’t show up at the hotel bar, well YN wasn’t expecting him to at this point, and she needed to figure out what hotel room he was in.
She’d normally never be so deceptive but she was desperate, she walks straight up to the front desk and tells a bold-face lie to the young receptionist.
“My boss left his phone at the bar,” YN lies, flashing her own phone quickly, “I completely forgot what room he said he was in. Would you be able to tell me?”
The girl doesn’t think anything of it as she looks up the information, letting YN know what room and YN is thanking her before walking determinedly to the elevators.
It’s late by this point, nearing eleven and she was praying that he wasn’t asleep as she stepped up to his door, her heart was pounding out of her chest at the mere thought of being rejected.
It takes a good three minutes before she finally musters up the courage to knock on the door a few times - god, she didn’t even know what she wanted to say to him.
There’s a bit of rustling behind the door, YN wonders if he’s going to open it - there’s no peephole on these ones and her breathing freezes when he swings open the door.
He was in a pair of gray joggers that were low on his hips, the band of his underwear peeking over but the main thing was that he was shirtless and he had tattoos everywhere.
Her brain couldn’t tell if it wanted to focus on memorizing the black ink on his skin or the definition of his stomach, a trail of sparse hair leading from his belly button into his underwear.
Harry doesn’t give anything away from his face, blunt and cold, “Can I help you?”
“I want to say I’m sorry,” YN decides that is the best place to start, “You were kind to me that night and before that even, it wasn’t right over me to insinuate you were doing it for an inappropriate reason.”
“I don’t need a fucking apology, I don’t care,” Harry bites out and YN knows that his guard is a hundred percent up by the way his posture is uncomfortable and defensive.
“You do care,” YN replies surely, “If it hadn’t bothered you, you wouldn’t have been ignoring me for the three weeks. I hurt your feelings and I’m sorry because it wasn’t my intention.”
Harry doesn’t deny it again but he doesn’t admit to it either, instead he grits out, “It doesn’t matter either way.”
“It matters to me,” YN argues back, now getting defensive.
“It shouldn't,” Harry’s voice is back to being louder, firmer.
YN bit her lip for a moment, deciding on how vulnerable she felt like being with the man who showed absolutely none himself, “I’ve missed you these past weeks. I miss fighting with you on the flights, I miss our nightly ice machine walks, and you giving me a hard time in the staff room before takeoff.”
Harry’s lips twitch before he’s pulling them in a tight line, “I accept your apology.”
“Are you done ignoring me?” YN presses because this doesn’t feel resolved and she’s never had the urge to want to touch someone so much.
“For now,” Harry’s lips barely tilt into a smile.
It’s quiet between the two for a long pause, staring at each other, and YN doesn’t know what she wants but she feels like she’s just standing there like an idiot, “Well, goodnight. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
Harry’s eyes dart back up to hers, she realizes that he’d been checking her out, and he doesn’t show any shame in being caught before nodding, “We are. Goodnight.”
YN turns towards her room, the door closing softly behind her but she pauses after a few steps because she’s never been adventurous, she’s never been bold, and she might be making a mistake but fuck, she has to just try.
She’s retracing her steps, knocking on the door harshly, and it was like Harry hadn’t gone back further into the room yet because he opens it up quickly.
They don’t say anything before YN steps forward, heart pounding in her ears, and leans up - pressing their lips together and letting her hand rest on his cheek.
It flips a switch in him because he’s pulling her into his room, shutting and locking the door before walking her right into the entryway wall - his lips were persistent and taking over as he coaxes her mouth open to lick into it.
He knocks her hand away from his face but only so he can take hers between his hands, cupping her jaw on each side tightly as he moves her head how he wants to deepen the kiss.
YN’s never been kissed like this in her life, she’d never been more aroused either.
Harry presses his hips forward until their pelvises are pressed together, he wants her to feel how hard he’s getting as pressed against her and bites at her bottom lip.
YN whines at that, her hands coming up to roam over his chest, it was so defined and muscular, not what she was used to - Harry was hard and firm where Noah had been soft and plusher.
When she thumb brushes over his nipple, his pec twitches and she has to do it a few more times until she gets her fill.
He wasn’t shy when he sucked on her tongue, licked at the roof of her mouth, and made her feel like he wanted to feel every single part of her as he moved down to the hem of her shirt.
He pulls back with his lips a delicious bubblegum pink, swollen and shiny from their spit, “What do you want? Do you want me to stop?”
That’s the last thing she wants.
YN shakes her head, “Don’t want to stop, please.”
Harry smiles at her, it’s a softer expression than she’s ever seen from him and he leans forward, nuzzling her cheek for a moment before dragging her in for another long kiss.
“Can I undress you then, pup?” Harry murmurs against her lips as he starts to bring up the bottom of her shift but slowly enough that if she told him no, he would stop.
“Please, just want you,” YN agrees breathlessly when she tries to move to the button of her jeans, Harry knocks her hand away with an annoyed grunt and glare.
“Let me do everything, I just want you to enjoy it. Don’t worry, you’ll get all of me. I’ll give you anything you fuckin’ want,” Harry tells her as he sheds her top, then bra.
He looks torn for a second like he can’t decide whether he wants to play with her chest or continue until she’s fully bare but he decides against the latter, cursing as he pulls down her pants, “Knew you’d have the cutest tits.”
“You’ve thought about this?” YN questions as he moves to discard her underwear.
“Of course I fucking have, it’s all I’ve thought about for the past month. No, I wasn’t doing any of those things to get in your pants but it didn’t mean I didn’t want to fuck you,” Harry’s voice is getting deeper and raspier as he’s gets more and more turned on, “On the bed.”
Noah’s the only guy that YN’s ever been with.
It was uncomfortable to have such a devastatingly attractive man standing in front of her when she didn’t feel anywhere as sexy as him.
The worry only stays for a moment because when she’s spread out in the middle of his bed, he’s tracing every inch of her skin, and moans loudly as he moves to squeeze himself once, “I think this is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. God, you’re like a little angel, aren’t you?”
“Come here,” YN whimpers, reaching out for him because she needs to touch him and he obliges eagerly, he’s tugging off his joggers but keeping his underwear on as he crawls over the bed and on top of her.
Harry finds her lips again, dropping his hips to grind against her center, and it feels so fucking good, just this contact through two layers of clothing and it all like a new experience to her - she never felt this with Noah.
Harry’s mouth moves but he’s not just kissing, he’s licking at her, sucking, and biting all over her jawline then neck until he gets to her chest where he lets a pleased hum when he cups them.
“Puppy, how are you this perfect, hm?” Harry coos as he leans down to graze his teeth against her hard nipple, “Pretty little thing coming to my room, begging for me to touch her, and then you show off this body? Maybe I should ignore you more often.”
YN turns her head and bites meanly at his hand which makes him chuckle and kiss the curve of her breast in apology before he’s wrapping his lips around one, fingers coming to pinch and roll the other one.
“Fuck,” YN gasps because he definetly knows how to use his mouth and her back arches involuntarily, pressing herself further into him, and trying to grind her hips up against where he’s hard, wishing he could slip between her folds like this.
Harry leaves them wet and hard as his lips continue down the center of sternum, down on her belly and she’d never thought it would feel good to have someone nip and suck at her plush but it did.
When he starts to move even further down, closer to her pubic bone, she freezes which Harry can tell right away by the hand on his shoulder tightens and her legs still from where they were restless.
“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” Harry asks with concern as he sits up more on his elbows to make eye contact with her - she didn’t know how he managed to look so cute and so obscene at the same time with worried eyes and puffy lips.
“You-I just,” YN stutters and she wants to smack herself for being an idiot because she should have known that it would lead like this but softly, she says, “You don’t have to…you know, do that.”
“Do what?” Harry replies with confusion, his fingers were still tracing mindless patterns on her tummy, thumb smoothing at the skin.
YN groans in embarrassment, she could feel her face getting hot, “You know…I’m just saying you don’t have to…,” Her eyes dart down to her lower half so that maybe he gets the hint.
“What? Eat your cunt?” Harry clarifies and of course he’d be this fucking crass in bed, she shouldn’t have expected anything less, “Do you not want me to? If you don’t want me to, I don't have to.”
“It’s not that,” YN wants to crawl into a hole and die.
“You’re acting like it would be a chore to me. I am one hundred percent sure that I’ll get just as much pleasure from tasting you on my tongue, getting my face in your perfect little cunt. Now what’s the issue?”
“You’re going to laugh,” YN mutters and she wishes she would have just kept her stupid mouth shut at this point.
“Tell me now,” He’s gone demanding again, his fingers pressing harder into her skin now.
“I’ve just never had it done to me before,” She admits finally, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over her eyes to hide the absolute embarrassment of it all.
Harry crawls back up on top of her, forcefully moving her arm until they’re making eye contact, “I thought you were in a relationship for six years?”
“I was,” YN sighs as she curls her hand around his neck, “He said that men didn’t really do that often and he told me that he didn’t want to put his mouth on me and I never wanted to make him uncomfortable so we never did that.”
“Your ex is a selfish little prick,” Harry rasps against her lips, his hand moving down until he has his thumb pressed snug up against her clit which makes her twitch, “You get this excited from my thumb? You better not tell me he didn’t give you fingers either.”
“He didn’t want to do that either,” YN mewls when he starts a slow circular motion on her nerves.
“If it was possible, I’d have my mouth on your cunt and you riding my fingers every fucking day of the week,” Harry rumbles as he moves back down her body, “He’s a fucking dickhead who didn’t deserve you for a million different reasons. Do you want me to or no? I will understand either way.”
“Want it, Harry. I want it,” YN nearly slurs with how fucking turned on she is, her hips squirming again, and Harry gives her a dazzling fucking smile as he scotches down the bed.
He’s shouldering her thighs apart even further before he’s gripping the meat of one to keep her knee crooked and open as he groans like he’s getting pleasure from simply looking at her.
“God, I don’t think I’m going to survive this. I’ve never seen something this breathtaking before,” Harry says as he thumbs her folds apart, admiring her for another moment before he’s ducking down to bury his tongue tight up against her clit.
And holy shit.
She didn’t realize that this was what she had been missing.
Her legs try to close around his head but he keeps them spread and his other hand comes down the rest around her middle to keep her hips down.
He knows exactly what to do as he laps fat strokes of his tongue up from her core to her clit, over and over while YN is still relentlessly is trying to grind her hips up.
Harry pulls back which makes YN whine but he simply says, “Should have known what a brat you’d be in bed with how you are at work. Stay still now and let me do what I want to you. I promise it’ll feel good, baby.”
And his voice is so strict, demanding that she does finally relax into his hold which he rewards with fucking his tongue into her.
“M’close, Harry. Feels s’good,” YN moans as her stomach clenches.
“Come on, pup,” Harry coos against her, “Give me what I’ve earned, yeah?”
She’s almost disappointed she feels her orgasm coming because she doesn’t want to be over but Harry’s mouth is practiced and self-assured, he keeps the same pace throughout her orgasm which makes it longer by a few seconds.
YN melts into the mattress, body feeling loose and tingly as she comes down for her high, and her brows furrow when she sees Harry push down his briefs and begin to stroke himself with intent.
YN weakly kicks his thigh with a pout, “Don’t.”
Harry doesn’t stop but he slows down which gives YN a look at just how well endowed he is and to no surprise, mouth-wateringly beautiful.
“Don’t get myself off?”
“Fuck me,” YN breathes out, surprising herself with her boldness.
Harry’s hand stops, “Yeah? You’d let me get you on my cock, puppy? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”
And….
YN wants to preen at the compliment, after feeling like she didn’t deserve anything to hear Harry say that made her stomach flutter even if it was just dirty talk.
“How do you want it?” Harry asks as he comes closer again, ducking down to kiss at her knees, thighs, and he peppers kisses over her mound which feels wildly more intimate than anything she’d ever done with Noah.
“However you want,” YN murmurs shyly because her only experience is Noah and they had a vanilla sex life to say the least, a whole lot of doggy and her riding him so he didn’t have to do any work.
Harry laughs at that, lips vibrating against her belly, “I’ll take you anyway you’ll let me. What do you like most? What makes you come hard?”
YN doesn’t have an answer to this because she’s never had an orgasm from penetrative sex before without her own fingers rushing to get her there so he doesn’t finish first and leave her hanging.
Harry is obviously experienced and so it doesn’t make her proud to have to feel inexperienced at this moment.
“Shut the fuck up,” Harry huffs out even though she didn’t say anything, he takes a moment to nip at her hip, “You’re telling me this fucker never got you off? Please tell me this is a joke.”
YN tries to cover her face again but he wraps his hands around her wrist and pulls them away, “This is so embarrassing.”
“It is,” Harry agrees easily, “For him. Can’t believe you were with him for six years and he couldn’t even make you come. You’re telling me she was neglected this whole time,” Harry frowns as his thumb comes back to her clit, “Should be a crime.”
“I mean I did get off but I had to….get myself there,” YN starts to wiggle again, wanting to chase the friction from his movement.
“I’d love to watch you do that sometime but tonight, you’re not going to have to lift a finger,” Harry tells her confidently before he’s positioning himself above her, lips brushing hers but not quite kiss as he lines himself up and she wraps her legs around his narrow waist, “I like this position. I want to see how gorgeous you are when you come.”
YN brings a hand up to his curls, knotting her fingers in the strands, and brings his lips fully against hers as he pushes in, it doesn’t hurt but it definitely takes a minute to adjust as Harry was much more blessed in the department than Noah was and she hadn’t had sex for over six months.
“Wait wait,” YN pants out, pulling back, “I -I’m on birth control but are you clean?”
Harry smirks at her like she’s asked something funny, “I’m clean. I got tested after my last partner.”
“Me too,” YN replies, relieved that they don’t have to stop.
Harry resumes kissing her but when he’s finally all the way in, his breathing stutters and he lets out a low whine that makes YN throb - like she felt so good to him that he couldn’t stand it.
“Harry, you feel so good,” YN mewls as he starts a slow but powerful rhythm, she was turned on to the point where she could hear it as he thrusted in and out.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever felt, pup,” Harry praises and she doesn’t know whether it’s just the dirty talk, it most likely is but it still makes her feel empowered, sexy.
It becomes to much when he starts to pick up the pace to continue kissing, every other breathe out of YN’s mouth was a moan and he moves down to wrap his lips around her nipple and his hands came under her bum - positioning her more upwards so her backside was off the bed and he could slide in perfectly.
The change in position made him hit a spot she’d only heard about in her body, on every odd motion he would nudge it, and she was going to come again without any stimulation on her clit.
“Ha-Harry,” YN moans louder than she’s ever been and he pulls back from her breasts as he’s staring at her now, eyes studying her face.
“Oh baby, are you close f’me? Am I doing a good job?” Harry’s voice isn’t as steady as before either, there was a bead of sweat on his temple, and his chest was pink with arousal.
“Yeah, I’m close-“ YN doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before she’s squeezing around him, shaking as he keeps his pace to work her through it, and she’s a little dazed that she misses when Harry stills inside her - letting out his own filthy noises and praises as he comes down too.
YN didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t for Harry to collapse his full weight on top of her and nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck for a moment, kissing her pulse point before rolling off.
She doesn’t want to assume that she can sleep here, she still needs to take off her makeup and she doesn’t have pajamas, and she feels anxiety creeping in which makes her get off the bed.
Harry lays on his back, one arm above his head, stomach flexing as he catches his breath, unashamed as he lays on full display because he has to know how beautiful he is.
“Where are you going?” Harry frowns as he watches her gather her scattered clothes.
“Um…back to my room? I have to take off my makeup, change,” And she didn’t want to mention showering because she wasn’t going to sleep after he'd come inside her.
“You don’t have to, I don’t want you to think that I’m kicking you out,” Harry sits up more, reaching for his briefs before his joggers and standing up to go over to his luggage to rummage for a shirt, “Let me walk you back at least.”
“Walk of shame,” YN half-jokes as she pulls her top over her head, bra crumpled in her hand because she didn’t feel like putting it back on.
“There’s was nothing shameful about how fucking well you took it,” Harry gives her a cheeky smile as he grabs his keycard, her room was only a few doors down.
When she unlocks her door, she turns around with her hand on the handle, and doesn’t know what to say but Harry’s leaning down to kiss her softly this time, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
And when YN steps inside her room, closing the door behind her, she knows she’s royally screwed because that was the best sex of her life and now she knows for sure she has a fat fucking crush on Harry.
-
The first month after their original hookup was filled with more sex, it wasn’t every night but at least every other time they had to stay in a hotel - Harry would find his way into YN’s room and they’d have amazing sex each time.
He had her constantly on pit crew and they still bickered back and forth but it wasn’t as heated and it turned more into teasing than actual fights anymore which YN surprisingly didn’t mind.
YN felt like she’d gotten to know just bare minimum about Harry while she’d be pouring her heart out when the right moment hit, and he didn’t stay the night but he’d hang around for a bit before leaving her room.
It was also the month that YN realized that she didn’t just like vanilla sex and Harry had made her realize that very quickly because before him, she’d never had sex anywhere but in bed and a few times in a shower.
It had been an evening flight out, their flight had got delayed due to a gnarly thunderstorm which meant they would be stranded at the airport for another three hours before their plane came in.
Harry never spent time in the employee lounge, pilots had their own area which was rumored to be substantially nicer than the one that YN was currently sitting in.
They still have two hours until takeoff when she receives a text from Harry.
Harry: Come to the pilot’s lounge. Third floor near gate b32.
YN’s heart rate spikes as she gathers her luggage, her friends looking at her curiously, “I think I’m going to walk around a bit, maybe find a new book to read.”
“Want us to come?” Elaina volunteers but doesn’t seem eager to move from where she’s splayed on a overstuffed chair while playing Candy Crush.
“I think I’ll be fine,” YN replies as she heads out the door, it was actually good luck that all three of her friends appeared to be in a lazy mood because usually at least one of them would want to tag along with her.
YN knows other staff are not prohibited in the pilots lounge and so she’s nervous as she finds the long hallway that leads to the tucked away space that he’s referring to.
He’s waiting outside the door with his normal unreadable expression, his uniform perfectly fitted and pressed - the thrill of her being able to take it off of him makes her start to get wet without him even doing anything.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” YN tells him even though it’s obvious.
That makes Harry crack a grin, a wolfish tilt to his lips, “I’ll sneak you in.”
Harry opens the door with a special keycard, guiding YN into the lounge, it’s empty in here but it’s a million times nicer than the one that she’s used to with luxurious comfy seats, a pristine kitchen, and big flat screen televisions.
Harry moves to hold her wrist, tugging her along until they’re in the back corner, and Harry’s pushes open another door - to a single stall bathroom that looked like it could be out of a movie with shining tile floors and floral wallpaper.
“Harry,” YN warns because she knows with this is going and she doesn’t want to get in trouble.
“It’s fine, pup. There’s no one in here,” Harry soothes as he locks the door, he is predatory as he stalks towards her, his eyes dark and his movements slow but precise.
“Someone could come in at anytime,” YN points out desperately, she wants to do this but she wants to be assured that there’s no way that they’re going to get caught, even though he can’t guarantee that.
“Better keep your pretty noises to yourself then,” Harry rasps, YN has noticed how much scratchier and deeper his voice gets when he’s turned on, it’s unfairly hot.
She doesn’t have time to reply because he’s picking her up from under her bum and seating her on the sink countertop, his mouth moving to hers, and bringing her into a kiss that’s already filled with desire.
YN is nervous, she’s knows it’s dumb, and she doesn’t want Harry to make fun of her because of it but she’s never had sex somewhere this….risky and this is all so new.
Harry can tell by the way she’s kissing, distracted and in her own mind which makes him pull back, his thumb coming to rub at her bottom lip, pulling it down a bit.
“Do you not want to?” Harry checks as he watches her face, “We don’t have to, baby. We can wait until we get to the hotel. It’s okay with me either way. I should have check-“
YN cuts his off with another kiss before she pulls back, fingers coming to graze along the collar of his uniform, dipping underneath and caressing the skin as much as she could.
“I want to. I’m just nervous, I’ve never had sex anywhere but in a house,” YN’s face is heating with embarassment, admitting how fucking vanilla she is to someone who obviously isn’t.
Harry’s smile is nearly fond, “Tell me if you want to stop at any point, okay? M’going to show you that you deserve to be fucked whenever and wherever you want. I don’t know how your ex never did it outside the house. I thinking about fucking you everywhere, the hotel pool, over the edge of the bar, on the balcony.”
YN’s thighs clench and she presses their lips together to shut him up because sometimes his dirty talk is so sincere and downright filthy that she’ll combust if she hears anymore of it.
They don’t get caught but fuck it gets YN addicted because it’s not the only time it happens.
-
The second month, things had evolved even more.
Harry started saying that he was much too tired to walk back to his hotel room that was right down the hall and YN never kicked him out, he started staying after every time they hooked up.
YN would ask about Harry’s life outside of work but he really never divulged much which made YN remember each time that this was simply casual for him - there was no interest in a relationship and he didn’t like her like that, didn’t want to get to know her or open up about himself.
It made things harder, when he would kiss her so sweetly and tell her every time that she’s the best he’s ever had, it was hard to comprehend that he didn't have feelings for her either.
Especially on nights where he didn’t even get off.
He was too exhausted from a long flight but YN wasn’t, how he’d eat her out or give her his fingers as he kissed her softly, goading her sweetly to come so they could go to sleep.
He’d do nice things outside of the bedroom too.
On days where they didn’t have to be at the airport until noon, Harry would order breakfast to her room, he had arranged a massage for her, and then once a spa day when they had a day off in Toronto.
They still hadn’t hung out without having sex until almost three months into their casual arrangement.
YN didn’t feel good when they landed in London.
When she’d gone to her hotel room, she’d thrown up everything she’d eaten that day, and it felt like she’d been hit by a truck as she showered before laying in bed.
She hadn’t gotten sick again but she could tell that something she’d eaten had upset her stomach.
Then around ten, there’s a knock at her door.
YN groans because her body protests when she pulls herself off the bed to open the door - just in a big shirt and underwear because she already knows who it is.
Harry steps into the room, going to cup her jaw, and lean in for a kiss when she pulls back much to his displeasure - a frown gracing his face as she denies him.
“I don’t feel good, I’m sorry. I don’t feel like having sex,” YN tells him, hoping he doesn't mind too much - she remembers how upset Noah would get if she turned him down, “Maybe tomorrow morning but I got sick-“
Harry’s frown deepens as he guides her towards the bed, “We’re not doing anything if you don’t feel good. Don’t worry about the next time we are going to. We’ll find time when you’re feeling better.”
“But…” YN hates that she feels like she has to ask, “Are you mad?”
Harry looks a bit devastated at that question, his voice soft as he pats her bum as she crawls back in bed, “Why on earth would I be mad, pup?”
It’s the first time he’s called her that outside of sex.
He’d call her other things like baby, darling but that nickname hadn’t been spoken before in this context.
“Because I don’t want to have sex tonight,” YN wants to look away but he holds her gaze so intently.
Something clicks and Harry realizes that this insecurity must come from her last relationship.
“I wouldn’t be mad even if you never wanted to have sex with me again,” Harry assures her and he sounds sincere as he sits next to her, “I fucking love doing that with you but if you didn’t want to tonight or whenever, I’d never be upset. I respect whatever you want to do.”
“Thank you,” YN smiles weakly, she wanted a cuddle and it didn’t feel like she could because they didn’t do just that.
Harry nods, squeezing her thigh before standing back up.
“Have a goodnight,” YN tells him as he turns his back to her.
He whips around with confusion written all over his face, “You want me to leave?”
YN is just as confused, “I thought that’s what you were doing.”
“I was just going to turn off the floor lamp,” Harry nods to the light still on in the far corner, “But I can go if you don’t want me here-“
“No!” YN says too quickly, “I want you to stay. I just, we haven’t done this without you know…having sex.”
Harry’s face relaxes as he realizes he’s not being kicked out but he does move to turn off the lamp before stripping down to his briefs, he doesn’t respond to her last sentence but instead says, “Put on a movie.”
She does and he brings her into his chest and now that becomes a thing.
-
By the middle of the third month, they spend every night together when they’re traveling, and even when they’re not having sex, they go to bed cuddled up at night.
Harry doesn’t even bother with false pretenses and stops putting his suitcase in his own hotel room.
YN still finds frustration in how closed off Harry is, he’s attentive and at least acts interested when YN talks about herself and her life but he rarely gives anything out.
She’d been dying to know about his ex-wife, if what his friends said was true and he was married but he doesn’t ever mention an ex-wife or anything much for that matter.
It starts to feel like YN wants this more than him which isn’t fair to him because he never said that he wanted a relationship with her and she knew she fucked up by falling for him.
One night though, something changes and it begins to give YN hope that this wasn’t all in her head that he might like her too.
They had gone out onto the balcony of the hotel, they were in Madrid, and it overlooked the city as they laid on the lounge chair, YN in between his legs, and the warm air had a light breeze.
“I’ve never been to the Maldives, never been lucky enough to get a flight there,” YN hums as she plays with the rings on his finger, his hand resting on her belly, “But I’d say that’s my dream vacation. Always have wanted to go. Have you flown there?”
“I haven’t had a flight there, working wise. I had my honeymoon there,” Harry replies and his voice is tighter, more vulnerable than it was just mere minutes ago.
“Oh,” YN doesn’t know what to say.
“It was beautiful. The water was amazing, it just looked like you were living in a magazine,” Harry continues but he sounds strained like it’s hard for him to even talk about it.
“That’s why I want to go,” YN keeps her voice upbeat, giving him the opportunity not to elaborate if he didn’t want to.
“I was married for five years,” Harry tells her with hesitation.
“When did you get divorced?” YN can’t help but ask, hoping it doesn’t make him close back up.
“We didn’t,” Harry says but there’s no sharp edge to his voice, “She passed away.”
YN’s heart absolutely sinks into her stomach.
“I am so sorry to hear that, Harry,” YN squeezed his hand, bringing it up so she could kiss his palm and he allowed it.
“We…we were separated at the time and had filed for divorce,” Harry continues with a shudder, “We hadn’t been getting along for the past two years of our marriage. We got married right out of college, we’d only known each other for six months before we eloped. We were stupid and young. Once the honeymoon phase was over, we realized we had nothing in common or even really liked each other. We tried to make it work but we couldn’t.”
“I…uh, I didn’t want to be with her anymore but I still loved her,” Harry’s voice is shaky, “Not so much as a lover but she was still my friend. I…It was hard. She was in a car accident coming home from work, she was working the night shift as a nurse at the hospital. Drunk driver.”
“That’s heartbreaking,” YN feels herself getting upset for Harry, tears falling down her cheeks at what he had to go through, she couldn’t even imagine.
“Don’t cry, S’okay. I’m okay now,” Harry soothes as he leans forward to thumb at her damp cheeks, “I’m okay. I got counseling, I’ve worked through my grief.”
“I should be comforting you, I’m sorry,” YN apologizes but she’s taken by surprise when he leans forward and kisses her firmly, it’s not sexually charged but there’s so much feeling as he holds her to him.
It feels like more than just friends with benefits.
It has to be.
-
Harry was on a rampage at work, YN had never seen him so infuriated in her life as they were up in the air, five hours into a eleven hour flight, and he was more pissed than even his worst fight with YN.
The ground crew hadn’t fully fueled the aircraft, they weren’t going to make it to their destination on what they had left to work with, it wasn’t something that often occurred but it has happened occasionally in the past.
However, it meant that Harry had to work with staff on the ground to figure out what airport he needed to land out to refuel while figuring out the logistics of changing the course and time of the flight.
He hadn’t lashed out at YN but he’d chewed out nearly everyone else on the crew at least once but poor Perry got shouted out at least three times and she had cried two of them.
At the end of the day, the eleven hour flight took nearly fourteen, and by the time YN and Harry were in their bed, it was late, and they were both tired as they turned on a movie.
YN isn’t sure about how the topic went to their previous relationships but she answered anything Harry had asked about Noah, YN felt like she could do the same now that he had opened up about his wife.
“What did your family think of you getting eloped six months after meeting each other?” YN was curious, figured it wasn’t a crazy question to ask at all but Harry visibly tenses.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Harry throws up his guard instantly and usually YN is understanding but quite frankly, it is starting to piss her off now.
“Of course you don’t,” YN scoffs with an annoyed edge.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Harry shoots back, sitting up straighter and looking over at her.
“That you will never open up to me! I share everything about me with you and you give me absolutely nothing. You shared about your wife that one night but beside that, you’ve never let me get to know you!” YN points out as she sits up too, anger rising in her chest.
An expression that YN doesn’t recognize flashes across his face for a moment before he’s covering it with a scowl, “I don’t have to share anything with you, YN. We’re not dating, we’re not in a relationship. It shouldn’t fucking matter if you know me.”
And ouch, that….that really fucking hurt.
YN could feel herself getting more upset than she’s been in a long time because this was her getting rejected officially.
Because if this is all he wants, YN doesn’t know if she can be okay with that anymore.
“Get the fuck out of my room,” YN finds herself huffing out, ripping the covers off of her legs and standing up - she feels a wave of naseous run over her as she bolts to the bathroom, slamming the door and doubling over the toilet.
Harry opens the door, moving to pull her hair away from her face, and rubs at her back as she heaves into the bowl, moaning at how gross she feels before flushing - he takes a step back from her.
“Thanks,” YN mutters as he gives her room to walk over to the sink to brush her teeth, “My stomach’s been sensitive to food lately while we’ve been on trips.”
“I know,” Harry replies simply because this isn’t the first time he’d held her hair as she got sick.
“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” YN tells him and at the same time, her heart is completely ripping into two.
This is the moment she realizes how irrevocably in love with Harry that she is and she’s fallen so hard that it feels impossible to dig herself out of the hole she’s dug.
If she couldn’t have all of him then she knew she was hurting herself in the long run because she’d never get what she wanted from him and sex just wasn’t enough for her even if it was for him.
“YN,” Harry’s voice is smaller than it’s ever sounded, shocked by what she’s saying and his eyes are wide, pleading, “Don’t. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn't have said those things. Today hasn’t been a good day, I didn’t -”
“Don’t apologize, Harry,” YN shakes her head, voice steady and firm,“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I just…this isn’t working for me. I can’t just be a hookup for you, I don’t want that. I want to know you, I want more than what you want. It’s just better if we stop while we’re ahead.”
“YN, please just-“ Harry sounds like he’s begging but YN’s made up her mind and nothing has ever hurt more than this.
“Harry,” Her voice is stern, “Please just leave.”
He bites his lip because he wants to argue more, he honestly looks like he’s near tears but YN doesn’t know if that’s just her imagination as he exits the bathroom to gather his clothes into his suitcase - digging around for the keycard to his own room he threw carelessly somewhere.
YN didn't sleep that night, eyes hurting from how much she’d cried, cheeks raw from where she had continuously wiped away the traitorous tears because this hurt worse than anything she’d ever gone through with Noah.
-
YN does exactly what Harry had done to her in the past.
She hides away before flights because her friends have told her that Harry has been coming in looking for her  and she switches positions with someone else so that she’s not in the pit.
She ignores Harry when he knocks at her hotel door one night, ignores his text messages asking for them just to talk, and lets the food he sends up from room services go cold.
It’s only been a week since the incident but YN hasn’t felt any better with her stomach issues as she settles back at home after another flight - she’s restocking her toiletry bag for the next day when she realizes that she didn’t need to refill her tampons.
YN’s heart sinks into her stomach when she realizes that she can’t remember the last time that she had a period but there is absolutely no fucking way that she’s pregnant because she was on brith control and took it regularly.
She was googling frantically the statistics of birth control not working and that the pill is ninety-one percent effective which means there’s only a nine percent chance it’s not.
But there’s a chance.
YN digs in her cabinets for an old test that she knew she’d shoved somewhere after she’d broken up with Noah and had sworn off sex, and she was shaking as she waited for the results.
Her phone chimes with a text from Harry.
Please, can we just talk?
Don’t shut me out. Please.
YN, can you just give me a chance to explain myself?
Please, YN. I can’t stand this. It’s killing me. Please.
And YN ignores them, hyperventilating as her alarm sounds, and she flips the plastic stick - a digital reading across the screen and in clear bold letters, it tells her what she didn’t want to fucking see.
Pregnant.
Holy fucking shit.
“No,” YN whimpers as she blinks at it, “No no no.”
She was responsible with her pill, how was she part of the small percentage?
It never happened with Noah, why now?
Why was it with the person who didn't want her like this?
YN feels lightheaded, stumbling to her bed, and burying herself in the covers because she doesn’t know what to think or do or feel because she’s pregnant with Harry’s baby and he doesn’t even want a relationship with her.
-
YN calls off work for the next two weeks because she doesn’t know what else to do, she had vacation time to use, and she couldn’t face Harry right now as she figured out what she was going to do or how she was going to tell him.
She’s still violently sick nearly everyday, feeling worse as the days go on, when her two weeks was up - she didn’t feel any better about going to work.
Harry hadn’t stopped texting her, trying to call her but she couldn’t even read them because it hurt too much.
YN is in love with him, she had a baby in her stomach that is half him, and he didn’t want any of that.
On the day that she returns to work, they’re going to London again.
She’d been having awful cramps all morning, getting sick twice in the airport bathroom, and felt like she was striking a fever as she boarded the plane.
Harry was out of the cockpit, standing right outside of it, and his eyes flash in concern when he sees YN, “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you -“
“I’m fine,” YN brushes him off, lying through her teeth as she stows her bag away before retreating to the back of the aircraft despite his eyes on her the whole time.
-
YN lets her friends convince her into going to the hotel restaurant that night despite feeling like death, the cramps hadn’t stopped, her head was now pounding, and she still felt overheated.
Her food was untouched as her friends giggled and gossiped around her but suddenly she felt like she was going to pass out.
The stomach cramps turned into a sharper pain, something she’d never felt before.
It was indescribable and she knew that she needed to go to the hospital.
And all she can think about is the baby.
That this isnt’ good.
“Oh…Oh my god,” YN gasps as she pushes her chair back, “I- I need to go to the hospital.”
All three girls jerk their head with wide eyes, immediately confused and worried, Justine who was sitting next to her, “What’s wrong?”
“Cramps, I’m having cramps. They’re….fuck, they’re bad,” YN groans as she moves her hand to her stomach, feeling like she may just double over in pain.
“Do you think that it might just be your period?” Perry asks as she begins looking for a staff member.
YN shakes her head sharply, “No-no because I'm pregnant.”
All three girls gasp in surprise, moving into action as they flag over the waiter to call the paramedics - the pain in her stomach was starting to overwhelm her.
“Call Harry,” YN shoves her phone at Elaina, “Please.”
“He’ll understand, YN. Don’t worry about work right now,” She tries to assure her.
“Elaina, call him,” YN says firmly, giving her a look, and that when all three girls register what she is implying - they try to hide the absolute shock as Elaina presses his contact information.
YN zones in and out of consciousness for a while, barely remembers when Harry arrives but he’s brushing her hair out of her face, murmuring things to her, and patting a wet rag on her forehead that someone gave him.
He clambers into the ambulance with her and she starts to come back to reality for a little while the paramedic begins to ask her questions about her health history.
She doesn’t know how it didn’t get communicated from her friends about what was going on but the EMT asks, “Do you have any idea why you’re having this pain?”
Harry’s hand is gripping hers tightly, he’s confused and has no idea what is going on but he’s shaking as he watches her.
“I’m-I’m pregnant,” YN manages to spit out and squeezes her eyes shut because she doesn’t want to see Harry’s reaction to that news.
His hand leaves hers.
“Baby, oh my god,” Harry gasps in surprise but he’s getting up from the seat, leaning over, and pressing kisses to her sweaty forehead, “You’re pregnant...”
“Your baby,” YN nods as she tenses as a cramp fleets through her body, “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I took my pills I promise, I don’t know how-“
“Sssh,” Harry soothes instantly, lips peppering kisses all over her face now as he strokes her hair, “S’okay, you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m here and I love you so much, pup.”
YN blinks up at him blearily, “You love me?”
Harry nods, there’s tears in the corner of his eyes, “I’ve been trying to tell you for the last weeks but you wouldn’t talk to me. Of course, I fucking love you.”
“I love you too,” YN tells him but has to grit her teeth when another pain shoots through her and everything goes dark for a while.
-
YN wakes up in a hospital bed, there blinds are drawn shut and it’s dark in the room, she can tell it’s still night as there is no sun seeping through the cracks of the sills.
She feels substantially better than when she was being transported here but her side is still aching and as she blinks her eyes open, she sees Harry sitting right next to her bed with his head slumped against the edge of the mattress.
He was asleep and looked to be in the most uncomfortable position, sitting up in a chair with his back hunched at an awful angle, his one hand resting on his thigh but the other was holding tightly onto hers.
She could fully admit that her heart soared with love as she watched the man beside her sleep - it may sound creepy but she loved watching him like this because all his frown wrinkles were smoothed, he was relaxed with his puffy lips parted, his eyelashes long against his cheekbones.
Her free hand comes to his hair, carding her fingers through the curls, and lightly scratching her nails against his scalp.
It takes a minute but he finally stirs, a sharp intake of breath as he sits up with wide eyes, there was so much anxiety in his expression that YN had never seen before this night.
“Pup,” Harry rasps, his voice thick from sleep but he brings her hand up to kiss the back of it, avoiding the IV, “How long have you been awake?”
“Just now,” YN tells him and she knows, she knows she needs to ask what happened but the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that she no longer has a baby growing in her stomach.
“I love you,” Harry breathes out quickly like he’s worried she’ll kick him out of the room, “Pretty much from the beginning I think. I should have let you in, I wanted to. I just…if I have you that means I could lose you. I’ve been through that and I don’t think I could handle it if that happened to you. I hadn’t been with anyone since my wife passed. It’s been ten years and I’m scared.”
“I love you too,” YN whispers sincerely, leaning over slightly and Harry meets her the rest of the way to lay a gentle kiss on her lips, thumb coming to brush under her cheekbone, “The baby..”
Harry bites his lip, jaw clenching but not from anger this time but YN’s absolutely alarmed when he starts to cry, “Our baby is healthy and stable.”
“Wha-What?” YN stammers out in disbelief, she had fully prepared herself for the news that she had miscarried, “The stomach pain, I-You’re lying. Please, don’t- I can’t.”
“Baby, no,” Harry coos soothingly, standing up and leaning over her, pressing his forehead against hers, “It’s wasn’t anything to do with your pregnancy. Your appendix ruptured. The baby was never at risk, they’re okay.”
“I had appendicitis? No-not a miscarriage?” YN clarifies because she doesn’t feel like she’s awake right now, she had prepared herself for the worst news possible.
“Yes, they removed your appendix. They checked on the baby. Everything is fine with you and our baby,” Harry assures her as he peppers kisses all over her face like he did the night before, “I heard their little heart beat, YN. They’re already growing and so strong. Fuck, I’m so in love with them and I just found out.”
“I took my birth control everyday at the same time,” YN begins to explain as she watches Harry’s hand drift down to her stomach, there wasn’t any sign yet maybe a little pudge she hadn’t noticed but he still laid his hand there protectively, “I don’t know why it didn’t, I’m sorry-“
“Do not ever apologize to me about this,” Harry replies firmly, his voice serious and deep as he pulls back to look at her, “Of course, this isn’t what I was expecting but I want it. I want it so fucking badly. I never- I never thought I had kids after you know…what happened.”
“I don’t even know anything about you,” YN sniffles as she pulls him back down, digging her face into his shoulder for comfort as his hand comes to cup the back of her head.
“We have about six months for you to learn every single thing about me,” Harry murmurs with a wet chuckle, “I’m done having walls up. I was trying to tell you that for the last month. I am so fucking in love with you I can’t think straight. I want you to know all of me.”
“I want that too, I want you in every way,” YN presses her lips to his shoulder, tears making his shirt damp.
“You have another night in the hospital,” Harry tells her, “For observation. I think I’d like to start now.”
“Okay,” She nods quietly, moving over with a wince until Harry can squeeze into the small hospital bed with her.
“I grew up in this shitty little apartment above a Chinese restaurant…” Harry starts his story, YN had never heard him speak so much but for the rest of her hospital stay, aside from naps, Harry doesn’t stop sharing.
And he never stops again after that.
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nathaslosthershit ¡ 10 months ago
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A Much Needed Interview (OP81)
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(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.
“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.
‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.
“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”
“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”
“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”
“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time. 
“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”
“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.
“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.
“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”
“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.
“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”
“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”
“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”
“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”
“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”
“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”
“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.
“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”
“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”
The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family. 
Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancĂŠe rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.
Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.
“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.
“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?” 
In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.
Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.
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sinsofsummers ¡ 2 years ago
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sensational
6.9k | joel miller & f!innocent!reader part two
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this comes from this request. a few liberties were taken with the details (the reader knows that sex exists, but not much else), just fyi!
summary: thanks to becoming an orphan at age 13, you've lived the rest of your life oblivious to all the world can offer. now that you're in jackson, joel miller ignites something in you that only he can give answers to. warnings: slight angst (mentions of parent loss), innocent!fem!reader, age gap (joel is 56, reader is 25), kind of pervy!joel, smut (18+, mdni!!!), fingering, grinding, reader watches old pornos with joel, slight praise kink, no use of y/n. note: i planned originally to have this be just one part, but even though it ends in a way that i like, i could maybe be convinced to write a second part teehee (part two coming soon!)
You used to love the rain. The way it cascaded down your skin in little droplets, cleansing your body from a hard day's work, and the way it made your hair look so perfectly disheveled.
You craved the rain, until it became nothing but a reminder of the night your parents died.
It had been years at this point, but you would never quite forget how young, and small, and unsuspecting you'd been when they told you to run. How cruel, that time might pass, you might change, but with one smattering of rain, you returned so swiftly to the worst night of your life.
The three of you had been living alone, making your way...somewhere, but they never told you where. Your parents' only wish was to keep you safe, that much was clear. So it shouldn't have been a surprise that upon an ambush by at least ten clickers, after both your parents had been infected, that they'd insist that you run.
"Please, darling," your mother had pleaded, a lump in her throat as she formed the words. "Don't make me beg. I need you to run. Promise?"
Your father was somewhere else, but you could hear him yelling in the distance, in a fight for his life. You were too young, even at thirteen, to understand that those were the sounds of a dying man.
"I'll be right behind you," she'd choked on the last phrase, and in hindsight, you knew she was lying. But in the moment, you'd believed her. You couldn't see the bite she was hiding on her arm, her fate already sealed. "I'll come for you, my love," she insisted, "but I need you to go. Head for the woods."
It was the last time you saw her. You'd turned tail and had run as fast as you could for the woods.
The last thing you heard was a gunshot. A single shot, echoing around you in the trees. It may have been impossible to know, but you didn't need to turn back. Your parents were dead.
If you hadn't found Jackson, who knows how long you might have lasted. Nearing your twenty-first year, you'd proven valuable to the community, and they'd welcomed you in. Jackson was the first home you'd had since you were five.
It hadn't occurred to you that you were years behind your peers in terms of...well, everything, until you met Joel.
Rugged, tan, and sporting a perpetual frown paired with an ever-present crease between his brows, Joel Miller was your patrol partner. You weren't exactly sure why, and he didn't seem particularly pleased about it, but then again—he never seemed particularly pleased about anything.
It hadn't struck you as anything to be proud of, or to boast about to the other young women in Jackson, but they certainly loved coming up to you and expressing their jealousy when they felt so inclined.
"What's he like on patrol?" they'd ask, their eyes wide and lips curled in smirks as they waited for any insight you could give them on his mysterious personality.
All you could ever say over the next four years was a quick, "He's quiet."
Maybe that was why the two of you worked well. He wasn't much of a talker, and after you'd lost your parents, you hadn't been one to waste any breath on conversation, especially when you had survived alone with your own thoughts for almost eight years.
Silence was your mutual understanding. No talking meant no questions, and no questions meant no problems.
And this worked. Until it didn't.
-- -- --
It started like anything started. Quietly, hardly a bother, until it sank into the marrow of your bones and demanded that you address it.
More literally, it started in your shoulders. You'd been on patrol with Joel, a quiet, "Let's go," his only words to you that morning. They were his only words to you every morning, and that day was no different.
Patrolling with him was easy. Like you'd said—no talking, so no problems. You rode next to each other on your respective horses, and there was nothing more than a glance or two toward each other when necessary. It was the only form of communication that the two of you shared.
His big brown eyes had always startled you, looking so inviting in the contrast of the white snow during the winter, but they never showed you more than he allowed you to see. And all you saw of Joel was his dedication to sleep, patrol, eat, and repeat.
You hadn't felt the desire to look that closely at him until some of the girls in Jackson asked you how big his hands were, or what he looked like up close.
"You know," one of them had crooned, not realizing you were unsure of their intentions, "what does he look like without that big old coat on?"
You'd shrugged. "Why should I know?"
Another one wiggled her eyebrows. "Doesn't it get...lonely out there? Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company?"
The faces of those girls, the glint in their eyes, it was something you couldn't quite decipher, as much as you wished you could. So one day, you'd asked the man himself what it all meant.
When you said it for the first time, it was so quiet that you could hardly even hear yourself.
Joel grunted, the only indication that he'd heard you.
Your cheeks burned, but you couldn't find a reason why. This was just Joel. He seemed to know everything there was to know about life; surely he could help you understand this. "Why do the girls in town keep asking me what it's like to patrol with you?"
He didn't answer for a second, but then shrugged. "They botherin' you?"
"No." You weren't quite sure that was true, and knowing him, he could probably hear the lie in your voice. "They're just kind of...belligerent."
His eyebrow cocked. "S'a big word," he mused. "Sure you know what it means?"
Your cheeks grew hot. "Yes," you insisted sharply. "I do read, you know."
He murmured a response, but the wind carried it away from you. You rode in silence for a bit longer before he said, "Don't let those girls get in your head. I think they just wanna get a rise outta you."
"A rise?"
Joel nodded and brought his horse to a routine stop. This was where the two of you always stretched your legs. He reached up to help you down your own mount and set you on the ground gingerly. "You know," he said, as if you should know, but with no regard for the fact that you didn't. "You're still kinda new here. Seems they're still pretty dead-set on embarrassin' you."
"I'm not embarrassed," you insisted again. "I just...is there a joke I'm not getting?"
"Any reason you chose to talk so much today?" was his only answer, which made your stomach clench.
There was no reason for you to be offended, as it was your typical routine to remain quiet unless absolutely necessary, but you couldn't help the way your lips curved downward. "Sorry," you mumbled, "forget I asked."
He was quiet again as the two of you walked at least two hundred paces, stretching out your sore muscles in the snow. It used to be comforting, the silence. It wasn't maddening, it didn't ever bother you if Joel was in his thoughts. You weren't even sure at times if he had any. But all that had changed now; his brow creased more than it usually did, and you wanted nothing more than to ask him what he was thinking.
Joel was the one constant in your life now. Maybe it was a—well, probably it was a trauma response from losing your parents, but you couldn't help it. You didn't need much from anyone, just someone to stay. Joel was strong enough to take care of himself and was smart enough not to make any rash decisions. As far as you could tell, he'd stay.
So how could you be so embarrassed by asking these questions?
"I forgot how long you said you were...alone out there," his grunting voice filled the space between you once more. It was quiet, and he sounded hesitant, as if he wasn't sure how to speak.
"Since I was thirteen," you said mechanically, so familiar with others in Jackson asking the same question.
"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "And you're how old?"
"Twenty-five," you said, feeling oddly small in his presence.
He shook his head. "That's a long time to be alone," he muttered, blowing out a breath.
You huffed. "Yeah, well, I survived. And besides, I've been here for four years now, you know."
"I know."
Again, the silence. Infuriating.
Then, you couldn't help it. "What's...'spooning,' and why do those girls ask me if we've done it?"
Joel stumbled, reaching out for balance. His hand found purchase on your shoulder, and you caught him awkwardly. "You don't even know what spooning is?" He sounded incredulous, as if you'd asked a juvenile question.
The warmth from his hand was astonishing, and distracted you from your embarrassment, if only for a moment. It sank through his glove into your coat, and down toward your skin. Something about the weight of his hand on your shoulder, even for a second as he removed it quickly, was enough to send you spiraling.
Your face burned. "Never mind," you said quietly and mounted your horse again. How stupid could you get? You scolded yourself. You'd ventured too far into this conversation, and now you didn't know how to get yourself out of it. "I was just...never mind. We should get back."
He nodded, but his face still looked somewhat pinched. "Yeah. S'getting dark."
The sun was still up. No intention of sinking beneath the horizon for at least a few hours. You rode again in uncomfortable silence, this time letting it fill the space. You foolishly thought that maybe if you were quiet long enough, he'd forget that you'd made a fool of yourself, that you'd exposed yourself to the truth: that you knew hardly anything about...anything except for survival instincts.
When Joel spoke again, it surprised you. "I didn't mean to tease ya," he said. "It's just kind of a surprise that you're not...that you don't..." he looked over at you, and there was some type of pleading in his eyes, as if he were begging you not to make him say it.
"That I don't what?" you said dumbly, hoping you didn't sound as childish as you felt.
He pondered his next words carefully, and then he hummed, "If you want, I could...teach you some stuff."
"Like spooning?" You felt a warmth in your face as you watched his shoulders hunch with a soft laughter. Your own shoulder burned where he'd touched it, and something bloomed in your gut.
He chuckled. "I don't know about all that," he said, "but I'll help you get...back on track. Would hate for someone to take advantage of your...innocence." It sounded sinful, the way he said it, and the something in your gut pulsed.
"You don't have to," you shook your head, but you didn't even believe the words as they came out of your mouth. "I'll just ask someone else."
"Darlin', don't trust anyone else to give you straight answers. I'm older'n half of everyone in Jackson, anyway." He flashed you a look. "I'll help. Whatever you want to know."
You bit the insides of your cheeks, your stomach turning strangely. "Anything?"
He nodded dutifully, but his eyes had already left yours. Joel Miller, ever the professional. "Whatever you want."
-- -- --
Joel liked to consider himself someone who would never again suffer the shock of surprises. After having lived through and seen more shit than any normal person could, he thought he'd experienced it all.
That is, until her pretty lips had opened and asked him to teach her about all she'd missed. Until she asked him to teach her.
He hadn't really seen her as the picture of innocence until he'd heard how long she'd been alone, surviving with no one and nothing besides her own thoughts and the clothes on her back.
The least her parents could do was teach her how to shoot, he'd thought when he first met her. It was a curiosity that was quickly resolved, as she'd proven herself valuable to Jackson.
Tommy had wasted no time putting them on patrol together. "It'll be good for you," his brother had reasoned when he brought up concerns. "You know, to talk to someone out there. I know she's on the young side, but you don't gotta fall in love with her." He'd flashed an apologetic smile when Joel had scowled. "You're scarin' everyone, Joel. Bein' all quiet and shit...it's—"
"It's what?" he'd asked gruffly. "I don't do it on purpose. I'm a grown man."
This was all true, and he very much didn't do it on purpose. With no one around whom he deemed worthy of his conversation, Joel Miller had become the quiet, introspective version of himself that everyone decided to become scared of all of a sudden.
The way he saw things? It wasn't his fault everyone in Jackson was boring. Or childish.
But her. With her unmistakable will to survive and those eyes that could burn fierce with ire one moment, and soften with curiosity the next...it was only a matter of time before he agreed to do whatever she asked.
He should have seen it coming, especially considering her past. Every time he thought of just how...unsuspecting she was about...everything, he had to shake his head, clearing it of any thoughts that threatened to take advantage of her.
But being ignorant of spooning. He had to clear his throat every time he thought of what that might mean for himself in this particular arrangement. If she knew nothing of something so...palatable, he could hardly help himself when thinking of what else she might be unaware of.
He tried to be patient, and he tried to be respectful, but at the end of the day, he was Joel Miller. From the moment she looked at him with those wide eyes, he was lost.
-- -- --
"What I would give to give that man the ride of his life," one of the girls next to you hummed at breakfast the next morning, her eyes presumably glued to Joel, who'd just come into the cafeteria. You didn't look up at him, instead casting a confused glance toward the girl who'd spoken.
"Ride where?" You cursed your quick instinct to ask questions, as the girls erupted into a fit of giggles. Face burning, you looked down again at your plate. "Never mind," came your almost instantaneous response. You were getting used to having to apologize for your ignorance, and people rarely—especially not these girls—offered their kindness.
One of the other girls snickered. "Why don't you ask him? I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway," she said, smiling widely. Her next words were nothing short of a drawl, the complete essence of mockery. "'Joel, what's it mean to ride?'" she pinched her face in what you assumed was an impression of you, and it only made your eyebrows furrow despite your stomach sinking in utter horror.
And then there he was. He'd called your name, and now he was standing behind your left shoulder, hand outstretched to save you.
You were sure his hand had never looked quite as appealing as it did now. The calluses on his palm were raised and visibly rough. For a moment, you stared at his fingers and wondered what they might feel like against your cheek.
Swallowing a lump in your throat, that something arose in your gut once more before you heard him murmur your name again.
"Come on," he grunted, but there was a gentleness to it that made the hair on the nape of your neck stand on end. "Time to go."
The girls at your table were silent when you took his hand gingerly and let him lead you from the cafeteria. You noted the swift wave of cold that hit your hand as soon as he dropped it, just a second later. Clasping your hands together, you hoped in a fit of desperation that you might preserve some of the weight and warmth of his touch on your skin. It failed.
"Thanks," you said later, when the two of you were outside the community's borders. Jackson felt a bit too stuffy for any real admissions of gratitude, you'd decided. It turned out to be a good conclusion when you felt the delicious churn of your stomach at the idea of being alone with him once more.
I'm sure there's nothing much to talk about out there anyway, one of the girls had said. Doesn't it get lonely out there? You were reminded of another's teasing, and this time your cheeks burned at the memory. Nothing but you, the snow, and a big man like Joel to keep you company.
He was big, you considered. When he stood next to you, his frame was almost larger than life, and his shoulders were sinfully broad when you watched him walk in front of you on previous patrols. The sheer size of him was enough to send you into a heady descent.
As usual, Joel didn't answer for what felt like ages, and you'd begun to wonder if he could see where your train of thought had led you. Then:
"You could have told me they were bein' that outrageous," he grunted, keeping his eyes forward. "I woulda helped you out sooner. S'no fun feelin' left outta everything."
It was...odd to hear such words come from a man like Joel. Although, you reminded yourself, you'd hardly spoken to him in the four years that you'd been in Jackson; who was to say he wasn't normally like this? A quiet, brooding older man, yes; but maybe he was naturally like this. One to offer his help.
"If you wanted to help, you would have made an effort four years ago." You let your words hang in the air. You didn't mean for them to come off sharp; it was simply the truth. "I don't need your help," you added, tightening your hands on the reins of your horse and swallowing roughly. "It was fine. I am fine."
He flashed you a look as if to say, is that so? You couldn't help but notice the way the corners of his eyes creased, the only sign of amusement. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on him, although you weren't sure how you were going to explain the way your mouth went dry at the sight of his big brown eyes.
"Besides," you insisted quietly, "you're not my dad."
Joel cleared his throat. Looked down, shoulders tense. Inhaled. "No," he said decidedly. "No, I'm not."
Emboldened by this clarification, you inquired, "So what did those girls mean earlier? Riding, I mean?"
If you could have guaranteed the image of Joel's eyes going wide in surprise to remain in your head for the rest of your days, you would have done it instantly. His forehead was creased as his eyebrows lifted, and despite his position facing away from you, you could see it all.
The way he seemed to wrestle with himself before answering, the way his hands seemed to clench in his gloves. "So, uh..." he started, and then paused again. Mustering up whatever courage he needed, Joel finished, "Well, ya see, when a man and woman love each other very much—"
"Joel." Oh. You couldn't help it when a breathless chuckle left your lips.
He was silent, and when he finally answered, it wasn't a question. "What."
"I'm not fucking stupid. I know how reproduction works."
Joel's chest rose and fell in a deep sigh, and you couldn't ignore the look of complete relief that washed over his rough features. "Thank fuckin' Christ. Didn't know if I had it in me for another sex talk. I'm too old to be doin' this."
"Believe it or not, my parents did leave me with the basic information." Swallowing roughly, you continued. "And I know...I know that men usually...take. It's an assertion of power, from what I've...seen."
He shook his head. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've run into your fair share of dirtbags, even in the middle of the world goin' to shit." He ran a gloved hand through his hair, and you secretly enjoyed the way it stood up. "Anyone ever, you know...take...from you?"
Hearing your own words regurgitated back to you left you feeling fluttery. Shaking your head, you got down from your horse; you'd reached your typical resting spot. "No," you said firmly. "They never wanted me."
Joel nodded. "S'good," he said, and it bothered you to no end that you couldn't understand the emotion in his voice. "So..."
By now he was standing next to you, closer than you were used to, judging by the way his coat sleeve bumped yours as the two of you walked, stretching your legs. "So," you said, thinking up a way to make this conversation less awkward. "I just hate feeling like a kid again. I'm twenty-five, for fuck's sake. There's more than just survival when it comes to living. I just want to know what I'm missing out on," you confessed with a hand on your stomach.
When Joel brushed by your side again your stomach flipped. And what the fuck is that about, and why do I keep feeling it? You asked inwardly, but you were too nervous to ask. Bombarding Joel with questions, especially after you'd just started talking to him on patrol after four years, seeming to be the wrong path to take.
He shrugged, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. "There's nothing to miss if you don't know what you're missin'."
"Yes," you admitted, "but that doesn't stop any of those girls from making me feel like I'm..."
"Innocent?" he murmured, and you thought you weren't meant to hear it until he turned to look at you.
Those big brown eyes, they just won't quit, a voice nudged you in your head.
"I don't want to be innocent," you groaned, throwing your head back. "God, not in the sense that they see me in. Sounds like a damn curse."
The sound of his rumbling laughter, however quiet, sent a shock down your spine and you nearly tripped in the snow. "There's pros and cons, I s'pose," he offered. "It's like I said: I'll help you get back on track. If that's what you really want."
"It is." You stopped walking, took a look around at the landscape, otherwise empty with the scattering of trees. You swallowed, pressed one. "So...riding. It's a part of reproducing, then?"
He chuckled again, but this time it didn't come off as demeaning. It was like he was teasing you, but good-naturedly. "Let's not jump too far ahead of ourselves, yeah? Start with somethin' smaller. Then we'll work our way up."
Joel's eyes were piercing when he held yours in his gaze. If someone watched this conversation, you were sure they'd be able to see the blush blooming on your cheeks.
"Learnin' takes time, ya know," he mused, his growling voice nearly a hum that could have warmed you from the inside out.
You'd made it to the edge of the woods now. This was normally where you turned back, heading for home. But neither of you moved. The bubble of something pulsed again, and you swallowed roughly before whispering hoarsely, "So where should we start?"
-- -- --
If Joel were a better man, he might have warned her what the curse of innocence in a young woman could be. He might have shook his head, stepped back, and told her to ask someone else. He might have taken the reins and turned the two of them back toward Jackson.
If he were better, he wouldn't have stepped closer to her. If he were a better man, he wouldn't have looked into her sparkling eyes and let the question slip. Fuck it all.
"You ever been kissed, darlin'?"
-- -- --
You swallowed. Don't make a fool of yourself, you begged yourself before answering with a quiet shake of your head. "Not many contenders out there. Not any good ones, anyway."
He'd leaned closer to you with his question, and now you could practically see each line of age in his face. Joel's expression was unclear; he could have been pleased with this information or...or maybe there was pity in his eyes. "No," he said with an understanding nod. "No, I suppose there wouldn't have been."
He lifted a gloved hand to his mouth and you watched as he traced it along his lips. The gray strands in his hair glinted off the sunlight, blinking pleasantly in your eyes. That something pulsed once more in your stomach, and there was a sort of realization that came with it.
Joel, you thought. Joel is making me feel like this.
"Will you kiss me?" The words were out of your mouth before you could reel them in.
But instead of laughing, or scoffing, or giving any sign of mockery, Joel Miller inhaled quietly. "You know how much older I am than you?" he asked.
You nodded. "We're both adults, Joel. Besides," you felt a ghost of a smirk come to grace your lips, a feigned confidence coming to save you in this moment of truth. "I thought you told me to ask you these questions."
He sighed. "You're right."
"So? Will you?" you asked, with a small, "please?" coming out afterward.
He moved slowly, something you were equally thankful for as you were frustrated with, but his forehead met yours soon enough. His eyelashes brushed against your cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, letting it fan deliciously across your face. The knowledge that he was just as nervous as you were was not only a comfort; it was perhaps the most attractive thing you'd ever known.
And when you lifted your chin, just a hairsbreadth from his lips, your eyes fluttered closed, waiting for him to meet you in the middle. It only took a moment before he was closing his mouth over yours, and Joel Miller was kissing you.
He was gentle, of course, but there was something restrained about his kiss, the way he slowly slotted his lips over yours as if you might crack under any more pressure. It only made you want more, more, more...
You pressed your hands to his chest and curled them into fists, tugging his jacket to lessen the distance between your bodies even more. You didn't know how you were doing this, how you'd managed to find confidence in what could have easily been a humiliating experience. Your first kiss at twenty-five? With anyone else, it might have been a nightmare.
With Joel, it was turning out to be the most delightful dream.
"So soft, baby," he pulled back to whisper against your mouth. "These lips are so soft for me."
You hummed your response and pulled him back to you, letting him see that you wanted more. That incessant pressure was building, and it wasn't until he had his arms sliding around your waist that you forced yourself to pull back, head spinning. "Joel."
He blinked. "What? Too fast?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, darlin', you're just so—"
"No, that's not it." You managed a weak smile, but the look in his eye, the question and the undeniable desire—is that what it looks like?—quivering in his brown irises, nearly made you collapse. He waited for you to continue, his hands never leaving you, a courtesy you were grateful for. "I feel...hot." Your cheeks warmed. "Um, there's this...pressure."
His lips closed in a tight smirk, and he squeezed your hips. "Where, baby?" he murmured, and you could have sworn you saw stars outlining his head at the sound of the pet name. "Show me," he cooed.
"Um." You paused, unsure of just how. But with his hands on your waist, his heavy, warm touch melting you on the spot, you took one of his gloved hands in yours and guided him to your stomach. "Here. Kind of."
"Yeah?" he said, and you forgot about the cold. About your horses waiting to be mounted, about your other responsibilities in Jackson. All you could see were his dark eyes that had somehow grown darker as you pushed his hand down, down, down...
"Fuck, babygirl," he cursed, and let his hand rest on the crux of your thighs, just barely pressing on the source of the tingling sensation. If anything, it made it worse, and you let a breathy whine fall from your lips. "You're gonna be the death of me, huh?" he groaned.
You couldn't form words. Just one kiss (a very good kiss, mind you) and a heavy hand on your core was all it took, apparently. You could hardly look anywhere but his face, your mouth dropping open as your hips moved of their own accord, grinding into his hand before you realized you were doing it. "Joel—" you whimpered, and he pulled his hand away.
There wasn't enough time for you to feel jilted, as he tugged you back to your horse and practically launched you onto it himself. "We're goin' back," he said firmly, "now."
Swallowing, your throat dry and rough, you pressed a hand to your cheek, feeling the heat swimming under your skin. "Did I do something wrong?"
You could hardly see him shake his head as he mounted his own horse, looking back at you to make sure you were following him. "'Course not," he called over his shoulder. When you caught up with him, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder, he continued. "Look, darlin', f'I'm gonna be givin' you your first kiss and makin' you feel that good..." he sighed, his dark eyes finding yours. "I'm not doin' it in a fuckin' snowbank."
-- -- --
The entire ride back to Jackson was painfully long, silent but for Joel's mumbled directions, despite the fact that the two of you had taken this same route countless times in the four years that you patrolled together.
Your eyes were trained forward, and you knew his were as well, but it took everything in you not to glance at him even for a second. If you did, you were afraid that the pressure building in the crux of your thighs would never go away.
It would be unfair to say that you were completely unaware of what might happen when you got back to Jackson, but you still didn't know much, which left a nervous bubble rising in your gut. It wasn't like there were any books left in Jackson that you could read about it, or any movies that Maria would allow to remain in the community's borders.
Again, you got a wave of feeling like this should have concerned you, or at least made you a little anxious. But with Joel pulling ahead, his strong back the only thing you could look at, you felt the knot of tension release in your stomach. This was Joel. After four years—even four mostly silent years—of working together, you felt like you...knew him, somehow. That he couldn't possibly lead you astray.
Sure enough, when you were both within the borders, horses returned safely to their stables, the tension returned. Or had it ever really dissipated?
Joel hovered close to you as you left the stables. "Let's go, darlin'," he breathed, a gloved hand on your lower back as he guided you.
"Where?" you said, and you hoped it didn't sound as desperate as it did to you, the pressure getting worse. "I need—"
"I know, baby, I know," he cooed gently, his head on a swivel as if looking for anyone who might stop you. "We're goin' to mine. I've got the perfect lesson planned for ya, alright?"
It was all you could do to nod and let him push you forward through the snowy streets. If only those girls could see you now.
Once inside, you took a breath. There was no one around, and once the door closed behind you, the silence felt all the more heavy. "Ellie?" you asked, if only in courtesy.
He shook his head, and you bit your lip when you saw him smirk. "Just us, doll."
Joel shed his outer layers, and when he stood in front of you, you realized that this was the first time you'd seen him without his coat. Without his gloves, aside from that morning.
Your eyes snagged on his fingers, and you swallowed roughly when you saw the way they twitched, as if in anticipation for something. Or maybe he was holding himself back, you considered. His jaw did seem to have an impatient clench to it. Hands rough like you knew they would be, it didn't take long for your mind to wander into thinking of what it might be like to feel those hands on your skin.
With any luck, he'd give you the sweet release you craved, however it would unfold.
"See anything you like?" he teased, and your cheeks warmed.
"Sorry," you fumbled for a response, your eyes dropping. You'd meant to clear your head, but then your eyes were caught on his thighs. Specifically how hard the seams on his jeans were fighting to remain unripped. "Um, a lesson, you said?"
He nodded, reaching out a hand to take your own coat off, leaving you in the sweater and pants you'd had on all day. You were sure your hair was knotted and would be for days, but he only smoothed a hand down your face, letting you lean into his touch. His fingers were still cold, but your face was hot and it offered a dizzying sense of relief.
"I could never teach you all this," he murmured, his thumb rubbing back and forth in an absentminded swipe across your cheek. "Not without getting...distracted," he finished, pressing his other hand to your waist. Underneath the thick layer of your coat, his hand felt like a hot iron scorching your skin, despite there still being a few layers of clothes between your bodies.
"Distraction is okay," you breathed, lifting a hand to cup his on your waist. "Right?"
He shook his head, a chuckle lifting from deep in his chest. "Not tonight," he whispered. "Tonight, I want to stick to the plan."
"Which is?"
Wordlessly, he removed the hand on your waist and entwined it with your own, tugging you toward the living room where an old television had been placed on a rickety-looking shelf. "Sit," he directed, and you did so without hesitation. He paused, biting back a smile at your eager cooperation, and adjusted himself.
It occurred to you that as much as you were affected by him, he was experiencing a similar effect from you. His pants, already tighter than sin, seemed to have become even tighter, as a bulge began to grow while he stood just a few feet from your face.
"Joel—"
"No, no," he waved a dismissive hand and went to the television to grab something. He came back with something you recognized: a VHS tape. "Don't worry 'bout me, sweets. Tonight's just for you."
"We're gonna watch a movie?" you asked, trying to ignore the way your heart sank a little. You had been hoping that the two of you would kiss some more, and maybe even...you didn't even know the name for it.
"Not just any movie," he grinned, putting it in to watch. The video started. "A special one."
When the scene opened on a man and a woman in the throes of passion, you gasped. "No way," you whispered. "I thought Maria—"
He shrugged, sinking down on the couch beside you, his knee bumping yours. "She must've missed this one," was all he said.
The woman looked to be enjoying herself, as her scene partner kissed her neck, dragging his tongue from the dip in her clavicle to the curve of skin where her neck met her ear. A cartoon-ish moan left her lips, but you didn't pay it any mind. The sight of it made your thighs clench together subconsciously, the lick of pressure rising again in your center.
"Joel—"
"Shh," he said gently. "C'mere, darlin'." With no more than a heavy hand on your waist, he tugged you closer to him, situating you over his lap. "Comfortable?"
You almost said no; you knew that this wouldn't be an acceptable seating arrangement in the cafeteria (or anywhere public, for that matter), but when his hands landed on your thighs, you nodded swiftly. His fingers curled around your skin, and you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat through his fingertips, poised as if he might spread your legs from where they were squeezed together between his own thighs.
Something hard and solid nudged at your core, and you couldn't help it when you leaned back into his chest, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. A breathy moan tumbled from your lips, and your stomach fluttered when you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.
"That quick, baby?" he whispered, his breath fanning over your neck. "You really are a sweet young thing, aren't ya," he teased, pressing his nose to the joint between your jaw and your neck, "fallin' apart for me already?" He rocked his hips forward, his bulge pressing harder against you, and it nearly sent you into a spiral.
You swallowed, your throat dry. The sounds of the movie seemed far away as you opened your eyes and looked at his beard, peppered with gray and scratching at your chin when he leaned over you. "Joel," you whispered, bringing your hands to cover his own on your thighs, "I-I want to know everything." You'd never meant anything more fervently, more desperately, than this.
If you'd known how addicting this could feel, being so close to him, feeling his hands on you, perhaps you would have been embarrassed at the way your hips began rubbing yourself on his lap, hoping for—you didn't even know what could be after this. You just knew that the way you felt was the most intense thing you'd felt in your entire life, and you wanted to keep feeling this way, as long as you could.
Joel tutted, squeezing his hands on your thighs. "Oh, look at you," he groaned, a deep, carnal noise that made your chest constrict, "you're a natural, doll." His lips brushed your shoulder, and he darted his tongue out to lick a small strip up your neck.
Your heart swelled with the praise, and it was all you could do not to squeeze your eyes shut. "Please," you begged quietly, as if someone might hear you.
"I know, baby, I know," he crooned, dark eyes locked onto your own as his hand crept closer—to your waistband—closer—unzipping your pants—closer...there.
Your hips lifted from his lap with the heady sensation of his fingers pressed to a bundle of nerves between your legs. "Joel—!" you squeaked.
You felt him smile against your cheek. "So wet," he murmured, "so slick for my fingers, baby." He began rubbing that spot in tight circles, a slow, torturous pace. "Let me know when you're gonna come, yeah?"
"When I..." you trailed off. You'd never...how would you know? "I don't..."
Joel hummed in your ear, rocking his hips again and releasing a guttural groan. "S'okay, pretty girl," he reassured you, "I'll be gentle. Lemme know when it feels like it's too much. "I've gotcha."
You were too far gone to doubt him. This was Joel. He wouldn't let you fall, as much as you felt like you were going to slide to the floor at the feeling of his hand coming up from your leg to caress your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingertips. A strangled mix between a cry and a moan left your lips, and with one more kiss to your brow paired with a quick swipe of his finger over your ever-sensitive bud—
Something gave way and you jerked your head back, digging into his shoulder. Your legs spasmed and you squeezed your hand over Joel's, holding his hand in place underneath your panties.
"Fuck, doll, just like that," he encouraged you. "Look at you, eyes rollin' back for me. Shakin' like a good girl." His hips tensed beneath you and you felt his chest shudder as he released a punishing moan. "Got me feelin' like a damn teenager, comin' in my jeans."
His fingers stilled, but his hand didn't move. Your legs slowly stopped shaking, and the solid mass beneath you was softening. You let out a sigh, your eyelids fluttering closed. Your cheeks were flushed, you could tell; but this time, it wasn't embarrassment that brought the warmth to your face.
"You okay?" he murmured, carefully removing his hands from their places on you. "Feel alright, darlin'?"
Your head turned, nestling into the crook of his neck. Nodding quietly, you shifted in his lap. "I...I didn't know it could be like that," you shivered.
Joel paused the video, the living room falling quiet around you. Swinging a hand under your legs and tugging you to a more comfortable position over his lap, he raised his fingers to his lips, glistening with the remnants of your desire. Your jaw slackened when you watched him open his mouth, lapping at the tips of his fingers.
"Trust me, doll," he said with a glint in his eye. You whimpered in anticipation as he reached to brush a strand of hair from your face. "I've got so much more to teach you."
tysm for reading! you made it to the end! part two is in the works posted!
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frudoo ¡ 26 days ago
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Your new Baker!Simon AU has me hooked! 🤩😊 Retired!Ghost baking away in the comfort of his home, just needing something to improve his lil’ therapy-inspired business… someone like Food-Photographer!Reader ;) You gotta tell me how absolutely OVERBOARD he goes with the dessert(s) when they schedule their first meet up. Pleeeaaaseeee?
I’m obsessed!!! ^-^ Can’t wait to hear anything else you come up with, dear Writer! Thank you for being you 🫡
Much love, keep yourself happy ‘n’ healthy and get Simon some more dough (Get it? Money = dough? But also dough ‘cause he’s a baker? Hahah. Hah…)! <3
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Changed it up a bit 😉
Previous
Warnings: Body image issues, mentions of therapy.
Simon is up to his elbows in baked goods. There’s no room on the kitchen island for the tray of espresso-flavored macarons he just prepared, so he has to set them on the coffee table in his living room. On the overcrowded counter is an array of cupcakes of various flavors—chocolate, cookie butter, ube (Kyle made him try the flavor when the 141 went to the Philippines for a trip and he fell absolutely in love), all arranged on separate platters that match their color. Each treat is decorated with perfect swirls of buttercream or topped with shiny luster dust.
He can’t remember the last time he’d baked so much. Maybe it was Price’s retirement party? Honestly, he doesn’t remember much of that night, but boy does he remember the morning after. Simon can recall how he got every single scar on his broad body, but not one of those painful experiences even scratches the surface of that fucking hangover. Nevertheless, it’s been a long, long time since he’s baked so many sweets. He didn’t even eat breakfast before he started working, and that was… six hours ago? Bloody hell, how is it already nearly time?
One look at the clock and Simon is scrambling to get dressed—jeans that hang low on his waist and a simple black tee. Both fabrics stretch around the muscles he’s maintained despite the growing layer of fat around his belly. He pats his torso as he looks at himself in the mirror, cleft lip scrunched up in distaste. Maybe he should lay off of all those “quality control” taste tests. He doesn’t have much time to think about it before his doorbell rings.
God, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous in his life. Not through the amount of times he’s looked death right in the eye, not when his father would come clunking home absolutely hammered, not when he held Johnny’s hand to keep him awake and alert after Makarov shot him right in the temple. But you, this sweet, pretty girl who’s coming to see him—not even for a date!—has his fingers fidgeting and his heart racing in his chest. He sucks in a deep breath and counts to three, just like his therapist taught him, then opens the door.
Simon knows he’s in for it the moment he sees you look up at him in awe, trying to hide your shock with a crooked smile. Pretty round cheeks and a soft body—he’s doing his best not to look at the dip where your blouse exposes your cleavage—and plush lips that he’s dying to feel against his own. Fuck.
“I- uh… Simon? I-I’m here about the- um. My treats. Your treats! My camer- pictures! I’m here to take pictures of your… treats.”
The man can practically see the mental faceplant you just gave yourself, and for some reason, it calms his nerves. You’re human, and you’re real, and you’re beautiful. And you’re waiting for him to invite you in.
“Pleasure. C’mon in, jus’ mind the… er. The clutter.”
Simon opens the door wider and you thank him softly, gasping when you see the amount of goodies all over his kitchen and even overflowing into the living room. There must be at least a hundred cupcakes and a few dozen macarons. It stuns you for a second but his gentle hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality. You clear your throat and smile up at him.
“You really went all out!” You giggle a bit and Simon’s heart just about leaps out of his chest—he shrugs.
“Ligh’ work,” he jokes.
You’re embarrassed by the snort that slips out of you, covering your mouth as your eyes go wide, but Simon thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He needs to snap out of it. This is business. Simon runs a hand through his slightly overgrown hair sheepishly, gesturing towards the camera that hangs by a strap on your neck.
“Oh, r-right. Did you wanna be in the photos? Get you a nice new profile picture?” You ask with a grin, carefully slipping past him to examine his work more closely. “People typically like to know the face of the person they’re ordering from.”
Simon bites the inside of his cheek, debating. The military instilled such a strict rule in him. He never posts his face out of fear someone from his past will come knocking down his door to carry out a vendetta. He was thorough in his SAS days, never allowing himself to be caught without the infamous Ghost mask, but regardless, he deems it too much of a risk. He’s thankful you seem to understand his hesitation.
“We could do a picture of you holding up a tray so it’s just your chest and arms? I could crop your face out, or we don’t have to include you in it at all. It’s up to you.”
Too fucking sweet for your own good.
“Chest ‘n’ arms’ll be fine, love,” he grunts finally, offering you a small smile.
“Sounds like a plan,” you look back to nod at him before grabbing the camera from around your neck. “Where do you wanna start?”
“Wha’ever’s easiest f’you,” Simon hums, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to watch as you twist and turn every confectionary to find the best angle.
You’re quiet when you’re focused. The only sounds he can hear are the shutters of the camera snapping a picture or your footsteps as you step around the counter to capture every little feature of the whimsical delicacies. It’s odd. Simon doesn’t mind quiet—prefers it most of the time—but he can’t help but crave the sound of your voice explaining to him every single thought going through your head. He blames it on curiosity.
It takes all of twenty minutes for you to get every picture you need of his confections, with varying angles and lighting changes. You walk over to him and go through the photos, explaining every little detail you loved or why you changed up the order of things for a particular shot. Simon nods in approval—he genuinely could not tell the difference between most of them, but like hell he’s going to tell you that, not when you’re this close, looking up at him with that sweet, hopeful smile.
“Looks perfect t’me,” he breathes, giving you a soft pat on the back.
“Thank you,” you sniffle. “So… did you still wanna do that profile picture?”
“I- er, tha’s fine. Where d’ya need me?”
“Right over… here!” You gently grab him by his bicep and pull him to where there’s a blank wall and a good amount of light.
Simon stands in place like a studious muse while you rearrange some of his treats on one of his circular platters. You place the tallest cupcakes near the back, the smaller ones in the middle, then position the macarons in a way that showcases both their shiny tops and the perfect bake he got on them. Cautiously, you grab the tray and take it over to him.
“Here, hold it just- yeah, just like that. Perfect.”
You bite your lip when you carefully maneuver his arms into a position where the light captures the depth of his faded tattoos and prickling veins—you convince yourself it’s to give the picture more personality. Simon’s just glad that his face won’t be visible. He’s praying right now that you don’t notice how fucking red he’s gotten just from your delicate touches and the way you stare at his arms and chest. It makes him feel insecure and as a result he sucks in his belly. His heart skips a beat when you frown.
“Don’t do that,” you whisper, hesitating before lightly placing your hand on his stomach to encourage him to relax. “Looks better like this.”
In less than ten words—far fewer than his therapist has spoken over the past few years, fewer than every single uplifting word he’s written in his journals—you’ve managed to silence the unrest in his head that tells him he’s not good enough, if only just for a few moments. His breath hitches in his throat as you step back to take a final picture. Satisfied, you take the platter from his hands and set it aside, giving him a shy grin.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep-”
“No, don’t apologize. I, uh… I needed tha’. Thank you,” his voice trails off as he looks down at you.
You nod shortly, sucking in a deep breath. He’s so close and it makes you dizzy.
“Right. I guess I’ll head out, and as soon as I get the pictures edited, I’ll send them to you?” You bite your lip and Simon has to resist the urge to lean in and take a nip for himself.
“Oh, please, take some o’this. I don’t know wha’ t’do w’all of it,” he scratches the back of his neck timidly.
Taking one last quick look around his house, you hum thoughtfully.
“I have an idea.”
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keravnous ¡ 9 months ago
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diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)
dating john wick - the playlist
The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.
warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence
word count: 10,6 k
thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me
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You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.
The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.
There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.
Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.
You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.
They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.
Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.
You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.
There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligĂŠe, not daring to move.
Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.
You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.
You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.
John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.
You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.
Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.
Could be you.
You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.
"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.
That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.
He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.
You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.
With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.
You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.
I will not die today
Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.
There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.
And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.
I will not die today
The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.
You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.
John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.
I will not die today
You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.
Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.
His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.
I will not die today
John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.
He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.
And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.
I will not die today
John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.
For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.
John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.
You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.
I will not die today
Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.
You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.
A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.
He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.
You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.
His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --
Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.
I will not fucking die today
In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.
Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.
Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --
There is something hard pressing against your crotch.
The world falls silent.
No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.
But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.
And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.
Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.
And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.
He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.
And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.
It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.
Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.
"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.
John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.
You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.
"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.
If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.
"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.
The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.
I will not die today, motherfucker
Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.
The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.
John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.
He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.
Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.
Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.
It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.
One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligĂŠe down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.
John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.
He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.
Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.
You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.
The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligĂŠe open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.
It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.
And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.
The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.
All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.
But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.
It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.
It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.
It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.
It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.
It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.
"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.
"Don't", you breathe softly.
The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.
As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.
"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.
John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.
"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.
For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.
Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.
John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.
Your breath hitches.
He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.
As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.
Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.
John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.
And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.
The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.
It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.
And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.
Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.
It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.
"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.
His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.
John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.
"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.
"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.
You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.
John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.
Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.
You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.
"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."
And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.
Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.
"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.
The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.
Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.
You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.
John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.
You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.
You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --
There's the gun. And the knife.
You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.
That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.
"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.
Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.
But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.
Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."
Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.
Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --
"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."
And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.
Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.
"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.
And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.
You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.
Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.
"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.
"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.
And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.
You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.
The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.
John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.
"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.
Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.
John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.
"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."
You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.
The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.
But it's too little. It's just not enough.
"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"
You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"
And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.
You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.
"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"
Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.
"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"
Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.
His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--
"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.
"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."
John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.
His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.
The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."
His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.
The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.
And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.
"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.
John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.
You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.
Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.
A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"
"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.
"Heavy", you breathe.
"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.
John realizes he is fucked.
You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.
John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.
Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"
"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."
It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.
And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.
"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.
"Yeah?"
"Fuck me."
For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.
Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.
It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.
It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.
You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.
You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.
The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.
But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.
He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.
John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.
You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.
Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.
John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.
And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.
John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.
You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.
But it is also him.
It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.
There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.
"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"
"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."
You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.
And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.
Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.
Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.
Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."
John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.
"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.
John moans.
It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.
"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"
He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -
Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.
John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.
His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.
Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.
The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.
Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.
Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.
"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.
John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.
"Kill him instead, please."
He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.
Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.
You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.
Easier to kill.
Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.
See? I will not die today.
"My father. Kill him."
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no-144444 ¡ 2 months ago
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all grown up!- a.leclerc
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Day 23 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist
summary: you're back in monaco a a dog-sitter. the doorbell rings. oops.
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Back in Monaco for the first time in over a decade. Boarding school was funny, right? English boarding school, supposedly the best in the world, and you’d spent your time there, then you’d gone on to Oxford to study law, you were starting your trainee position in litigation, next week. But this week? You were a dog sitter. 
You and Arthur had been best friends as children, and when you were sent away, he’d sobbed and begged you not to go. You had to, sadly being given no choice. But, for the first 6 years, Arthur and you had kept in contact, but he got a particularly shitty girlfriend who made you two drift and you hadn’t seen him since that Christmas, where he told you to stop texting him. 
“Y/n!” Charles cheered as you entered his apartment. “We are so happy to have you here!” 
You smiled as Leo jumped up on you. “Hi Leo!” You beamed, picking up the small dog. 
“No hello for me?” Charles pouted.
“Hello Charles,” you smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”
Charles stared at you for a second. “You’re so beautiful,” he grinned. You felt your cheeks heat. Charles had always been the older brother you never had, the same goes for Lorenzo. He didn’t get to watch you grow up into the beautiful young woman who now stood in front of him. He always regretted that. He also regretted ever letting Arthur cut ties with you, but that’s what this week was for. “Come here!” He beckoned you for a hug, which you gave him immediately. You’d missed him too. 
“So I’ll show you where Leo’s stuff is, and then I’ll go to the airport, alright?” 
You nodded. 
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You sat on his large couch, Pissaladière in hand, ready to watch a movie, when the doorbell rang. You groaned but got up regardless, opening the door without a second thought to look through the peephole. 
You should’ve looked. 
In front of you stood a very confused Arthur LeClerc. 
“Sorry, this is my brother's apartment… who are you?” 
There’s no way you’d changed that much, right? 
“Umm, no one, Charles is in Spain right now, is everything alright?” 
“I was sent to look after his dog?”
“I’m the dog sitter,” you told him. 
“Y/n?” Lorenzo gasped, coming up behind him. “My girl, you are so beautiful, all grown up!”
You internally face-planted. “Hi Lorenzo,” you sighed. 
Arthur looked even more confused, if that was possible. “Y/n?” 
“Hi,” you smiled crookedly. 
Lorenzo pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, Arthur staring at the two of you. “How are you?” Lorenzo asked. 
“I’m good thanks,” you nodded, pulling back. “How are you?”
“I’m very good, very happy to see you!” He smiled. “I just have some of Charles' headphones, I’ll give them to you,” he handed them to you. “We should get lunch tomorrow, I’ll text you,” he smiled behind hugging you again. “I missed you so much, see you tomorrow!”
Off he went down the hall. 
“I have Pissaladière if you want some,” you offered to Arthur. “Girlfriend- permitting,” you added with a teasing smile. 
He scoffed, a smirk landing on his lips. “ma parole, est-ce que je vais un jour oublier ça ?” (My word, will I ever live that down?)
“Nope.” 
He followed you inside and joined you on the couch as you both sat to watch whatever film you’d picked. You could feel his eyes on you as you ate. You kept yours glued to the screen, trying to ignore his presence to the best of your abilities. 
“I do not have a girlfriend,” he explained. 
“Good for you,” you shot back.
He was silent again for another few minutes, then spoke again. “Do you?”
“I’m single,” you nodded, pausing the show. “Is this your weird way of trying to catch up?”
He smiled bashfully. “I guess?” 
“How far back are we catching up to? We haven’t spoken in… 8 years?”
He exhaled. “Long time.”
You nodded. “Yeah.” 
There was this awkward silence, and he felt his heart strings pull. It had never been awkward with you. He had never been awkward with you. You were never awkward with him. 
You two were supposed to be two peas in a pod, the best of friends, always. Bullshit. 
“We should start with the basics, eh?” he suggested. 
“Blue, Pissaladière, Redbull, Charles, and probably teleportation,” you answered quickly. He stared at you in confusion. “Favourite colour, food, F1 team, driver, and what superpower you’d want to have the most.” 
“You support Redbull?” he gasped. 
“I don't have a great track record with Ferrari guys.”
Another jab at him. He understood your frustration, and he’d known from the moment he asked you to stop texting him that it was the wrong thing to do, but he did it anyway. 
 “Not just you, I promise,” you smiled, trying to combat the hurt expression on his face. His hurt expression turned, once again, to one of confusion. “I dated a Ferrari guy a few years back. Kind of a dick.”
Now his face turned to a mix of anger, confusion, annoyance, and… something else. You didn’t care enough to figure him out, and unpaused the show. 
Who the fuck had gone out with you? He’d told everyone for the past 8 years who you were to him, which was… complicated. Was it one of his friends? Had they all lied to him? How did he let this happen? 
“Who was it?” he asked after a few minutes, pausing the show again.  
“None of your business,” you scoffed. “You can’t just walk back into my life demanding things Arthur, earn my trust again.” 
“I am asking you to trust me and tell me,” he spoke calmly, but you didn’t fail to notice the tension in his voice. 
“I’m telling you ‘no’.”
He sighed. “You don't have to be so difficult!” 
“You didn’t need to come in!” you shot back, your voice raising to his level. 
“I was supposed to say no?!”
“You’re an adult, you make your own choices!”
“I choose you!” he shouted. “I always choose you! I will always choose you! I race for you, I live for you, I fucking breathe for you! Y/n, do you know how much of my life has felt meaningless without you to tell? I love you! Is that hard to believe?!”
You were taken aback. No one had ever been so blunt with you, let alone Arthur. It was overwhelming. You hadn’t spoken to each other in 8 whole years, yet he thought about you the whole time, the same way you thought about him? What were the fucking chances? “Arthur, what is your fucking problem?” you shouted. “How can you just drop that one someone? Are you expecting an answer now-?”
“No! No, not at all-”
“You wouldn’t get one either. This is a lot to take in. Like, a lot, alright? We haven't spoken in 8 years Arth, I don’t know what to say, I-”
He smiled. “You called me ‘Arth’.” 
You rolled your eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Of course that’s what you got from that.”
He shrugged. “I did a very difficult thing there, I confessed first!” he defended. 
“What makes you think I’m going to confess?” you smirked. 
“Your childhood diary,” he smirked. Your mouth dropped open. 
“YOU DID FUCKING READ IT YOU LIAR!” you shouted, throwing a pillow at him.
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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
fic-tober masterlist
taglist: @anotherapollokid @theseerbetweenus @simbaaas-stuff @5sospenguinqueen @yootvi
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samsno1 ¡ 10 months ago
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Dream Of Me
Sam Winchester x F!Reader
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i was going to do this fic much, much longer, it would have a whole plot and all but i am so exhausted i wasn't feeling it so have this short horny ass one-shot because i was ovulating while writing this lol
Summary: You quite literally got into Sam's head...
Warnings: SMUTish, m. masturbation, use of y/n, descriptions of nudity, *almost* cunnilingus (read it so you will understand lmao), kissing, nipple sucking, marking (?), english is not my first language
You can learn how to change "Y/N" for your actual name here
Read it on AO3
Read Part Two
WC: 2.3k
enjoy!
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Sam kissed you deeply, his lips dragging against yours eagerly. His big hands grabbed at your hips, blunt nails digging into your skin through your clothes. His tongue sinfully entered your mouth, exploring the warmth and groaning at your taste.
Your hands wrapped themselves behind his neck, fingers brushing through his long locks, lightly tugging at each lap of his tongue through your lips. He slowly walked you back, your knees hitting the edge of the mattress and Sam gently held your upper back to place you softly over the covers, mouths never leaving each other. His long hair tickled your cheeks, his nose bumped into yours. His desire was almost palpable as his kisses became more and more desperate, his hands clawing at your back as one of his knees supported his weight between your thighs. His long torso angled itself in an arch to keep his assault on your mouth.
When he finally pulls away, a whine escapes your throat, your raw lips begging for more as your eyes watch his flushed face. He panted above you as he straightened up, his arms crossing to grab at the hem of his shirt and pull it off, the collar of the clothing lifting his hair and then making it bounce back in place perfectly, a stupid grin on his face – a sinful, I know you like what you see grin – as he catches your beautiful eyes analyzing every bit of exposed skin.
He places both his hands on each side of your head, his hair framing his face, a little curtain to hide the absolutely hungry look on his eyes.
“Like what you see, pretty girl?” He questions and you nod in affirmation. He dips down again to attack your neck with open mouthed kisses and bites, making you whine and mewl on his ears and your hands reach for his back, your nails digging into the flesh. His hands drag down your front, bumping against your hard nipples and going low enough so that he can drag your shirt up, his obnoxiously long fingers brushing against your hot skin and throwing even more wood in the fire that was in your belly.
He pulls away momentarily and you lift your arms above your head so that he can take the shirt off for you, the clothing blocking the stunning view of an aroused Sam Winchester for a few seconds as it goes through your head. When he finally throws the shirt away on the ground he practically pouts when he sees the bra covering your breasts and sensually – slowly – trails his hands to your back, leaving yet another mind blowing kiss on your lips, humming, fucking humming in delight, just for being able to do this to you.
He unclasps the undergarment, and you feel him smile against your lips as if he was saying finally I can really see you. As he takes yet another article of clothing off of you he really eyes you down – I mean really. He registers every curve, every scar and every single particle of your skin, his lust-blown eyes eating you alive right then and there, your chest going up and down with deep breaths, your abused mouth half open, your hands splayed beside your head – everything.
He takes a single hand to caress over your skin, starting low at your neck and slowly coming down at the valley of your breasts, down your belly until he’s below your belly button then his other hand joins the action, one on each side of you, dragging up your waist and feeling around your ribs until they finally grab at each boob, squeezing. You groan and grab at both his wrists to keep him there, the little stimulation you got better than anything. He hums above you, his head dipping down to leave feather-light kisses over your collarbones.
“So pretty” He murmurs against your skin “So, so beautiful for me Y/N”
You sigh as he massages your breasts, his mouth dragging down to one of your nipples, wrapping around it and hollowing his cheeks, sucking on your skin and circling his tongue around your tit. You arch your back, a low moan rippling through your throat as you roll your hips, trying to find any kind of friction for the ache between your thighs.
“Sam…” You plead, grabbing at his hair to tug. He groans at your action, biting lightly on your nipple and you shriek. He lifts his head up, chuckling lowly, evil even, a smug smirk on his face, his dimples making him look even prettier above you. He lets your breasts go and smashes his mouth to yours again, swallowing your complaints.
His hands hold you at your belt loop and he bumps his crotch against yours and oh my god. You let out a cry, breaking the connection, and hide your head in his shoulder, your mouth kissing below his ear lobe as you whisper to him:
“Please, please, please, do something, Sam” You beg and he hushes you, one of his hands going towards your lower back to hug your naked tummy against his defined body. He squeezes your skin, wanting to mold into you and turn you inside out.
“Shh, beautiful, I’m gonna take care of you” He says, kissing your neck and unbuttoning your tight jeans with one hand. Excitement runs through his veins, his mouth still marking your skin.
His hand finally manages to unzip your pants and he flattens his palm against your lower belly to drag his fingers below the waistband of your panties. He swipes one teasing middle finger between your folds making you buck against his hand and let out a cry of desperation. He brings his finger out, making you groan in complaint until he lifts his head up, grabs your chin and makes you stare at him in the eyes.
When he’s sure you’re looking, he inserts his slick soaked finger into his mouth and sucks on it, pleasurable noises coming out of his throat as he savors your taste on his tongue, his eyes closing in bliss. The sight is beyond unholy, the action making your cunt clench into nothing, your glossy eyes couldn’t look away and Sam was taking advantage of that. Nothing you’ve ever experienced with anyone before made you feel so needy for someone's mouth between your thighs, eating you out with all their want, need, for you, nose deep into your pussy. Sam did that.
He takes his finger out of his mouth with a pop, licking his lips with his tongue and he opens his eyes to look at you and you are, for sure, looking at him, completely hypnotized by his spell. He grins and dips his head close to your ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps all over your body.
“I’m going to eat you out until you’re begging me to stop, until you’re physically unable to take anything anymore” He whispers and bites at your earlobe and jesus fucking christ where did this man get this mouth. You let out a shaky breath at his words, the fantasy making you squeeze your legs together.
“Please, please, please” You beg as Sam starts kissing down your body, open mouthed kisses left and right. His mouth bit and sucked at points he learned made you tingly inside and your hips roll below him. When he gets to the waistband of your pants he hooks two fingers of each hand through it to drag both your underwear and your jeans down your legs. It felt cold for about three seconds until the sight of Sam looking up at your face through his long lashes, eyes filled with lust, burned you from the inside out.
Once you were completely bare under him he left kisses in each of your inner thighs, his calloused hands kneading on the skin. You look down again, his hair brushes your legs, his mouth so close, so, so close that you could feel his breath against your soaked cunt. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and you felt like the last woman on earth, wondering how this man could be so perfect, inside and outside. He finally starts to approach your folds, his mouth slowly opening to wrap around your clit and…and…
“Sammy wake up!” Sam’s shaken awake by a hand on his arm and takes a deep breath in. He rubs his eyes, trying to adjust to the light that got turned on by whoever disturbed his sleep – his very good and desirable sleep. His blurred vision starts to focus on the figure besides his bed. Dean towers over Sam in his robe, an unfazed look on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand that isn’t holding his arm.
“Dean?” He questions, voice hoarse from sleep, as he sits up on the bed, the covers falling from his chest to pool around his hips, still hiding his legs below it. Dean drops his hand from his upper arm “What time is it?”
“About 10AM” He says “We might’ve found a case, we need your help with research” He affirmed and Sam nodded. Oh my god. You. How was he going to face you? How was he going to be able to concentrate on your explanation of the case to him when he just fantasized about his mouth between your legs eating you – scratch that – almost eating you out? I’m screwed. “Clean up and meet me and Y/N at the library” Dean says finally, snapping him out of his thoughts and giving him a slap on his back, to which Sam groaned in annoyance. He leaves the room soon after, closing the door behind him.
He lets out a shaky breath, his hands supporting his upper body against the mattress. Just now did he notice the blood pulsing between his legs and the way he seemed hotter than usual. He rubbed both hands over his face, get it together, God damn it. He threw his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, making a beeline to the bathroom. He needed a cold shower, an ice bath, drown in the lakes of Alaska, anything to cool his body and his thoughts.
Every time he blinked there you were, his disheveled hair and lust blown pupils looking up at you. It had been some time since he started developing a crush on the huntress, your kind and caring – but at the same time firm and assertive – personality got him hooked pretty quick and your smartness always impressed him. Dean often made fun of you for being sort of a nerd – in his words – but that just made you even more desirable for him. And, of course, you looked incredible. Your killer body and beautiful features made you look amazing even when you were covered in monster guts.
Peeling off his clothes and turning the water to the coldest setting definitely helped. But, his boner was still there. He cursed to himself and hesitantly wrapped a hand around his cock, eyes closing and teeth digging into his lips to hold back any noise. He started rubbing slowly, up and down, visions of you on his head, beneath him, hair messed up by his hands and skin marked by his mouth and teeth. He wondered how your pussy would taste on his tongue, which noises you would make when he finally brought you over that edge just with his mouth. Then with his fingers. Then…
He quickened his movements, his chest going up and down quickly with deep breaths. Sam should feel bad for touching himself to the thought of you, he should feel bad for dreaming of you that way but he just couldn’t. The images of you flashing into his mind were making him feel thoroughly euphoric, his heartbeat could be felt in his ears and he couldn’t stop himself from imagining your cries of pleasure as he pumped into you or the different positions he could put you in. Fucking you against the shower wall or over the map table.
His drenched hair fell besides his face, the cold water running down his head and back as he slightly hunched over. One of his hands supported his weight against the wall while the other grasped tightly at his shaft. He thought about you moaning his name, much like you did in the dream, and how it sounded so sweet yet so arousing. 
His breathing was shallow, his hands were shaking and with a sigh of your name he finally came. He was in bliss, the orgasm hitting him like a truck. He pressed his forearm against the wall in a horizontal position and rested his head over it, his softening dick still in his hand. He opened his eyes, the sound of the water falling to the ground finally being processed by his brain again.
Jesus Christ.
The guilt suddenly hit him and he shook his head, partially in disbelief at what his body and mind made him feel. And do. Even if his body calmed down, his brain still had that dream practically memorized. He sighed, cleaning himself up all over again, the mess he made going down the drain, hiding the evidence. He got out of the shower, toweling his hair and drying his face.
He stood in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection. His cheeks were still flushed but, besides that, nothing could give anything away. He breathed out a chuckle.
“God damn it” He whispered to himself as he proceeded to dry the rest of his body with a different towel than the one he used in his hair, then wrapping that towel around his hips and going back to his room to change into different clothes. Today was going to be a long day.
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A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback makes those writings better. Thank you for reading, Xoxo
Read Part Two
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hotshotsxyz ¡ 3 months ago
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8x01 coda
(buddie adjacent) (784 words) spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!
A little peroxide, a little elbow grease, and the engine bay should be good as new. Five minutes, ten max, except Buck’s been scrubbing for twenty and the fucking stain won’t come up. He kind of wants to scream.
There’s blood soaked into the concrete and blood on his hands and it’s ugly and red and Buck needs it to be gone. He pours more peroxide and watches it foam.
It’s too goddamn quiet in here. The construction’s stopped, obviously, and Hen took the station out of service so no alarm will take its place. No one’s yelling, no one’s commiserating, no one’s vacuuming the fucking upholstery.
Nausea wraps itself around Buck’s organs. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps.
“Buck,” Eddie says, quiet, too fucking quiet.
Buck scrubs at the stain.
“Look at me,” Eddie says, kneeling beside him.
He can’t. He fucking can’t because the stain is still there.
Eddie grabs his wrist. “Buck,” he says again, forceful and a little loud.
Buck drops the sponge and whips around. “What?” he asks. It comes out flatter than he thought it would, drenched in something like apathy.
“You can stop,” Eddie says.
“No,” Buck says, shaking his head. “You know what he’ll do if this is here when he gets back?” He gestures at the stain. He can’t even say his name.
Eddie’s hand tightens around his wrist. “Let someone else give it a try,” he says gently.
Buck knows when he’s being fucking handled. He wrenches his wrist from Eddie’s grasp. Eddie grabs his shoulder instead.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says quietly.
A humorless bark of laughter escapes Buck’s throat. “Yeah, no, I just killed a guy. Totally fine.”
“He’s not dead,” Eddie argues.
“Yet.”
Eddie takes a long breath. “He’s not dead,” he repeats. “And even if that changes—”
“What,” Buck interrupts. “It won’t be my fault? It kind of fucking is.”
Eddie shakes his head minutely. “If that changes it’ll be the universe or whatever.”
Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the universe,” he says.
“No,” Eddie acknowledges. “But I believe in what I can see. And what I saw was you risking your life to save his. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Buck swallows harshly and rocks back on his heels. “For—for a second I—”
“What?” Eddie prompts.
“I was—I wasn’t happy, but I—Eddie, I didn’t care,” Buck says finally. He drops the rest of the way to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest.
Eddie blows out a short puff of air and settles next to Buck. “I’m still not sure I do,” he says, tilting his head to catch Buck’s eyes.
“You don’t have to care,” Buck says. “He’s awful to you, and you’re not the one who killed him.”
“Still not dead,” Eddie reminds him. “And he’s awful to you too. He was in the middle of yelling at you when you saved his life.”
“It’s not the same.”
“It’s not,” Eddie agrees.
Buck bites his lip. “Have you…” he trails off.
“Ever killed someone?” Eddie guesses.
“You don’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Buck stammers.
Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s. “I don’t know,” he says, “not for sure.”
Buck frowns.
“I’ve shot at people,” Eddie continues. “Hit a few. I don’t know if any of them died. I’ll never know.”
“How do you deal with that?”
Eddie levels him with a flat gaze. “Buck. I’m in so much therapy.”
It startles a laugh out of him. “Eds I’m serious,” Buck says.
“I am too,” Eddie replies. “And either way, it’s different. You didn’t kill him.”
“He still might—”
“Buck.” Eddie looks away slightly and shakes his head. “Even if he dies, all you did was change what killed him. You gave him a fighting chance, it’s more than he would’ve given you.”
Buck scrubs at his eyes as they begin to sting. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You talk to me,” Eddie says, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a good person, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”
A single tear escapes Buck’s lash line. “Yeah?” he asks, watery and rough.
“Yeah.” After a moment, he stands and holds a hand out to Buck. “Come on,” he says. “Brass says we can go home. You’re coming with me.”
Buck takes Eddie’s hand and allows him to pull him to his feet, leaving the sponge and the stain exactly where they are. “Okay,” he says quietly.
“Okay,” Eddie repeats.
There’s blood on Buck’s hands. Eddie takes him to the shower room to wash it off.
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jinhyun ¡ 5 months ago
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—sugar rush.
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pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
genre: angst, fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s brother au
word count: 7.4k
summary: hyunjin’s heart had been broken by you more than once, and still, he refused to let you go through your own heartbreak alone.
warnings: many mentions of heartbreak, break up, breakdown, and a small mention of weight loss (because of heartbreak).
author���s note: she’s here! tbh i didn’t plan for it to be this long, i wanted to lightly mention hyunjin’s past heartbreaks but once i started writing i couldn’t stop lol. i hope this gives you guys some more insight on their story and feelings. if anyone casually comes across this one shot, it is part four of my social media au “heart out”. i hope you all enjoy! don’t forget to reblog and/or leave a comment if you do<3
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The first time Hyunjin saw you, he was only seventeen.
Yeji was in her second year of university and was still living at their family home. She would often tell them about her best friend she made back in first year, and she must’ve shown them one or two pictures at some point, yet for some reason Hyunjin never really got interested enough to actually pay attention — being too busy trying to achieve good grades in the classes he was struggling with the most. After all, after that year he would only have one more to make it to a good university and live up to his parents’ expectations, since his older sister had made it to one of the best universities in Seoul and they were expecting just the same from him.
So, when Yeji called their mother one day and asked if her best friend could stay with them that weekend since she wasn’t from Seoul and was having a few issues with her dorm, Hyunjin didn’t think much of it. If anything, he had rolled his eyes over the thought of having to hide in his room and not being able to raid the kitchen whenever he wanted, not to run into his sister’s stranger friend.
But then you crossed the door later that night, with a shy smile curving up your lips as you introduced yourself to all three of them and thanked them for allowing you to stay the weekend, and suddenly he felt like wanting to raid the kitchen every five minutes that weekend, just in hopes of running into you and getting a glimpse of your face.
One look at you was all it took for him to get the biggest crush on someone yet, and one single weekend into meeting you was all it took for him to know that the immediate infatuation he felt towards you would only grow from then on.
Now, being only three months away from turning twenty four, he could only give his seventeen year old self a pat on the shoulder because of how well he had judged the future of his feelings for you. That, and to comfort his younger self as well, because, God, nothing could have prepared him for what was about to come his way.
Six years had passed in the blink of an eye since then, and here he was, still loving you from the sidelines.
And in those six years of loving you, he had experienced heartbreak three times. All three of them, by you.
You, who didn’t even know he had feelings for you.
You, who didn’t see him as anything other than Yeji’s little brother — not to say your little brother.
You, who had grown closer to him at one point, only to pull away when you fell for someone else.
Hyunjin wasn’t stupid, he knew how the world and feelings worked. He knew a twenty year old wouldn’t fall for a seventeen year old who was in his second to last year of high school — at least not a sane one, and you were very much sane, he found out right away.
Then again, although not stupid, he was still naive. Which is why he believed everything would change when he turned nineteen and became legal.
He spent his last two years of high school focusing on his studies, not even looking at his classmates or at any other girl at school.
He would only see you from time to time, whenever Yeji invited you over, which wasn’t that often given the two of you would much rather hang out alone at your dorm. Most of the news he got from you were because he asked Yeji about you, or, if he was lucky enough, because his parents asked about you when he just happened to be there.
He would also often find himself going through your social media in hopes of you having posted a picture that showed your face. And, sometimes, he would be brave enough to comment on your posts — just casual little comments that would leave him smiling for the rest of the day whenever you replied.
You didn’t interact much back then, and he was okay with it. Granted, he wished you talked more, and he really fucking wished he got to see you more often, but he could deal with it, because once he entered university and turned nineteen, everything would change.
But then, by the time he was nineteen, you were about to turn twenty two. He was only starting university, and you were already in your last year of it.
He refused to let go of the small pinch of hope he still had in him, however. He had made it to your and Yeji’s university, after all, and although he didn’t choose your same career path, he would use being in the same campus to his advantage.
He started by asking for your help regarding small assignments. Whether they were actually hard or easy as hell, risking looking dumb to you, he would reach out and ask for your help. Getting a simple explanation that wouldn’t take you longer than two minutes would make his entire day. You never judged him when it came to ‘dumb questions’, and sometimes, if he was lucky enough and you had some time in your hands, you would take him for coffee — the intention being to properly help him out with his assignments, yet most of the time it would turn out in the two of you just hanging out and having a good time together.
Then, deciding the few times you got to hang out at a café weren’t enough, Hyunjin became more straightforward. He realised there were days you would stay at the library while Yeji went home, as she found studying at home to be more productive, unlike you, and it so conveniently aligned with the days his schedule ended the latest. He used to despise that one last class with a passion, until he found out you were at campus alone by then. So, he took it upon himself to text you as soon as the class ended, asking if you were done and offering to walk you to your dorm.
At first you hesitated, not wanting to take up even more of his commute time, since you lived on campus and he didn’t, but after a couple of times it became your thing, to the point Hyunjin wouldn’t even text you beforehand anymore and would straight up head over to the library; whether to pick you up as you were already placing your books inside your bag, or to sit down next to you and do whatever —mainly staring at you without you noticing— while he waited for you to be done.
Sometimes he would have lunch with you and Yeji. It wasn’t very usual, since he did have his own group of friends, but there were times when he felt like spending some extra time with you, and his sister being there was a good excuse to do so without seeming too clingy.
Some days you would text back and forth. Some others you would text him something that reminded you of him and vice versa. And some others you wouldn’t text at all, but he would find a way to see you.
Before he knew it, Hyunjin grew used to talking to you every single day. And he was okay with it, because by then it had already become natural and you seemed to enjoy his company just as much as he enjoyed yours.
He didn’t get into the same university as you and Yeji just to be with you, of course, but fuck, was he over the moon now that he had multiple excuses to hang out with you.
He wanted to believe that you were at least beginning to move past the innocent image you had of him — the one of him being Yeji’s little brother, and therefore needing protection. He made himself believe that deep down you were starting to feel something for him, even if you didn’t notice. And he was willing to make you notice.
But then the second semester came, and halfway through it he felt you slip away.
Hyunjin didn’t know when or why you stopped hanging out, but he hardly got to see you anymore.
He didn’t think much of it at first. Your schedules were very different now, and he thought that was the reason. You were on your last semester and your times just didn’t coincide like they used to. Simple as that.
You still helped him out whenever he came to you with questions regarding one of his classes, you still smiled ever so sweetly whenever you saw him, you still reached out to check up on him.
But you wouldn’t wait for him to walk you home anymore, and you wouldn’t really text that much either — your conversations going from texting each other the most random of things throughout the day, to you only answering his questions regarding his classes, which, to be honest, were only Hyunjin’s miserable attempts to initiate small talk. You just didn’t seem to check your chats anymore, which he found to be quite odd considering that, whenever he saw you, you would be staring at your phone with the biggest of smiles as you typed away.
It wasn’t until Yeji slipped up one evening, when their parents asked about you at dinner, that he found out the reason behind your sudden distance from him and the giddy smiles you’d get by looking at your phone.
“I haven’t seen Y/N around in a while,” their mother brought up. “How’s she been?”
“Oh, she’s doing well. Just… a bit busy, I guess” Yeji replied, taking a small bite of her food.
“You should invite her over for dinner this weekend” their dad proposed this time. “We were thinking of having a barbecue”.
“I think she’s going out with Mingyu on Saturday” Yeji tilted her head, pensively — completely oblivious to the way Hyunjin had just frozen next to her. “Maybe she could come over on Sunday for lunch? I need to hear all the details about her date after all”.
Clunk!
Everyone turned to Hyunjin, who remained frozen still, yet the metal spoon he had previously been holding in his hand was now laying on the floor, having slipped from his fingers the moment the word ‘date’ had made it past Yeji’s lips.
He quickly picked it up and placed it back on the table. Everyone went back to their previous conversation, like nothing happened. Like his heart didn’t feel like every single inch of it was being pierced right through.
You were seeing someone.
He was in love with you. He was finally of age and somewhat in the same stage in life as you. He was doing everything in his power to get closer to you and eventually win you over.
And you were seeing someone.
That night, Hyunjin went to sleep with a heavy chest and a buzzing head. Unable to understand why it hurt so much and why it wouldn’t go away.
It was later that month, on new year’s eve more specifically, that he finally knew what the heavy chest and the annoying pinch in his heart were hinting at.
“Y/N isn’t coming this year?” He asked his sister when he finally got the courage to, impatiently staring at the clock on the kitchen wall that pointed at the numbers 22:56.
“Oh my God, no, I forgot to tell you” Yeji laughed, placing her drink down on the table. “Mingyu asked her to be his girlfriend today. More like last night, but it was already past midn—”
Everything else after that was muffled by the sound of his heart breaking.
The sound inside his chest was so clear to him, so deafening, followed by an ache a hundred times more painful than the one he felt when he found out that you were merely seeing someone, that there wasn’t any room for him to ponder what it was that he was feeling.
Heartbreak. It was clear as day.
Agonizing, infernal heartbreak.
That night, it was followed by quiet tears, as he lied alone in bed and welcomed the new year with a broken heart.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡
The second heartbreak came a year and a half later, when he was torn between trying his best to move on and still not letting go of the nearly gone hope of the two of you being together at some point.
You and Yeji were in her room, and he was downstairs helping their mother set up the table for dinner.
He was trying his best to ignore the fact that you were there. He wasn’t ignoring you, of course — he could never. But you being there made him unable to focus on anything else, and he needed to focus on literally anything else but you.
Ever since you and Mingyu became official, you hardly ever interacted anymore. All his attempts during his first year of uni seemed pointless by then, long forgotten. He ignored the reason, but he guessed it had to do with you only making time for your boyfriend now. As far as he knew, the only two friends you actually made an effort to keep contact with were Yeji and Chan — all the rest, he had not heard from since a while ago. Then again, it wasn’t like you talked that much anymore for him to actually know anything about your life other than the bits he’d get from Yeji whenever she either slipped up in front of him or straight up gushed to him about you.
So, it wasn’t hard to understand that he’d be a little uneasy, jumpy even, whenever you visited.
And it wouldn’t take a genius either to imagine how much he dreaded the moment his mother asked him to go up to his sister’s bedroom and call the both of you to go downstairs for dinner.
But orders were orders, and so he made his way to the second floor, dragging his feet all the way up the stairs.
Before he could reach the last stair, however, he heard your voice coming out of Yeji’s room, being followed by his sister’s laugh as the two of you were now apparently standing in the hallway, about to make your way downstairs before he could tell you to.
He thought of just turning around and heading back into the kitchen, since he could only guess you were heading over there and therefore he didn’t need to tell you to anymore, but the words he heard coming from your mouth made him stand still in his place.
“Honestly, I can’t believe he took me to his hometown and I met his family already. They’re all so nice it felt like a dream” you beamed.
“Kinda makes you want to become a part of it?” Yeji teased you.
“Yeah…” your voice came out rather shy, and Hyunjin could tell you were smiling. “I barely talk to my family and they were so welcoming it made me feel at home. I don’t know, Yeji, I’m so in love with him and meeting his family made me realise how bad I want him to father my children”.
Hyunjin wanted to leave. He didn’t want to hear anymore. But his feet betrayed him.
“Yeah, let’s get some financial stability before that, shall we?” Yeji chuckled, footsteps sounding closer and closer to him.
“Shut up” you laughed. “Not now of course, but Mingyu’s it for me, I’m sure”.
Move. Hwang Hyunjin, leave.
“I guess I’m waiting for my invitation to your wedding then?”
You don’t wanna hear it. Move!
“Oh, I’m definitely marrying him one day” you giggled. “And you’ll be on bridesmaid duty, so if anything you’ll be the one helping me with the invitations”.
There it was again, the unbearable pain in his chest again.
If he were holding a spoon again, he would’ve dropped it all the way down the stairs by now. Hell, he felt like he could fall down the stairs anytime by now, as his knees felt like they were about to give up any second.
“Oh?” Yeji’s voice brought him back to his senses when it was too late for him to escape — the two of you now right in front of him, as he was blocking the way. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just coming up to call you guys downstairs” he replied in a heartbeat, not sure how he managed to speak without his voice breaking. “Dinner’s ready”.
Yeji nodded, giving you a quick glance before Hyunjin squeezed against the wall so he could make some room for the two of you to start walking down the stairs.
“Aren’t you coming?” You asked him, turning around midway, when Yeji was already on the first floor and you realised Hyunjin wasn’t moving at all.
“Uh, yeah” he managed to blurt out. “Just… need to get something from my room first. I’ll go right down”.
You nodded, sensing something was wrong, yet not finding it in you to ask him what it was.
This heartbreak was somehow worse than the first one, Hyunjin decided once in his room. First, he couldn’t cry and let it out until he fell asleep, managing to keep it from everyone else like he did back then, for his parents, his sister and you were waiting downstairs for him, and he was sure his mum would burst into his room within the next five minutes if he wasn’t with them by then. And, second, it felt final. The first heartbreak came when you started dating someone else, but this one was because you decided you had found your person, the very one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, and it wasn’t him.
A few hot tears rolled down his face, and he harshly wiped them off before taking a deep breath and making his way back down, not ready at all to face you of all people, yet knowing well enough there was no hiding this time.
The rest of the evening was a blur to him. The only thing he remembered was remaining silent and hardly touching his food, later excusing himself when he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, like he would break down right then and there if he stayed one more second in your presence, and then nothing.
A blur.
Any small glimpse of hope he managed to keep that past year and a half was now gone.
He couldn’t afford to be torn between moving on and waiting for you anymore, because you had made your choice, and it wasn’t him. It would never be him.
Your heart belonged to Mingyu, and he would have to finally come to terms with it.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡
Two other years had passed since Hyunjin decided to move on from you for good, and still, he was hardly there just yet.
He wanted to believe he was over you. He told everyone —that being Han and Minho, the only ones who knew he ever had feelings for you— that he was over you. But deep down, he knew he wasn’t.
In those two years, he tried to give relationships a try. Both times, unsuccessful — because no matter how much he progressed, any time he saw you, he would go right back to stage one.
His first girlfriend was Seoyun, a girl he met through a dating app. Not his proudest moment, but he needed to get over you and he needed to get over you fast. His intention was to go for something casual. Just date, date and date, as many people as he could, until he could finally move on from you; but he soon realised that casual flings just weren’t for him. If he wanted to stop loving you, he needed to love someone else, and Seoyun seemed like the best candidate for it.
They lasted three months, and although he tried his best, he couldn’t fall for her. Not in the way he fell for you. Definitely not in the way you had fallen for Mingyu, who was still getting all your devoted love as you seemed to be happier together by the day.
His second girlfriend was Nara, a girl from his calculus class. This time, she chased after him, and after a while he figured why not give her a chance. His feelings for you weren’t lessening any more and neither were yours for Mingyu, so he needed someone to help him get rid of them.
He realised it was unfair to her, but he tried. Just like with Seoyun, he really tried to love her. She was great. She was pretty, she was funny, and she was head over heels for him. She met you outside his family home one day when you and his sister were visiting and you loved her, to the point of proposing a ‘triple date’, including Chan and Yeji, since they were just then beginning to date. Yeji met her too, of course, and loved her as well.
And yet, he, the one person who so desperately needed to love her, couldn’t.
He was actually sure the day you met Nara was the moment he realised it wasn’t working out and it would never work out — when you proposed a triple date and he could only think of how fucking much it would hurt to sit there and watch you be all lovey dovey with your boyfriend, while his own girlfriend was right there with him.
They had recently turned five months together when it happened, and that was as much as it lasted.
Hyunjin gave up on dating entirely after that, at least until he could get one hundred percent over you. He couldn’t just try and —unsuccessfully— force himself to love someone else while he still loved you, for in the end he’d only end up using them for his own benefit, and he hated himself for it.
He could only put his faith in time now. People always said that time heals it all, and he was really counting on it to let go of you.
But then time passed and instead of it healing his heart, it broke yours.
You and Mingyu broke up overnight, and although Hyunjin should’ve been hopeful, happy even, over the news, he realised his lingering feelings for you were very much alive when, to his own surprise, he felt his heart break for a third time.
He was at Yeji’s that evening — being too bored at his shared place with Han, he decided to annoy his sister for a while and be bored at hers instead.
Hyunjin was looking for a snack in her kitchen, when a knock on the door caught his attention. He wondered whether he should ignore it since Yeji was taking a shower and he most definitely didn’t want to deal with strangers right then, but ultimately he walked over to it and looked through the peephole when the knocks became louder, only to see you on the other side of it.
The smile that formed on his face at the simple sight of you was gone the moment he opened the door and took in how miserable you looked.
If that alone told him something was wrong, when you didn’t perk up like you always did whenever you saw him and barely even acknowledged him as you made your way inside, he knew you weren’t thinking straight right then.
“Um… are you okay?” He carefully asked, closing the door behind him as he turned to you.
“Is Yeji home?” You asked instead, voice breaking as you looked around in search of your friend.
Hyunjin nodded. “She’s taking a shower. Shouldn’t take long”.
You nodded, and although you said nothing, the way your chest heavily moved up and down told him you were hyperventilating.
“Y/N…” he called you quietly, almost scared to ask. “Are you okay?”
Again, you said nothing.
“Do you need anything?” He came closer to you.
You shook your head no, blinking rapidly. “Yeji. I need Yeji”.
“Okay, okay…” he said as tenderly as he could. “She’s coming, just—“
“Can you tell her to hurry up? I’m just…” you took a deep, shaky breath; one that made him instantly alert over how clear it was you were finding it hard to breathe. He panicked when you grabbed your chest. “Oh, God, I’m—”
“Hey, I’m here” he said, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as ever. “What happened? Tell me what’s wrong”.
He could see it in your eyes that you wanted to tell him, but although you opened your mouth to let him know what was wrong, no sound came out of it and you ended up just closing it again.
You weren’t able to speak, so he did it for you.
“Did something happen with Mingyu?” He sounded almost scared to ask.
That seemed to hit the nail on the head.
You looked up at him, and he could only grow worried, infuriated, over all kinds of thoughts that ran through his head the moment your eyes welled up with tears.
“Did he do something to you?!”
Your bottom lip quivered.
The first tear fell.
“Hyunie…”
Then you broke down.
Burying your face in his chest, you tugged tightly at his hoodie as you finally let yourself go.
Although stunned and still trying to comprehend the whole situation, Hyunjin didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, scared you’d collapse anytime by then.
It wasn’t like any other cry he’d heard before.
This was different. Your sobs sounded like you were in excruciating pain, like it was hard to breathe, and your chest trembling against his own with every cry of yours felt like it was being ripped open from the inside.
He could only hold you closer, somehow trying to ground you, but it was of no use.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he repeated over and over, almost inaudibly under your sobs.
You tried to speak, either to explain what happened or to simply let it all out, but you couldn’t.
You were choking on your own words, and Hyunjin felt his own eyes well up with tears as he hurt for you and felt hopeless as ever, being able to do nothing else but run his hand up and down your back in a poor attempt to soothe you.
When your cries wouldn’t stop after a minute, he whispered a small ‘come here’ before he gently guided you towards the sofa. Slowly, not to break away from your hold, he managed to sit both of you down on it.
Your face instinctively moved up from his chest to the crook of his neck, where you hid it as you tried to calm down your sobs — finding comfort in his familiar sweet scent and in the gentle touch of his fingers running through your hair.
“What did he do?” He asked when your sobs seemed to quiet down.
You shook your head no, tugging harder at the fabric of his hoodie.
“Y/N, please…” he begged, pulling you slightly away, only enough to look into your reddened eyes. “I need to know what he did so I can do something about it”.
“You c-can do nothing about it, b-because it was his—his choice” you sniffled.
“What do you mean?”
Your bottom lip trembled, and for a moment there he regretted asking you that. But he needed to know.
Then, you took a deep breath, opening your mouth for a second and then closing it — the words you were about to say being harder to voice out than you expected.
“He left me,” you spoke in a whisper after a few seconds, and Hyunjin felt his world stop. “He d-doesn’t love me anymore. He loves her. He left me for her, for the one girl I—”
You choked on your own words once more, being unable to speak over your sobs anymore, and so he just pulled you back to his chest, allowing you to just cry until you let it all out.
He hoped you couldn’t feel his blood boiling, because he was seeing red right then.
How dare he break your heart? How fucking dare he leave you for someone else?
He had been wishing to be in Mingyu’s shoes for years now, and he, who had you all to himself in every single way Hyunjin ever wished to, didn’t feel like it anymore?
For years he had unsuccessfully been trying to stop loving you because he knew he couldn’t have you, and Mingyu, the one who had you, stopped loving you? Just like that? Because of someone else?
Who could even fucking compare to you?!
“What happened?!” Yeji bursted into the living room, snapping him out of his thoughts — only a towel covering her poorly dried body and her wet hair leaving a trail of drops behind her. “I heard—”
Hyunjin motioned for her to keep quiet, silently letting her know that he got you and she could go change before coming back to comfort you. It seemed like it would be a long night after all, and neither of them were getting any sleep until you were better.
Many times he had wished Mingyu and you would break up, but not like this. Not with you feeling so worthless and taking the worst part of it.
Not with you feeling the same kind of pain he had felt two times by now, and making him feel it a third time while at it. Because seeing the person he loved with all his being in so much pain, could only break his heart all over again.
-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-♡
After that night, Hyunjin felt himself grow protective over you.
So, the moment he read your texts, the very ones that mentioned ‘Mingyu’, ‘spamming’ and ‘losing it’ in the span of three paragraphs, he knew he was coming to you. Now more than ever, when your two best friends were out of town and he was pretty much the only person left you had.
His mind was filled with the night you broke down in his arms, and he’d be damned if you ever broke down just like that again and he wasn’t there to hold you.
He knew what the past few months had been like for you, he had been there through it all. From the weeks you isolated yourself and lost weight due to the lack of appetite you experienced through your slump, to your self-loathing ways and your complete loss of self-confidence when it came to showing yourself to the world and comparing yourself to everyone else. Because one thing was to be broken up with, and a very different one was to be left for someone else.
He, Yeji and Chan had been there for you through it all, trying their best to bring you back up and finally feeling like they were succeeding at it.
He felt nauseous over the simple thought of you crumbling down all over again, all because Mingyu decided it would be appropriate to text you regarding your relationship after he was the one to break your heart in the first place.
Therefore, Hyunjin only felt like he could breathe when you were in front of him, having opened the door not even five seconds after he knocked on it, and you looked okay. Not perfect, as the red shade in your eyes and nose let him know you had indeed cried a few minutes ago, but okay regardless. Better than you were the last time you lost it over your ex.
“You okay?” He asked tenderly, entering your place when you moved aside to invite him in.
You nodded, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to take off his shoes before guiding him to the living room, where he found a red blanket lying on your couch and the third season of Attack on Titan playing on the TV in front of it — as expected.
“You really didn’t have to come, Hyunie…” you mumbled. “Talking on the phone would’ve done it, I didn’t mean to bother you”.
“Will you just… stop saying you’re a bother?” He couldn’t help but sound annoyed. “You’re not”.
“But—”
“You’re not a bother, Y/N. I wanted to come here. I want to be here, okay?”
“Okay…”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, I just…” he sighed, coming closer to you. “You really worried me”.
“Sor—”
“And don’t you dare say sorry for worrying me” he warned you with a taunting smirk this time.
The corners of your mouth curved up at that, shaking your head in amusement before you quietly motioned for him to sit down on the couch.
Hyunjin didn’t wait to do as told, making the blanket aside so he wouldn’t sit on it, and revealing your phone under it for a moment before you took a seat next to him.
“Has he texted you anymore?” He couldn’t help but ask.
“No,” your answer gave him some peace of mind. “I said I’d block him otherwise, so he hasn’t insisted”.
Hyunjin opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately remained quiet. Still, you had managed to notice and didn’t let it slip.
“What?”
“Nothing” he shook his head.
“You were about to say something”.
“I just,” he shrugged. “Thought he’d be already blocked by now”.
You smiled weakly, grabbing your phone and placing it on your coffee table. “It’s delusional, isn’t it?” Your eyes fixed back on him. “I told him the only reason I haven’t blocked him is because we both work for the same company, but honestly I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it”.
“It’s not delusional…” he fidgeted with the ends of your blanket. “It hasn’t been that long since you guys broke up after all”.
“I know… but given the way he left me and how I’ve seen him and Hayun together at work multiple times, I feel like I should hate him, or at least not love him anymore”.
“Oh…” he lowered his head, hurting at the idea of you still loving your ex. “So you’re still…”
“I’m trying not to,” you confessed — just like Hyunjin, refusing to say it out loud. “It’s just hard, but I’ll get there at some point”.
He nodded. “I can only imagine how hard must it be…”
“Was it hard for you?”
“Huh?”
“With Nara,” you clarified. “Getting over her…”
“Oh,” he bit his lip. “Not really…”
“It wasn’t?” You tilted your head in surprise.
He shrugged. “We only lasted five months…”
“Which is a lot?!”
He smiled bittersweetly. Sure, maybe to some people it was a lot, but it was nothing compared to the six years he had been in love with you.
Your question was being asked about the wrong person, because getting over Nara wasn’t hard at all, given the fact that he was never in love with her to begin with. Getting over you, however? Fuck, there was nothing harder than that.
He could only hope and pray that wouldn’t be the case for you with Mingyu.
“We ended it on good terms” he let you know. “We just weren’t working out. It was for the best, so there wasn’t much grieving, if I’m honest”.
“Hm…” you quietly lamented, staring down at your lap. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t have a hard time moving on from her, but I guess I can’t ask you for tips on how to move on from someone now”.
He laughed under his breath. Honestly, he sucked at moving on. He was the last person you should come to for advice.
“I guess not… sorry” he apologized. “Time’s supposed to heal it all, though”.
Didn’t work for him so far, but he knew it was the case for most people. Hopefully it would be the case for you.
You chuckled. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. I would just like to speed the process”.
“You’ll get there eventually, don’t push yourself too hard” he offered a comforting smile. “I’m sure going zero contact and blocking him would help, though”.
This time, you couldn’t hold back a throaty laugh that had him quietly joining you right after. “You really hate his ass, don’t you?”
“I’m just saying…” he shrugged once again, trying to act nonchalant, yet failing miserably at erasing the smile curving up his lips. “What happened today wouldn’t have happened if he was blocked”.
“That’s a good point” you agreed.
“What did he even text you for again?”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He just wanted to check up on me, or so he said”.
Hyunjin shook his head in disappointment. “Sounds to me like he just wants to keep you in line”.
“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrowed.
“Why text you the day before your anniversary? Why now?” He wondered. “It’s like he wants you to think about it and dwell on it. Like he wanted you to be upset so he could comfort you about it”.
You remained silent for a few seconds, carefully taking in his words.
“I want to believe he isn’t that much of an asshole…”
Hyunjin snorted, shaking his head once again, but this time in amusement. “He’s proved himself to be one more than once by now”.
“Yeah, I know…” you mumbled. “I just don’t get why he’d want to keep me in line now that he’s with her. I mean, he literally left me for her, and she’s so fucking pretty, I…”
“You’re prettier”.
Your eyes shot up to meet his, and he caught a small sparkle appearing in them before you shook it off and decided to joke about it. “Yeji really trained you well for this weekend, huh?”
“No, I mean it”.
“You haven’t even seen Hayun”.
“I have, though?” His eyebrows furrowed. He was there when you’d cry and show Yeji pictures of the girl Mingyu left you for, feeling his blood boil while at it. “She’s got nothing on you, you’re way prettier than her”.
“Hyunjin…”
“I’m serious, Y/N” he stood his ground. “It sucks that you feel inferior to her just because she’s with him, because honestly you’re a thousand times better. And considering she literally came in between your relationship with Mingyu, she’s ugly and unattractive as hell on the inside while you’re beautiful inside and out, so…”
To say you were speechless was an understatement. He was speechless as well, not having planned to go off like that, yet being unable to hear you bring yourself down once again when you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
For a moment there, he feared his feelings for you had been left out in the open for you to realise.
He was lucky you were dense as a brick and still somewhat emotionally unavailable to even think something of it.
“Wow, um…” you brought your hands up to cup your face, suddenly feeling hot. “My cheeks are burning, so I guess that’s enough break up talk for now”.
Although you were avoiding the topic, Hyunjin smiled, lowering his head to hold back a small giggle that threatened to come out of his mouth. He made you feel flustered, that was enough for him to be on cloud nine.
You stood up almost in a rush, looking for the remote before placing it on his lap for him to grab. “Why don’t you look for the summer camp arc while I go make us some tea instead?”
“Are you sure you want to switch to Haikyuu when Levi’s about to get more screen time?” He teased, knowing well enough that you, just like his sister, were a Levi girl.
Snorting at his remark, you motioned for him to go on with your previous order. “I have so many edits of my man saved, I can just look at him whenever”.
Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head amusedly as he complied with your wishes and exited Attack on Titan to look for Haikyuu instead.
“Plus, Haikyuu’s got Kenma in it, so…”
“He’s a high school student” he pointed out.
“Are you calling me a cradle-snatcher?” You raised a questioning eyebrow.
This time, Hyunjin couldn’t hold back a giggle, finding the way your voice turned a pitch higher in offense to be a little too cute. “Your words, not mine”.
“Mind you, he’s a ‘95 liner” you pointed out, only managing to make him laugh harder. “He’s even older than me!”
“I didn’t even say anything” Hyunjin held both his hands up in defense, failing once more at trying to erase his smile.
God, you looked so cute right then, he couldn’t even be mad over the fact that you didn’t seem to fall for younger guys when it came to fiction either.
“We can skip on the tea if you want, so you can see your man sooner” he taunted, pressing play on the second season before you could leave the room.
Jaw dropping in both amusement and offense, you squinted your eyes at him. “You know, I was bringing you those cookies you love so much with it, but I’m not anymore”.
“The chocolate chip ones you make?” His head snapped back towards you.
“Mhm… I made a whole batch yesterday” you nodded, not missing the way his eyes lit up with excitement. “But you don’t deserve them anymore”.
“You’re not serious”.
“Oh, but I am” you smiled cynically, turning your back to him as you made your way to the kitchen. “Just stay there, I won’t take long”.
“No way, I’m coming with you” he stated, already following hot on your heels. “Those are my favourites, I’m not leaving until I’ve tried them”.
You chuckled, feeling him stand behind you while you turned on the kettle. “I guess I’ve got no choice then, because I don’t have a spare bed for you to sleep on”.
“I can always just crash on your couch, but I would appreciate not having to and getting to try your cookies instead”.
You laughed wholeheartedly, gently shoving him towards the cabinet. “Just go grab a plate, you dork”.
Doing as told, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at you and feel his heart finally be at ease, now that a genuine smile was plastered on your face and your eyes were no longer reddened and tired like they were when he just arrived, but smiling and playful instead. All thanks to him.
And one hour later, when your red blanket was being shared and covering your legs as the two of you sat down on your sofa, and your head was hovering over his shoulder and lightly tapping on it every five seconds, given you were miserably fighting against dozing off while looking at the TV, Hyunjin wished he hadn’t tried your cookies at all, so he’d have an excuse to keep his threatening words and not leave until he did.
He hoped you wouldn’t bring up how late it was and make him leave just yet.
He hoped you would just fall asleep on his shoulder and let him enjoy your closeness for a little bit.
Most of all, he hoped one day he would be able to come over late at night —or at any given hour— just because, not only because you needed him to and because his sister wasn’t in Seoul; and you would deliberately rest your head on his shoulder when you felt your eyelids become too heavy, and he wouldn’t have to wake you up once it got too late and it was time for him to leave, because he wouldn’t have to leave.
But for now, he would let you sleep for as long as he could without falling asleep as well, which wouldn’t be hard, considering he didn’t feel a single pinch of sleepiness as he rejoiced in the coincidental warmth of your body against his.
And if you happened to realise how wide awake he was once you woke up, he would blame it all on the sugar rush he got from all the cookies he munched on while being too immersed in the series.
Using yet another small excuse to be close to you wouldn’t hurt.
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lvlyghost ¡ 2 years ago
Text
Cold Nights
Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader
Summary: Reader doesn't show up for morning training. Ghost doesn't know what to think.
Word Count: 794
Tw: fluff, angst, mentions of being sick, soldiers being scared of simon lol, ooc simon probably, he calls reader kid, i think that's it🤭
A/N: I'm sick and this came to my mind, I just want simon to take care of me okay???🥹🤧 this is super bad as usual. still hope you like it. pls remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome ✨💖
Masterlist✨
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Ghost doesn't see her at the cafeteria, nor the training room. He's disgruntled. His eyes keep drifting apart from the soldiers in front of him, waiting for the next round of endless push ups he's gonna make them go through.
Why isn't she here?
His body feels restless, pacing back and forth.
Soap doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight from one foot to another.
"Johnny," he calls him. "You're in charge."
"Lt.?" He quirks a brow, not understanding. That's so unlike him.
"Got things to do."
He storms out of the room, the walls rattle when he closes the doors.
It's a cold day. Just like the day before.
Days used to mean nothing to him.
Time.
Until she came along. Three years ago.
That woman... he sighs.
Was it something he said? Didn't they talk about it last night?
Everything was fine.
Or so he thought.
-
"We shouldn't be out here, kid." He mutters. It's freezing, he can see her trembling even beneath her hoodie. Well it was actually his. The hoodie completely swallowing her small form.
"I know, I know!" She laughs. Her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. "I just... it was too loud inside." That he can agree on. "Is it true?" She asks a few seconds later.
Simon stills. Choosing his next words carefully.
"What?"
"What Soap said." A heartbeat. "About us."
There's a silence that falls between them.
"Those were the words of a drunk man."
"Were they?" her smile is contagious. Damn her and her beautiful soul. "Would you come with me if I asked you to?"
He stares directly at her, trying to find any sign of doubt. He's always mesmerized by her gentle nature. That's something he never knew. Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her. Longed to be wherever she was. Breathe the same air.
"I'd say that's highly inappropriate." He states. "And that you've had too many shots of whatever poor excuse of a whiskey Johnny made you drink."
"Price called it piss water." She shooks her head. "You're changing the subject!"
Simon chuckles. He really does.
"You've got such power over me no one else could ever have, kid."
And he's doomed.
-
He's trying so hard, going through the events of the night, trying to remember. What happened? Nothing out of line was said. She seemed content when they parted ways, right after he had kissed her good night outside her room. Simon saw the way her eyes lit up with a spark he never saw before. The longing stare. Remembers vividly how she had stopped him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt pulling him down for another heated kiss.
He walks down the corridor with long strides. Hands balled into fists. He shouldn't be this mad. But that was the effect she had in him.
He tries to cool down. Ghost was scared too. What if she had changed her mind and didn't want anything to do with him? He was messing up his head at the mere thought.
He finally makes it to the room, knocking twice before her soft voice tells him he can come in.
Inside the room, all the curtains were closed, not a single ray of light made it inside apart from the lamp casting shadows around. Furrowing his brows he closes the door behind him with a low click.
"Kid?" He calls her. Immediately rolling on her side she welcomes him, red eyes, stuffy nose and looking disheveled.
"Sorry I missed training." She apologizes. Changing to a sitting position and waits for him to sit next to her.
"What's wrong?" He demands with a soft voice. She's still wearing his hoodie from last night. Rubbing her eyes she gives Simon a tired smile.
"I'm just really sick Simon." She answers, he can hear her hoarse voice now.
"Bloody hell, love." His hand goes straight to her face, caressing her cheek. "Did you go to the infirmary?" Closing her eyes, she rest her head against his hand.
"Mhm. Got some painkillers prescribed. Still feel horrible."
"Good, it'll take some time for you to feel better. You need to rest, okay?". The look he gave her leaves no room for discussion.
"Wasn't planning on leaving my bed you know?" He smiles ever so slightly. "Would you stay with me?" When he doesn't answer right away she adds: "never mind you'll catch whatever this bug is and i don't ..."
"Sweetheart," he interrupts her rambling. "Scoot over."
She looks at him wide-eyed.
"You... you don't," she stutters.
"No, I don't mind at all. If there's anything you need just tell me, copy?" She nods, staring at his blue eyes. "Told you we shouldn't have been outside last night."
"Even if it meant catching a cold, I'm glad we did, Simon."
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