#he’s like mid twenties and excited for this new place and he just wants to be friendly

[girlishwhimsies]

thinking about an au where johnny moves to tulsa when he’s older instead of growing up there

[finelinefae]

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

this is part 1 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things. 

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket. 

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go. 

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. 

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people. 

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything. 

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly’. 

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket. 

She read his bio beneath. 

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it. 

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words. 

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric. 

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :) 

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours 

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials 

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message. 

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it. 

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company 

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay? 

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay. 

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read 

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end. 

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really? 

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something. 

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi 

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !! 

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name 

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi 

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi 

. . . 

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering. 

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did. 

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure. 

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving. 

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?” 

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.” 

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company. 

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people. 

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her. 

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi. 

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head. 

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about. 

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath. 

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office. 

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?” 

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?” 

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card. 

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds. 

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car. 

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring. 

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally. 

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped. 

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel. 

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy. 

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did. 

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered. 

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words. 

. . . 

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean. 

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went. 

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry. 

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door. 

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?” 

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly. 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.” 

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved. 

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto. 

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy. 

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers. 

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him. 

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone.  But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . . 

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled. 

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit. 

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

[murderofravens]

POLICEMAN INSTINCT

pairing: hwang inho x fem reader

summary: after moving into a new apartment, you realize you're being stalked. thankfully, the older neighbour you've developed a tiny crush on just so happened to be a retired police officer who is determined to protect you.

warnings: age gap (reader is early twenties, he's late forties) slow burn, strangers to lovers, dry humping, masturbation, attempted sa (not by him) really mid smut, face slapping, scent kink, oral fixation, him being fatherly, reader is a bit of a perv, stalking, yander-ish vibes, touch starved reader, masochism, fluff, angst

word count: 13.4k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

it was the cheapest apartment you could find online. while it looked a little shady on the outside, the inside looked comparatively pleasant and clean. the hallway was narrow, and the shoes were placed outside the respective rooms. you just hoped you would have your privacy, and the walls aren't too thin. you've watched enough thrillers to know nothing good comes out of thin walls.

"is this all the luggage you got?" the landlady asks you, eyeing your bag and a suitcase. you hadn't packed much— you'd figured you'd just buy things from stores instead of bringing them from home. you nod, and she hums before offering you the keys.

"pay rent on time, and don't make too much noise." she tells you kindly, and you give her a polite smile. honestly speaking, she was loud enough herself.

as you fumble with the lock, she turns to leave. faint footsteps can be heard before a man appears, and the landlady steps to the side to allow him room to move.

"oh, inho!" she announces albeit too cheerily— making you almost jump. you turn around to peek over her shoulder as she continues. "you haven't paid your rent yet, just wanted to remind you."

you spot him then— the handsome older man with soft, fluffy looking hair who happened to be carrying a plastic bag with two goldfish in it. the sight makes you smile, and he clenches his jaw as he ensures the landlady that he'll pay the rent soon enough.

she nods before gesturing towards you, "and this is your new neighbour! she came here to study, isn't that nice? don't be grumpy with her like you were with your last neighbours!"

ah. a beautiful older man as your neighbour. perhaps, life is worth living.

he looks up at you, and you freeze slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious that she put you on the spot. you give him a light wave, and he nods in acknowledgement before turning back to her. the lady pats his shoulder and leaves, and you go back to fumbling with the lock. he walks slowly to his own door, before turning to you— his expression slightly blank as he says something.

his voice is so quiet that you don't hear it at first. your eyebrows rise in question and you look at him, blinking.

"push the key in a little and then twist." he repeats, showing you the gesture with his own key. you look at him, a little confused before letting out an 'oh!' and following his steps— and as expected, the door opens. you turn to him and give him a sheepish smile, "thank you."

he doesn't return the smile but nods nonetheless. he opens his own door and steps inside, and then slams the door behind him, leaving you a little baffled.

you shrug the behaviour off and carry your bag to the bed. the room is clean, but you know exactly how you're going to personalize it so it looks more like you. you got your favourite bedsheets with you and everything, and the idea of decorating gives you a light sense of excitement.

it's when you decide to go to the bathroom that you realize you haven't gotten one of the most important things needed— hand soap. you wince to yourself as you look through your luggage, finding nothing. hesitantly, you look to the door, wondering if you should go out and buy some, or borrow some from your new neighbour, who although being incredibly handsome, also intimidates you slightly. you don't want to disturb him, but it's already late enough— you are too tired to go out.

you knock on his door, biting your lower lip in anticipation. you hope he's not asleep, you'd hate to be the one who wakes him up. he opens the door soon enough, looking you up and down, "can i help you?"

"i'm sorry, i hope you weren't asleep," you give him a polite smile, "i was wondering if i could borrow some handsoap? i forgot to buy some."

he frowns before nodding, closing the door. you fidget with your fingers while you wait, and he opens the door again before handing you a bottle.

you thank him, and he closes the door before you get to say goodnight. you don't allow yourself to think he's rude— you were the one disturbing him, afterall.

the next morning, you're up early. it's a new day of your independence and you want to explore the library before attending classes. you recheck if you have everything before exiting the room— only to be met with your neighbour.

"good morning!" you greet him cheerily, and he nods and replies with a quiet 'morning, kid.'

you figure he's just woken up, judging by the light rasp in his voice. it makes you feel flustered.

"wait— sir, hold on." you say quickly, and rush back inside your apartment. you deliver his handsoap back to him, and he rubs his eyes.

"thank you for this."

"going to college?" he asks, blinking a few times, and you nod. "is it far?"

"half an hour ride from the bus stop," you shift your weight on your feet. "not that far."

"that's good," he frowns, scratching his chin, "study well, kid."

you grin at him, perking up. you introduce yourself to him, and give a light bow. the corner of his mouth curls up slightly.

"i'm inho," he says, crossing his arms over his chest, "get going now, you don't wanna be late."

"oh yes, inho sir." you bow again and quickly rush down the stairs. you're pretty sure you hear him call out something like, 'drop the sir!' but you ignore it with a smile— your day already feeling brighter with the positive interaction, even if it was just polite small talk.

no matter how exhausting classes were, you were insistent on having a pleasant day. you knew the best way to survive any place was by making friends— and for now you didn't have many options other than your older neighbour.

at the bakery, as you eyed all the delicacies— you didn't know what to choose. you didn't know his preferences. does he like sweets? but what if he has diabetes? you immediately push the thought away, and simply stick to some nice bread that you could have with tea. and then while walking back to the bus stop, you buy some fishfood. a google search also lets you know that goldfish quite like frozen peas— so you buy a little of that too.

back in the apartment, you feel a little nervous as you knock on his door. there is no response, and you almost turn around and leave before a voice coming from behind you makes you jump.

"oh my god!" you shriek, twisting around, holding a hand to your chest. inho is standing behind you, looking tired as he gestures you to lower your voice. you immediately clasp a hand over your mouth and bow in apology before straightening up.

"you scared me!"

"forgive me," he blinks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "did you need something?"

a little distracted by his face, you almost forget what you had to say. but before you could embarrass yourself further, your mind brings you back to earth, "oh! yes— sorry."

"i wasn't sure if you liked sweets so i just got you bread. you know, as a thank you for helping me last night," you awkwardly push the bag towards him, "and uh— i saw you had goldfish so i got some fishfood for them. i also read they liked peas, so."

he looks down at the bag, then at you. you swallow hard, "i didn't poison it, i swear."

that elicits a chuckle out of him, and he gently takes the bag. your fingers brush together, and you try not to chase the warmth of his hand. perhaps, you're a little touch starved.

"there was no need for this," he says kindly. you step to the side to allow him to access his door. "but thank you."

"do you wanna eat together?" you blurt without thinking. "i mean, if you're not busy. no pressure, i'm sure you have things to do but—"

"relax," he gives you a light smile— it makes the cute little crinkles by his eyes more prominent. it's contagious and you smile back. he clears his throat, "there's a park not far from here. would you like to walk with me?"

"yes!" you say a little too excitedly before lowering your voice. "yes— absolutely. hold on."

you recklessly open your door and toss your bag inside. with a glance over your shoulder to ensure he's not looking, you quickly reapply your lipgloss before turning to him and locking the door behind you.

"ready?" he asks, a hint of a smile on his face. his voice is teasing, and you can't help but grin in return.

as the sun set, pink and orange hues danced across your skin like glitter. you could see people walking, chatting; couples holding hands and feeding each other cotton candy. it made your heart pang a little, so you redirected your attention to the sky, where birds seemed to be flocking back to their homes. you would've taken a picture, but you decided against it.

"have you been here long?" inho asks, and you turn to see his eyes looking at you intently. "liking it so far?"

"just a few months," you answer politely, walking with a skip in your step. he doesn't realize how grateful you are that he's talking to you— you've felt rather lonely these past few weeks. "i got a scholarship and the opportunity was too good to miss. it's really nice, much better than my hometown, i'd say. i'm relieved to be here, even though it's taking some time to adjust."

"you can come to me if you need anything," he says softly, and you give him a grateful nod, gaze full of barely disguised admiration.

"thank you, i appreciate it."

"and your family?" he asks again, his hands clasped behind his back. he looks so authoritative this way, you think, he's actually adorable. and kind.

"they're back home," you twist around and walk backwards, facing him as you mimic his stance. hands behind your back. he smiles at your antics and it makes your heart skip a beat. "i talk to them regularly."

"that's good." he hums, nodding, a glint in his eyes. "kids don't realize how much parents worry. make sure you don't mix with the wrong crowd."

"noted, sir." you tease, and he snorts.

"drop the 'sir,' will ya?"

"only if you drop the 'kid,' sir."

that makes him laugh, and you feel a strange sense of pride at your little achievement. the park is pleasant, and you're more amazed by how well maintained it is. he mindlessly guides you to a bench with a light touch on your waist, and your stomach feels tingly at the action.

he brings out the bag, tears the bread in half and gives you the bigger one, despite your protests.

"those flowers are so pretty," you point towards a flower bed, and he hums nonchalantly.

"never met a girl who doesn't like flowers."

"what's not to like?" you shift to face him properly, "they maintain this park really well. it's very clean."

"i suppose we do value cleanliness a lot," he looks around, his cheeks puffing up like a squirrel as he eats. it looks so utterly cute, you would have cooed if you had no social cues. "i remember seeing them plant those last year. some kids accidentally skated over the left side and had to pay a fine."

"ouch," you wince, eyebrows furrowing. "say, sir, what do you do for work, if you don't mind me asking?"

he stiffens slightly and stops chewing. you contemplate killing yourself right there out of sheer dramatics— you don't want to make him uncomfortable because this is your only chance at developing a relationship with someone that is not your pillow or your phone.

"i was a police officer," he answers, swallowing his food. he claps the dust off, wipes his hand on his pants after, "retired."

"retired?!" you gasp unintentionally, "you don't look that old."

he throws his head back and laughs— his eyes crinkling. you're mesmerized, the mere sound of it making your heart feel warm. which, you think, is not normal. not after interacting with someone who is still a stranger.

"how old do you think i am?" he asks between chuckles.

you give him a sheepish smile, delaying your response by choosing to finish the bread first. "i'd say.. late thirties or early forties."

he winces with a groan, dramatically clutching his heart, "try late forties. almost fifty."

it makes you fucking giggle— like some lovesick fool. a schoolgirl with a crush. it's so embarrassing, but you decide to let yourself have this one thing— to enjoy a conversation without thinking about how stupid or obvious you might look to the outsider.

"you don't look that old!" you protest, "seriously! plus, you're pretty fit for your age!"

the last comment was not something you had decided to say, but you're bad at thinking before speaking. you prefer to be just as shocked at your responses as the other person.

"you think i'm fit?" he asks a little teasingly— there's a smug smile on his face, and you feel idiotic. of course, a man like him would know he's fit. he's handsome, he must hear it everyday. he must be so amused that you decided to state the obvious. and you clear your throat, your cheeks suddenly feeling hot. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing— and you swallow the embarrassment.

"you know you're fit." you huff softly, and he shakes his head. his smile only grows bigger as he looks away, instead choosing to watch the sky darken.

you're glad he doesn't say much after, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. you hope it is comfortable for him, atleast, because there's a storm brewing in your head— berating you for being so obvious. perhaps, you need to find a boyfriend soon, or your little impulsive comments would get you in trouble. you don't even know if the man is single, for god's sake. your eyes drift down to his hands— no ring.

"you live alone?" you blurt out again, despite your better judgement. it's such a stupid question— the apartment rooms are tiny, of course he lives alone. are you stupid?!

he turns to look at you, eyebrow quirked. the air feels heavy now, because he looks tense again, almost thoughtful.

"yes," he nods, frowning slightly. his lips quirk down, and he swallows hard. "my wife passed away a few years back."

"oh." shit, you think to yourself. way to go, idiot. "i'm so sorry."

"it's fine," he gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

you straighten up, "if there's anything i can do—"

he stands up abruptly, adjusts his pants. your eyes drift down a little before you physically force them to look up at him again.

"we should get going." he says, rolling his shoulders back. he gives you a hand, "it's getting late. you must have class tomorrow."

'it's sunday,' you almost mumble, but thankfully your mouth keeps shut this time. you shyly take his palm and stand up, and he pulls his hand back to run it through his hair almost awkwardly. you try not to miss the way it felt— which is insane. you shouldn't be thinking this way.

the walk back is relatively silent, and you internally beat yourself up about ruining the mood. you might be overthinking this, but this man genuinely seems nice, and you don't really have anyone else to rely on outside of university.

'if there's anything i can do,' you were saying. what could you have done, you idiot? what were you offering to a widowed man twice your age? fucking dummy.

lost in thoughts as you walk up the stairs, your foot misses a step and you trip. before you can fall, inho is stabilizing you with a swift grab, and you yelp as you crash into him, squeezing your eyes shut. instinctively, you grab his arms as tightly as you can.

"oh god," you take a sharp breath, your head falling forward onto his chest more out of shame than relief. "am i dead?"

"clumsy girl." he chuckles, and you open your eyes, hoping that once you do you'll wake up to your room; concluding this mess as a nightmare.

but no, your vision adjusts and is met with his beautiful face. and he looks amused. you can feel his arm wrapped around your waist— very respectfully even though you wouldn't mind it the opposite way. you feel warm all over and the way you've been acting since you met this man is driving you crazy. perhaps you might have to sleep the bad luck off. he gently lets go of you, and you pull away quickly, cheeks flushed. you lean against the wall, groaning.

"still alive," he remarks playfully. you tiredly run a hand down your face.

"i'll just take a nap." you mumble defeatedly, and he nods. you gesture towards the stairs. "thanks for that."

he steps aside and puts his hands in his pockets, and you fumble with your lock and go into your room as fast as possible— ready to bury your head in pillows and avoid this man as much as possible.

ᥫ᭡.

the first weird instance happened during work. you'd signed up for an internship after college hours— it was more of volunteer work. no actual pay other than some incentives based upon performance, which you were okay with. you just needed some experience for your portfolio. most of it included you getting your seniors coffee, designing posters and promoting new events for college.

you were giving some finishing touch ups for the newest poster for a debate competition when a package was placed before you. you looked up at your classmate, confused.

"these are for you." she said.

you frowned, looking at the package — a bouquet, to be specific. it was nothing too extravagant— but flowers all the same. white jasmines paired with some baby breaths, finished with a little bow.

"who sent these?" you asked, visibly baffled. she shrugged, took one look at your work before walking off. you sat straighter, checking the bouquet for any card— there was nothing.

you were confused as you walked back to the apartment. the flowers were a nice surprise— but they also had you worried. you couldn't help but wonder if it was some guy from work, but you don't remember getting close with anyone, atleast not enough for gifts. your confusion was evident on your face as you reached your door. holding the bouquet in one hand, you fumbled with the lock.

"those are nice," you heard a voice behind you. you turned, a smile appearing on your face at the sight of inho.

"hello!" you greeted, facing him. he glanced at the flowers, gaze unreadable, before turning to you.

"you came later than usual." he remarked casually.

"yeah, i've taken up this internship thing for college." you replied politely, leaning against your door. he nodded in understanding, tilting his head towards the bouquet.

"it's going well, i see."

you chuckled awkwardly, "i don't know where they came from." you glanced at the flowers, leaning in to inhale the scent. "my classmate said these were for me but there was no card. it's weird."

"perhaps it's a secret admirer," he joked dryly, unlocking his own door, "stay safe, kid."

you frowned at his words, nodding, before entering your own room.

the flowers didn't stop after. almost every two days, a new bouquet would appear. it was ridiculous. one day it would be just pretty tulips, the other it would be white clovers. it was driving you absolutely insane. and the worst part was, you had no idea who it was from.

you'd go to class, do your work, take the flowers, and go home. inho would make a joke about you being popular, and you would shrug it off and offer him some tea, and you'd pretend you didn't secretly hope he was the one sending them to you.

"maybe a guy has a crush on you," he'd said once. you were sitting at the stairs, analyzing the flowers as if your stare would prompt them to magically start speaking— these were camellias, as the google search suggested. pink. you'd glared at him tiredly, eyes begging for some answers. from anyone.

he'd raised his hands in defence, chuckling a little. he had taken a seat on the stairs beside you, looking at the flowers himself, eyebrows furrowed in focus and lips drawn into a thoughtful pout.

"did you know camellias express longing?" he stated casually.

you'd looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, "how'd you know that?"

he gave the flowers a somber smile, a dejected look in his eyes. "you learn certain things when you get married."

your curiosity had faded into sadness then. immense melancholy for the kind man sitting beside you.

and because of course, he was thinking of his wife. he'd probably given his wife flowers, adored her with everything he had. kissed her and made love to her, and then life took her from him.

you don't stand a chance. not even in your fantasies.

ᥫ᭡.

you were being watched.

you realized this not long after receiving your first bouquet. few days later, you'd seen a man wearing the same jacket everywhere you went. it was making you feel uneasy. you could never see his face— he would disappear almost instantly after you turned around.

first, you recognised the feeling while shopping for groceries. it made you feel so terrified, you ditched the milk and went straight home.

you'd had to borrow some milk from inho that day, and thankfully he had extra which he generously gave to you. even offered to make you some tea. you didn't know if he noticed your distress, but if he did, you were thankful he didn't ask you about it.

the next, it was during daytime. you were waiting for your bus when you saw the glimpse of that jacket— and once again, it disappeared almost as soon as you recognised it.

it was after the fourth day that you had decided that you'd had enough. you were violently knocking on inho's door— teary eyed and scared out of your mind.

he opened the door, his agitation blending into worry at the sight of your face. he utters your name so softly, and you hold back the urge to scream. "what's wrong?"

"you were a police officer, right?" you look at him, panic stricken. "i think i'm being watched. i don't think— i know i'm being watched. i swear, someone is stalking me, first the flowers—"

"hold on, take deep breaths," he puts his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to breathe along with him. you follow, and feel your heart rate calm down. he looks out into the hallway before stepping aside. "come inside."

reluctantly, you walk into his room. you realize then that it's the first time you've been in his apartment— and the idea, even in your moment of suffering, makes you feel warm. excited, even. there's a few books on his bed, and he puts them aside on his table and makes room for you to sit. you can see the goldfish in the tank, and the packet of fish food you bought for them sits by it.

"i like van gogh too." you mumble shakily, pointing at the book on his desk. he hums, guiding you to sit.

you take a seat on his bed, gaze lowered as you fidget with your hands. he grabs a chair and sits on it, facing you. he spreads his legs, and you have to take a deep breath to focus on the actual problem at hand.

"tell me everything," he says softly, crossing his arms over his chest. his shirt is folded up to his elbows, and you physically force yourself not to stare at the veins mapped across his arms.

"the flowers," you start, "they've gotten more frequent. i don't know who's sending them to me. i've asked everyone at work. i don't even talk to guys that much for any of them to be doing all that. and i've been seeing this guy follow me everywhere—"

"you've seen his face?" he asks, expression serious and focused. he looks even more handsome like this.

you pause, before shaking your head no.

"it's stupid, i know." you protest, leaning forward for emphasis, "it's like— a shadow. i haven't seen his face but i know he's following me. i think he might be behind the flowers too. but i'm just scared— i know i'm being stalked, you have to believe me."

"i do believe you," he shakes his head, leaning forward. his hand reaches out and grabs your own, "but you haven't seen his face, so it'll be hard to catch him. but trust me, i will not let anyone hurt you. do you understand?"

"i'm scared." you admit, voice small. you're a woman and you live alone— you don't have many friends and absolutely no family right now. you don't want to talk to your mother and worry her. you're terrified.

"hey, no tears," he whispers, thumb brushing across your cheek. you almost feel hypnotized at the action— you try not to lean into the comfort of his touch. "you'll be okay, i promise. you're safe with me."

you sniffle as you look at him, your hand limp in his hold. you tear your gaze away and nod, his words making you feel oddly at ease. you fidget with his hand before mindlessly holding his finger, and he smiles softly at that. with his free hand, he pats your head, "i have an idea."

you perk up slightly as you blink at him.

"why don't i pick you up from college?" he says softly, "it's not that far. it's hard to do anything during daytime, but in the evening i can come pick you up if you're scared. he'll see a man with you and back off himself."

you freeze, eyes widening. you can't ask him to do that. you chuckle awkwardly, face flushing as you look at your lap.

"i can't ask you to do that, it's fine."

"are you sure?" he asks, leaning down to make eye contact with you. it makes your heart flutter. "it's no issue for me. i think a walk everyday will keep me even more fit."

you can't help but giggle at that— and he smiles too. he grabs your chin and lifts your head up; and your breath hitches.

"come on, give me a real smile." he urges softly. it's so silly coming from him, that you can't help but grin— your fears temporarily forgotten. he pinches your cheek at that and nods in approval, "there she is."

"stop," you huff half heartedly, playfully slapping his hand away. you wish you could hide in your pillows— or dig a hole for yourself because of how flustered you feel. you can't believe how he could do this to you— it's strange how happy he can make you with just a few words. he tucks your hair behind your ear.

"why don't you have dinner and get some sleep? you must be tired."

you nod, blinking tiredly as you stand up. reluctantly, you let go of his finger, and he stands up as well as he guides you to the door. you look back at him, and he meets your gaze.

"thank you," you whisper softly, "you really made me feel so much better, you have no idea."

"i'm glad." he whispers back, and you just stare at him— at his sweet face and his kind eyes. you swallow hard, and you wonder if you hallucinated his eyes dart to your lips. either way, you push your thoughts aside.

he clears his throat and looks away, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. "off you go."

"goodnight," you call back, and he nods with a smile before closing the door.

the next day after college— a miracle happened. a rather good looking classmate of yours approached you and praised you on your work. je-hyun, he introduced himself. he shared a few classes with you, and you remember him asking you for a pencil once. you two ended up bonding over liking the same shows, and he'd asked you if you were single. you two shared numbers, and you gave yourself an imaginary pat on the back.

apparently, the flowers had become a bit of a man repellent. he'd been wary of approaching you because he assumed you had a boyfriend, but you cleared the misunderstanding with a convincing explanation. you didn't want to take any chances.

this time, there were no flowers.

after work, the two of you walk out of the building. he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm, and you turn to him. he opens his mouth to speak before his gaze falls on something over your shoulder, and he freezes.

you frown, looking over your shoulder in return.

inho greets you, getting off the wall he was leaning against with a cheery smile. you look at him, baffled.

"hey! uh—" you look at your— date? coworker? before turning to inho, "inho sir! what are you doing here?"

inho glances at je-hyun as well, eyes darting up and down indifferently before he turns to you. he smiles, patting your shoulder. "i had some work nearby so i thought i'd pick you up. especially seeing how scared you were last night. is that okay?"

he was so considerate— it immediately made your heart melt. you almost forgot about your date by your side, and you turned to him apologetically. you could always meet with je-hyun, but you cannot ask inho to go home after he took some time out for you. your decision is immediate. "i'm sorry, i should get going. see you tomorrow?"

je-hyun gave you a tight lipped smile, nodding. "see you, goodnight." he looked at inho warily, giving him a slight bow out of respect. you didn't get to see inho's response before he was wrapping an arm around your shoulder and dragging you away.

"i'm assuming that's the flower kid," he remarked casually, a small grin on his face as he walked straight ahead. you stumbled a little with his pace, but shook your head.

"no, i don't think that's him. he assumed i had a boyfriend because of the flowers," you smile slightly, thinking back to the conversation.

"you can't be sure with boys like him," he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. you immediately started missing the feeling of his arm wrapped around you. you feel insane for even thinking this way. especially considering you have a potential? love interest— someone your age.

"i can't believe you really came to pick me up," you change the topic, looking up at him. he doesn't know if the stars in your eyes are a reflection of the lights or your admiration. "you didn't have to."

"i know i didn't have to," he smirked slightly, looking around. "but like i said, i was in the area. and i didn't feel right leaving you by yourself. who knows what could happen to a little girl like you?"

the last line was teasing, and you gave him a little push for that. of course, he was unphased. but for the sheer dramatics, he pretended to be hurt— clutching his side and groaning like he had been shot. it makes you giggle, and you hide your mouth behind your hand, internally berating yourself for acting like a fool again. he chuckles before stopping you and dragging you back, "let's have dinner before we get back. you must be hungry."

you blink, your heartbeat suddenly rising. like a date? you wanted to ask, but decided against it. of course it's not a date. he could be your father, for god's sake. he's old enough. and his heart belongs to someone else. you doubt he'd ever think about dating someone like you. it sounds like a far fetched dream.

you nodded, shaking your thoughts off. "yeah, that sounds good."

and that entire night, you didn't feel the eyes of the stalker, nor the fear, even once.

ᥫ᭡.

you got the flowers again. yellow hyacinths paired with deep red roses— the colors creating a striking contrast against each other. so bright, it almost blinded your eyes. salient as the emotions the flowers represent— you feel like whoever is sending you these, is not happy with you.

"who keeps sending these?" the voice makes you jump, and you turn to see je-hyun standing over you. he narrows his eyes playfully. "is there an obsessed ex i should be worried about?"

you wave his concerns off, chuckling awkwardly, "none." you bite your lower lip, looking at the object of your torment placed on the table. you bite down on the end of your pen, thinking. "i'm actually worried. i haven't even met anyone who would do this."

"what about that strange man who came to pick you up?" he remarks offhandedly— and you almost take offense to his words.

"that's inho-sir. and he's not strange," you say a little too sharply, surprising even yourself, "he's my neighbour and he used to be a police officer. he came to pick me up because i was scared. he's very kind and would never do something like this."

"got it." je-hyun could sense your sudden hostility, and he tries to lighten up. "so he's like your dad?" he jokes, and you chuckle at that, giving him a shove with a huffed 'shut up.'

he asks you out to a party after, and you tell him to pick you up at nine.

the journey back home was tantalizing once again— there was a seed of dread brewing inside you. you felt increasingly scared as you travelled, so you picked crowds in hopes of blending in. you wished you had inho with you right now.

you took a nap after work and immediately got ready. you didn't have a lot of party wear with you, you don't like the overwhelming crowds or noises. you're easy to overstimulate, so you tend to stay away from parties. they're always much more bearable with people you know better, anyway. but you make do with what you have, and your lip gloss saves the day as always. there's a knock on your door and you open it to je-hyun looking cute as ever— with his boyish, dimpled smile.

"i wanted to bring you flowers," he says innocently, holding out a box, "but i feel like you're traumatized by them so i got chocolate inst—"

he doesn't get to finish his sentence before you're letting out the most ridiculous laugh ever. he's adorable, and this alone has made you like him so much. you compose yourself, stand straighter and place a kiss upon his cheek— leaving an imprint of your lipgloss on his skin. he blushes, and you grin. "thank you—"

"date night?"

you both turn around to the voice— inho has stepped out of his room, looking cozy and fresh. wearing a sweater vest over a crisp white shirt, finishing with a large black coat. he looks so... soft and gentle. it almost distracts you.

you bite your lower lip, suddenly feeling flustered. his gaze is unreadable as it drags down your body— and out of respect, you adjust your dress a little.

"i'm je-hyun," your date takes the initiative to introduce himself, bowing deeply. there's slight humour in his voice, "you must be her father—"

you elbow him in the ribs, and he doubles over. inho lets out a snort, looking down. you notice he doesn't introduce himself in return. he clenches his jaw, tongues his cheek before looking at you with a glint in his eyes. you wonder if he looks angry, but you can't really tell. it wouldn't make sense anyway.

"going somewhere?" you ask, voice a little high pitched out of sheer nervousness. you don't know why, but you feel rather awkward. you don't understand why you feel like you're betraying him, in a way. perhaps it's because inho has quite literally been the only man you've been regularly interacting and engaging with so far. that's why standing with another guy in front of him feels so... strange. no other reason.

he clears his throat and nods, "out for drinks with an old colleague." he frowns after, cocks his head towards your legs. your dress is not really short, it comes to your knees. but you still feel exposed in front of him.

"don't you feel cold?"

"i'll wear a coat," you tell him, snatching your coat off from where it was hanging behind your door. "well— um. see you."

inho is the first to leave— after giving your date an up and down look of what you can only consider disgust or disapproval. je-hyun pouts a little as he straightens up, before grabbing your hand and dragging you down the stairs.

the party fucking sucks. the noises are too loud, the lights are too flashy, and everyone is drunk. you don't understand their drunken rambles, and you almost tripped twice. you've stumbled into atleast three couples making out, and you don't know how to dance without looking stupid.

je-hyun had kissed your cheek before going off to get drinks. a sprite for you, as you'd demanded. except he never returned. you know life isn't a movie, but at this moment, you'd rate yours a solid 1.5 stars.

a girl accidentally steps on your foot and you wince, hopping on one leg as you go out the back door. there, you put on your coat tighter around yourself, shaking as you glare at the wall in front of you.

you could really use a cigarette. and you don't even smoke.

you bring out your phone and shoot je-hyun a text. it is left on delivered, and you grunt in irritation before looking to the side.

defeated, angry and hurt at being abandoned, you immediately choose to leave. you hold back the urge to send je-hyun a text calling him an absolute dick, and try not to make eye contact with anyone as you walk down the road. it's late, the sky is dark and you have another fear on your mind right now. you look out for a taxi— but none come to your rescue. your luck has run out.

you mutter all sorts of curses to yourself on the way back— until you hear footsteps. you pause, suddenly feeling that same dread seize you again.

you're being followed.

you start walking quickly, and the prickling sensation of being watched doesn't leave. you turn around abruptly — and there's no one there, except from a few friend groups walking out of the club. you pick up your pace and start jogging back, looking around for taxis. you can see the park near your apartment in the distance — and you let out a breath of relief.

you hear a little 'meow,' and you immediately turn around. you love cats— you've been dying to have one. despite your better judgement, you walk closer to the dark alley the voice came from. a kitten is there, meowing at you. your heart melts into a puddle and you coo, instantly following it. you look around, there's no stores nearby, or you would've bought it some food. you gently pick it up, scratching it's ears.

"its my cat."

there's a shabby man standing in front of you— reeking of alcohol and trash. you freeze, looking at him awkwardly as you let go of the cat. his eyes trail down, settle on the silver of your skin peeking out from under the coat. instinctively, you wrap it tighter around yourself, and he steps forward, grinning.

"i have more! do you want to see?"

you give him an awkward, polite smile. in situations like these, its best to subtly pull yourself away. you take a step back and shake your head, "no, thank you."

"it won't take long," he convinces, a hand reaching out. "you could even take one with you—"

you're turning around to run, but his hand grabs your arm and drags you closer. you scream, but he shushes you, pinning you to the wall. you feel like throwing up. you raise your knee and kick him in the shin, and he lets go of you. you quickly start dashing off, but your heel oh so conveniently breaks and you trip. you fall face first onto the floor and his hand grabs your leg and starts dragging down.

you let out a shriek and kick at his arm, but he's lunging at you, trying to grab your face with his dirty hands. you take that moment to release your frustrations of the day upon him— with all the strength you can muster, you pull your head back before crashing it against his face.

"you bitch!" he screams and so do you— and he falls back, clutching his bleeding nose. he tries to lunge at you again, but you scream as loud as you can, trying to crawl away from him.

someone grabs you and starts pulling you up, and out of reflex you thrash and try to hit the other person. your wrist is clasped firmly in a bigger hand, and the sight of inho's face immediately fills you with relief. he helps you up, and before you can express gratitude, he's pushing you back and moving forward.

you flinch at the sound of the first kick. it happens so fast that you don't even realize it— your eyes widen as inho kicks the man over and over again. the sound of his bones cracking fills your ears, and you almost gag at the sight of the blood mixing with the dirty ground. inho looks unphased for the most part— except he's panting, and his hair is falling across his forehead. sweat runs down the side of his face, and he wordlessly turns around, eyes cold in a way that is foreign to you.

perhaps it's the shock of the sudden turn of events, but you can't speak. all you can think about is the rage that is so prominently etched onto his beautiful face, and how easily he stomped on that man like he was nothing. and how thankful you are that he showed up somehow when you needed him. after your date abandoned you. like magic.

he walks up to you, and you let out a shaky breath before allowing your head to fall onto his chest. he squeezes his eyes shut and pats your back, before cupping your cheeks and lifting your head up. he analyzes your face, gently caresses the new scratches on your chin before his gaze drops to your shoes— a broken heel and multiple scratches on your knees.

"are you okay?" he asks softly, and you hold his palm, ensuring it stays pressed against your cheek. you look at him like he's your only saviour— and you feel that way too. your lips wobble and he looks away.

"tired." you mumble— throat feeling dry. you feel dizzy, and your legs hurt. you're pretty sure you feel like throwing up too.

wordlessly, he bends down slightly, gestures towards his back with a tilt of his head. "come on."

you hesitate, looking at him with shock, before gently allowing your front to splay across his back. you link your arms around his shoulders, and he wraps his hands around your legs. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you lean your weight into him, resting your head along his shoulder. he shifts slightly so you're more comfortable, his hold on you steady and confident. one of your shoes drop, and you don't look back at it. you don't care anyway.

you hear another faint meow before the kitten is out of earshot.

you resist the urge to cry as he carries you up the stairs. you sniffle, burying your head in his back, deeply inhaling the comforting smell of the man you've started associating with home. your legs dangle off his sides and your heart feels heavy. his silence makes you feel so eternally grateful.

you don't know how you got lucky enough to have someone like him by your side.

he doesn't even put you down when you reach your apartment— merely mumbles a soft, "keys?" and you straighten up slightly, shuffling in your coat pocket before leaning forward to open the lock— unable to resist the urge to chuckle just slightly at how endearing this whole situation is, despite everything.

he takes you inside, and your cheeks flush slightly. your clothes are all over the bed— thanks to your indecisiveness while getting ready for the date. he gently places you down on the floor, and you sniffle, quickly covering the clothes with a blanket— eliciting a snort out of him.

"why were you coming home alone?" is the first question he asks. "what happened to the kid you were with?"

"I don't know," you whisper, looking away. you suddenly feel embarrassed— how immature, how careless je-hyun looks in front of a man like inho. you never should've went on that date. "he just.. he disappeared at the party."

he clenches his jaw, his hands resting on his hips as he looks to the side. there's another vein popping in his neck— and if you had the guts, you'd lean up and kiss it.

"that little boy—" he spits with vitriol, the words coming from a deep place of resentment. he takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself, "he never should've left you alone. you should've never decided to walk home alone. why didn't you take a taxi?"

you swallow hard— he certainly doesn't make you miss your father. he's doing his job for him.

"there were no taxis."

"why didn't you just call me?" he asked again, stepping forward, eyebrows raising. "i could've come picked you up."

you pause. you didn't know that was an option. you really didn't think of it.

"I don't know." you replied lamely.

"didn't you say you have a stalker?" he snaps, "how can you be so careless?"

"i really don't want a lecture right now," you reply dejectedly, looking away. your voice lowers to a mumble as you rub your arm. "tonight has been harsh enough."

his face softens and he sighs, running a hand through his hair. he throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, squeezes his eyes shut before looking at you again.

"forgive me." he says earnestly, tilting his head, "i worry about you."

you nod, fidgeting with your coat. he watches you silently before stepping back.

"you should take a warm shower. i'll grab the first aid and take care of that." he gestures towards his chin, and the sting on your own chin starts to settle in.

this time, you don't argue. you toss your coat to the side, grab your toiletries, don't even bother asking him to leave before you go into the bathroom and wipe the memories of this night off you.

inho is waiting on your bed when you return. you hope he didn't hear the sound of you crying— it was rather pathetic. your skin is flushed with how much you scratched it, and worst of all, you ended up gently banging your forehead against the cold wall over how badly your date went. your fault for thinking you could have a positive experience with a man.

you clutch your bathrobe tightly, the water from your hair soaking through the towel. you put it down, and he gets up from the bed and pats down the empty space, telling you to sit down.

you notice your bed looks a little neater than you left it. your clothes are folded nicely by the corner and your bedsheet is straightened properly. it makes you blush, and you give him a sheepish look. he doesn't acknowledge it as he kneels before you.

"you don't have to—" you start, half heartedly.

"let me."

his voice is soft yet so firm, you end up following through. there is nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of by a man like him. you shift slightly, hoping that he takes the flush of your cheeks as an effect of your warm shower.

he settles your leg on his thigh, and shifts your bathrobe just slightly so your knee is exposed. he examines it before applying some ointment on it. the touch of his gentle fingers almost has you whimpering— but you clear your throat and fidget nervously with your fingers. he grabs hold of your ankle, looking thoughtful as his thumb brushes across your skin.

the silence between you two feels heavy and suffocating. the tension could be cut with a knife— and the way he touches you is so intimate, it makes you want to climb into his arms and just cling to him till you fall asleep.

thankfully, he makes the decision for you. he places your feet back down and straightens slightly, wordlessly applies some cream on your chin too. it stings a little but it's bearable. he hums, closes the box and puts it aside.

as you open your mouth to speak, you can hear multiple notifications coming through your phone. his eyes snap up, and so do yours— you reach out and grab it out of your coat pocket, and he glares at it as you check.

"is it the boy?" he asks.

you bite your lip, glancing at the multiple texts of je-hyun apologizing through the notification panel. you're bitter, and you don't want to respond, not right now. inho grabs your hand, takes your phone away and places it by your side.

"you shouldn't go back to him," he advices quietly. there's an intensity in his eyes, an emotion that is hard to read. "after tonight, he's proven he's not worth your time. he abandoned you."

you bite your lower lip. he's right— but then again, a part of you wants to ask. so who should i go to? who is worth my time?

you clear your throat and shift on the bed.

"thank you for tonight," you whisper instead, allowing yourself more time to think about how to deal with je-hyun.

"thank you?" he chuckles, amused, "you'd taken care of that guy pretty well yourself. i just finished the job."

"but still," you protest, feeling a sense of pride at his comment. "he would've grabbed me again if you hadn't come."

he snorts, looking down at his lap. and your words remind you of an important question.

"how'd you know i needed help?"

he tenses, his eyes snapping up to yours again. you can't tell what he's thinking, but he merely chuckles, "i was walking in the park when you screamed. immediately alerted me." he raises a finger to his ear. "policeman instinct."

you laugh at that. his explanation makes sense. of course he has a policeman instinct. you wouldn't expect anything else.

he stands up, groaning as he stretches a little. the action makes his sweater rise up, revealing a silver of his tummy— and your eyes dazedly drop down, glancing at it with barely disguised hunger, until he's relaxing again. you snap yourself out of your trance and cough, looking away.

he looks down at you, all tired eyes and soft hair. in moments like these, you think of how sweet he looks. so gentle, and kind, and caring. sweet mister inho, who has been so generous, protecting you, caring for you, wanting nothing in return. who gave you a piggyback ride home when you felt like you would pass out from terror, who put cream on your wounds with the tenderness of a parent or a lover.

perhaps it's that sentiment, your touch starved nature, or your horrible day that prompted you to do it. or lust from that little glimpse of his skin. either way, you're fucked. you lean forward and wrap your arms around his waist, immediately burying your head in his stomach as you whisper thank yous to him— clinging to him like a lifeline.

he stumbles back in shock, stiffens slightly before relaxing— awkwardly shifting to accommodate you. he laughs slightly, and the rumble sends happy vibrations through your whole body. his hand settles on your head, gently playing with your hair.

"i told ya," he said gently, an amused smile on his face. "i won't let anyone hurt you."

a little embarrassed, you let go of him, pulling away and tucking your hair behind your ear.

"sorry," you mumble sheepishly.

"it's fine," he nods, taking a deep breath. he adjusts his sweater, looks around before giving you another smile. he pats your head. "get some sleep, okay? it's late. i'll check on you tomorrow."

you nod, and he leaves. you bite your lower lip as you replay the hug, and don't find the effort to get up and dress yourself before you're squealing into your pillow— all thoughts of je-hyun forgotten temporarily.

you don't see je-hyun in classes the next day, but he comes to work after college. the first thing he does is approach you, even when you push your head into your tablet while trying to imply how you absolutely do not want to talk to him.

"i can explain," he says with worry, "someone drugged me. i didn't want to leave you alone. i swear, i woke up in the toilet hours after. first thing i did was text you."

you sigh, rolling your eyes as you looked at him boredly, "drugged? that's the excuse you're going with?"

"why would i ditch you on purpose!" he hisses, leaning down. your argument gathers the attention of a few of your coworkers, and your senior warns you to get back to work. you sigh and look away from him.

"whatever it is—" you begin as politely as you can, "I don't think i'm ready to date. so maybe you should just—"

he sighs your name in agitation, and you quirk your eyebrow at him.

"you're really giving up on me after one fuck up?" he asks, frowning, "which wasn't even my fault? i was drugged—"

"i almost got assaulted on the way back," you hiss, standing up abruptly. your noses press together, and you pull back the moment his eyes drift to your lips. you pinch the bridge of your nose, before tilting your chin up and pointing at the bandage. he blinks, gaze filled with guilt. you sigh.

"maybe we could give it a go after some time if you're still interested, but i don't think i have the patience for this right now. last night was really hard on me. can you respect that?"

he looks like a kicked puppy at your words, but he steps back nonetheless. he clenches his jaw as he nods— before leaving you alone for the rest of the day.

the feeling of being watched has numbed you. you try not to care on your way back home— you have too much to do to care about that anyway. your dress from last night and your coat got dirty, so it seems like the perfect time to have a laundry day.

it's only when you're gathering all your clothes that you realize what's wrong.

your clothes are missing.

a pair of panties and your favourite camisole top. it's pink and has a little bow in the middle and you remember bringing it very clearly because you have taken a billion pictures in it. you wore them two days back— and tossed them carelessly in the laundry basket. you check once, and twice.

they're missing.

your first thought immediately goes to the stalker. is there any way he found your home? came into your room? stole your undergarments like a fucking sicko?

your second thought feels a little.. illegal to say the least. but.. inho wouldn't do something like that, would he? no, he's a good guy. a kind, rule following member of society. he used to be a police officer, for fuck's sake. he wouldn't do something like that, would he?

you can't lie, the idea that he could makes something in your stomach flip.

you can't go and straight up ask him, 'hey mister, did you take my panties?' so you do the next best thing. you devise a plan to be alone in his room.

you put on your best panic stricken expression as you knock on his door, and he opens almost immediately. his face falls into one of concern as he looks you up and down, "what's wrong—"

"i need pads," you say sheepishly, biting your lower lip as you step into his room. he doesn't protest as he looks at you. "i got my period and i don't have any and it hurts to go to the store. inho sir, could you please go buy me some? please?"

for added effect you let out a groan, holding your stomach as you fall onto his bed. you lie in a fetus position, and the worry etched onto his face almost makes you laugh.

"do you need anything else?" he asks, grabbing his wallet. you shake your head no, release another groan before he's slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

you wait for a few minutes— until you can hear the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs and fading away. you get up quickly then, look around his room with your heart pounding against your chest.

the first place you look is his cupboards— only his clothes to be found. you rip off his blanket and look under the pillows, searching desperately. you almost feel bad— he seems like such a good man, and you're taking advantage of his kindness by doubting him like this. you almost stop and leave, before the sight of his laundry basket has you pausing.

you look at the door before turning back and approaching it. you sit on the floor and shuffle through it, but you can't find a glimpse of your undergarments anywhere. you can find his though— and it makes you blush slightly.

you find his shirt then— white and plain and you remember him wearing it under his sweater last night. with shaky hands, you bring it out. biting your lower lip, against your morals, you clutch it and bring it up to your nose, inhaling the scent of his collar. it smells of him— of sweat and his cologne and it almost makes you moan.

like the fucking sicko you were worried about, you bury your face in it, your legs shaking as you lean further into it. another whimper escapes you. your eyes squeeze shut, and your mind starts flashing images of him, of his arms, of the vein in his neck, of his hair, of his smile—

it's been established already that your luck is horrible. that's why you don't realize it when the door opens and inho stands there, frozen, watching you sniff his clothes like a junkie. he drops the bag, and you freeze, your eyes immediately snapping open.

the way dread settles in your stomach is comical. you don't want to turn around, more so because it would mean acknowledging what you've been doing. he takes your name, and you turn ever so slowly, his shirt still clutched in your hands, pressed against your nose. as reality sets in, you're quickly tossing it back in the laundry basket and standing up like you've been electrocuted.

"i-it's not what it looks like—"

he doesn't say a word as he slams the door shut, very pointedly locking it. it sends a shiver of thrill up your spine, and he closes in on you ever so slowly as you try to explain yourself.

"i was just—" you're stuttering, voice breathless out of shame. you take a step back. "i was looking for something and i thought you had it and—"

he's just nodding patiently as you speak, eyebrows furrowed with mock sympathy. his hand suddenly shoots up to grab your neck, and your breath hitches as he pushes you against the wall.

"i thought you took my panties," you explain quickly, visibly panicking. "i couldn't find them and you were the only one who came into my room—"

"that's why you were sniffing my shirt like a little pervert?" he asks calmly, voice hushed, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. "because you couldn't find your panties?"

"sir—" you gasp, eyes fluttering as his hand squeezes slightly. your legs tremble, and you grab his wrist. "i didn't mean to—"

"dirty girl," he chuckles. before you can speak further, he's grabbing your waist, twirling you around and shoving you onto his bed. you fall upon it with a surprised gasp, and he climbs onto you effortlessly, caging you between his arms. "you think i don't understand the way you look at me with those pretty little eyes? like you're begging me to fuck you into the mattress?"

"oh fuck," you moan, your back arching off the bed. his mere voice has you feeling stupid. your lips wobble as you look at him pleadingly— licking your lips. "please—"

"yeah— like this," he chuckles, giving your cheek a little slap. it barely registers. doesn't hurt at all, feels like a little tap. but the action enough elicits the most desperate moan out of you, and he squeezes your cheeks, leaning down dangerously. "like a little slut."

you whine, biting your lower lip as you try to catch his lips. he merely laughs mockingly, shakes his head as he pouts playfully, "what? you want a kiss?"

you try to nod as best as you can, and he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth teasingly before letting go. you whine again, your hands holding onto his back— clutching the material of his sweatshirt with a desperation you didn't know you could feel.

"i knew you were a little messed up," he grunts, prying your thighs apart with his knees, before settling his hips upon yours. you can feel the bulge in his pants so evidently, and it makes you moan. with a warning glare, he squeezes your cheeks harder, making your lips pucker up. it makes him chuckle, and he gives your head a little shake. "giving your little 'fuck me' eyes to a man my age. do you act like this with everyone? with that fucking boy from college?"

his voice gets louder, harsher with his words and you shake your head desperately. his hips press against yours, and he starts grinding them against your clothed pussy— making you whine.

"j-just you—" you mumble, but he doesn't let you finish. his mouth is crashing onto yours, one hand grabbing your neck again and the other going under your waist, holding you in place.

the kiss leaves you breathless. teeth and tongue slam together, and you moan needily as he grinds against you, the action making a damp patch appear on the front of your pyjamas. your legs wrap around his waist and he grunts, his hips faltering slightly from shock before he continues, cocking his head to the side to access your mouth better.

your hand comes up to his hair, feeling the softness of it. he grabs it, brings your other one up too and holds both of your wrists in a massive palm— before raising them over your head and keeping them in place. he rises over you, his hips thrusting against yours, and you look at him dazedly. strings of your combined saliva separate and drip down your chin, and you blink.

"please inho sir—" you whimper, your hands twisting in his hold. "slap me again, please."

there's a glimpse of shock in his eyes but it goes away just as quickly. you don't even get to expect how fast his hand pulls back and strikes against your face— but you moan at the contact. it's harder than before and it stings, and it leaves the most delicious pain in it's wake. you almost hope it leaves a little print for you to wake up to tomorrow.

"god, you're a mess," he laughs breathlessly, grabbing your hair. you give him an almost drunken smile— your lips puffy and swollen, hips rising up to press needily against his bulge.

"my little mess—" he groans before gently slapping you again, and you whine, chasing his mouth with your own. he leans forward and silences you with the kiss you were so desperately begging for.

he's pulling back suddenly, a hand digging into his pockets. your eyes flutter open and before you know what's happening— he's stuffing your missing panties in your mouth. it baffles you— and he laughs at the way your eyes widen. he doesn't allow you to move as his hand slips inside your pyjama, immediately rubbing your clit.

the sudden stimulation doesn't allow you to dwell on the matter for long. so he did steal your panties— and you cannot question him, because you quite literally did the same thing. how can you call him out, when you were sniffing his worn shirt like a fucking pervert, yourself? he knows that too, judging by the glint in his eyes— as if he's daring you to attack him. you barely get to protest as you writhe under him, and he rubs your clit till you cum all over his hand— your loud moans muffled by your panties.

he pulls his hand out and licks your juices off with the nastiest slurp, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time. you tremble in his hold, before he's hovering over your chest, his thighs caging you in. he looks down at you smugly, pulling his leaking cock out of his pants. your mouth immediately waters— it's thick and darker than the rest of him, and the tip is flushed red. he doesn't allow you to sit up, keeps it conveniently out of your reach as he begins stroking it, hand moving up and down with a soft, wet shlick.

your pleading is silenced by your panties. you desperately try to push them out of your mouth, to reach up and touch him, but he's restrained you too efficiently. he throws his head back, lets out a soft, raspy moan. drops of his precum land on your face as he furiously jerks off over you, his movements getting faster. your eyes flutter, and he cums with a throaty groan, his entire body tensing— splatters of his cum falling upon your mess of a face.

there's tears in your eyes as you look up at him, and he chuckles. he lets go of your hands, and you immediately toss your panties out and cough. you glance at his softening cock with devastation etched onto your features— before glaring up at him, lips drawn into a sad pout. he laughs at your misery, holds his wet hand out, "come on."

like a fucking puppy, you grab his hand. you don't even understand where this degeneracy is coming from— you don't wish to. you don't care. all you know is you need this man carnally, and you're not going to say no when he's offering himself on a silver platter. with sheer enthusiasm, you start licking his palm, eyes fluttering closed. you lick between his fingers, take two of them in your mouth, making him moan; before he's physically pulling you off him.

you whine in protest, and he pats your cheek while tucking himself back into his pants. you pant heavily as you come down from your high, allowing yourself a moment to think about everything that just happened. your cheek still stings, and you've just experienced what you can only classify as the horniest, hottest moment of your life.

you're so lost in thought that you don't register the moment he pulls you into his bed with him, placing your limp body atop his chest. you were given twin beds in your tiny apartments, but you realize you fit in here pretty well. like a puzzle. he pats your hair and places a soft kiss to your temple. you have many questions, but you don't know where to start.

"so i'm guessing you weren't on your period," he jokes, and you groan, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you recall your little excuse. "i think that was smart. you'd make a pretty good investigator. as long as you don't go around sniffing their clothes—"

"shut up." you whine, glaring at him. he chuckles heartily, and your body feels warm. his hand goes down, slaps your ass teasingly.

"so you think i smell nice?"

"i said shut up."

"it's a yes or no question." he cooes, pinching your cheek. you whine, rubbing your cheek against his chest like a cat. yes, asshole. you wanted to say. you smell amazing.

in retaliation, you decide to ask your own question.

"were you jealous of je-hyun?"

he stiffens slightly, and you smirk. gotcha.

"that's a brave accusation." he retorts smoothly.

"it's a yes or no question," you shoot back teasingly, and he looks into your eyes.

"yes."

you pause then, a small smile appearing on your face. "yes? is that why you kept calling him a boy?"

he shrugs, looking up at the ceiling as his fingers run through your hair. "he is a boy. he couldn't take care of you like i could. and you already liked me before you started going out with him."

that punches the breath out of you.

"was i that obvious?" you ask dryly. he smiles, eyes darting down to you. he grabs your chin and tilts your head down, places a soft kiss upon your lips.

"policeman instinct."

ᥫ᭡.

it's a few weeks later that your entire world slips off it's axis. everything was fine with inho— he had taken you out multiple times. bought you cotton candy, kissed the remnants of it off your chin, and you two had walked hand in hand down the streets of seoul, much like the couples you envied on your first walk with him. you remember mostly going to eat spicy food with him because he was lactose intolerant and not a big fan of sweets. he'd even won you a plushie at an arcade that you now cuddle whenever you go to sleep without him. you remember not being scared anymore because you no longer felt the eyes of your stalker, and the only flowers you got were the ones inho would buy for you.

inho hadn't come home for two days and thirteen hours.

you know because you've been counting each hour. there's an unbearable itch in your stomach, and every door opening or closing in the hallway has you jumping and leaving to check. you'd met up with the landlady, insisted that she get someone to go look for him, but she'd merely brushed you off.

your days at work became gloomy and your classmates started to notice. je-hyun got a girlfriend too— one of your seniors. you were happy for him, honestly. but still fucking jealous. you missed your boyfriend, and worst of all, you were worried. he just went away without saying anything, and it filled you with a sense of betrayal.

you were in your own state of denial. no way he could do this to you— give you love and then snatch it away out of nowhere, leaving you empty and cold. you didn't want to believe it. absolutely not.

you were trying to sleep when you heard his name again. you sit up, quickly turning on the lights and jumping to the door.

"—he was supposed to pay his rent a week ago," your landlady says. you open the door and peek out, watch as she guides another man to his door. you wonder if he knows your inho. "i've stopped by everyday since then, but he hasn't come in or picked up his phone. by the way... about his rent... otherwise you'd have to move his stuff out right away—"

the younger guy ensures he'd pay the rent, and you watch curiously as she opens the door for him. "take your time!" she says.

so he definitely knows inho, you think.

you watch with bated breath, only his back being visible to you. you're not sure if you should approach him. suddenly, he's moving, turning around and leaving the apartment as if something came up. you open the door and watch him go— your voice stuck in your throat.

you don't see that guy again. you don't hear from inho again. you don't receive flowers, but the feeling of being watched still remains, although it's less frequent.

three days pass. you're gathering your belongings to leave when je-hyun places a bouquet in front of you. you look up at him, frowning.

"someone left this at the door," he says casually, rubbing the back of his neck. "for you. guess it didn't stop."

he leaves and you frown as you look at the flowers. you hadn't received these in a while. you analyse them— pink carnations paired with some white lilies and forget-me-nots. wrapped up in a white ribbon. you know carnations because they're infamous and can be seen in almost every flower shop. you also know carnations are usually used in weddings. they're a symbol of love and devotion. and forget me nots— there is no need for an explanation. the answer lies in its name. you're pulling your phone out to go through that website— the one that speaks the language of flowers.

perhaps it's your own stupidity for not having realized it before. you're quickly pulling the bouquet forward. no card. there are a myriad of emotions going through you— anger, hurt, and most of all— yearning. your heart yearns for him. it longs for him. your hands tremble as you clutch the edge of the table.

you look at the flowers almost bitterly. you grit your teeth, glaring down at your phone, the website open and displaying words that only evoke feelings of distress out of you. of course, it had to be him. there was no other explanation. flowers symbolizing jealousy right after je-hyun asked you out, you had mentioned how much you liked flowers the day you two went on a walk. them suddenly stopping the day you two started openly dating. you just feel stupid you didn't realize it sooner.

that manipulative prick.

you huff bitterly, your eye twitching as you read the damning text over and over again.

pink carnations — 'ill never forget you.'

inho watches your face through the screen with a glass of whiskey in hand; smiling slightly at the way you glare at him. him as in, the bouquet. he's testing a new thing, trying to see if you've figured it out yet. he's very conveniently placed a camera in this one. if you understand it's him who has been sending you flowers, he's a hundred percent sure you'll take it home and keep it. if you decide to throw it out, that's okay too. the teddy bear he won for you was easy to install a camera in. he gets to see you whenever he wants, even when he's away. watching your sleeping face is rather therapeutic amidst the brutal killings of the players in the games. whenever he starts to miss you, your face is a button away from him. he can't really keep an eye on you at work, but that's alright. he's paid someone to keep watch and make sure you don't find someone else.

it was fun to see the fear etched onto your face whenever you mentioned being stalked— he was the one carrying out the stalking himself, until other duties called. he had to take these measures to ensure he was the only source of your comfort, the only one to rely on. scaring you just a little so it would bring you closer to him. how else would you come to him? you needed a little push. and now he's got you wrapped around his finger, much like you've got him wrapped around yours.

the flowers were just fun. he liked messing with you. a little inside joke with himself— different flowers to express how he felt about you. he wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out. the way they worked to keep most men away was simply an added bonus.

you almost actually getting assaulted was not part of the plan. he'd spiked the kid's drink to make sure he could conveniently step in to save the day— to find you and bring you home. except that disgusting freak of nature decided to lay his dirty hands on you. you don't have to know that he went back to finish the job, that the man is six feet under the ground. much like your dear je-hyun would've been if he hadn't respectfully backed off and gotten himself a girlfriend.

he doesn't think he has anger or jealousy issues, no. he simply does not think that he can live without you anymore. anyone who comes between the two of you, has to go. you're a little naive and easy to manipulate, but it worked in his favour. you trusted him too easily, and he's gotten addicted to the way you make him feel like some hero. he gets to protect you and hold you and forget about everything that he's had to go through. it's a win.

he's seen how miserable you've been without him— the plushie he got you has been spending more time in your arms than your phone, which he thinks is a good development.

you miss him, and he misses you too.

he can judge by the clench of your jaw that you've figured out he was the one behind the flowers. the thought makes him snort slightly. he tilts the glass, glancing down at the clear fluid, before looking up at your face.

you've pulled back. you're picking the bouquet up, and carrying it out. you cross the trash can— and you don't throw it out.

you're taking it home.

a pleased smirk curls upon his face and he nods to himself, taking the remote and turning on his music box.

the notes of 'fly me to the moon' wraps around him like a comforting blanket. he's gonna take this as a hint. if you're taking this bouquet home even after realizing he's the one behind the flowers, it must mean you accept him. and he can make do with that.

you're young and impressionable, and you follow what he says. he could share his ideas with you, see how you react.

and perhaps the next time he sees you, he'll bring you to the games with him.

A/N: this was sooo fun to write!! it took me a few days to finish this and i got so unmotivated because i accidentally deleted a draft at first, but now it turned out so much better than before! i truly hope it doesn't feel rushed or bad, and i know the smut is mid at best but i really tried :( as always feedback is always appreciated, and thank you so much for the support on my fics so far! i love you guys!

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing @pillowtalk6 @antiromanticbaby

[slutzforbueckers]

twenty nights- p.b x fem!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: based on the song twenty nights by nobu woods. you and paige are sneaky links because for 1. she doesn’t do relationships(being the face of UCONN’s Wbb and all) and 2. you already had a girlfriend.

a/n: i do not condone cheating!!! i repeat: i do not condone cheating!!! also any flashbacks will be written in italics!! this wasn’t really how i originally planned it to be but i hope you enjoy!

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

paige had been busy for a few weeks with basketball games, which meant you had been reduced to late night phone calls and risky text. you were sure it was a form of torture to have something that good and having to go weeks without it.

she wasn’t the only one that was busy though, during those weeks was you and your girlfriends 1 year anniversary. it was good paige was gone, you could focus on acting like the oblivious girlfriend Viola—your girlfriend—thought you were. you weren’t ignorant to anything she had been doing for the past 7 months of your relationship, you had seen hard proof she had been sneaking around.

when you first found out you didn’t want to believe it, you were head over heels for her and you thought she was the same for you. it took you until the 5th girl, within the first two months of your knowing, had privately text you with proof they had been with your girlfriend for you to realize she wouldn’t change.

you could’ve left her then, sure, but you wanted to know you could do her worst than she had did you. yes, it’s petty but you’d rather end the relationship knowing she wouldn’t be the hurt one. so, you had decided to go to a few parties one night and find some new girls to talk to.

“you shouldn’t let that bitch go around sleeping with the whole town and not get your lick back!” your best friend, gracie, shook her head as she laid the last curl over your shoulder. she turned the wand off and set it down on the vanity. of course, she knew about the situation with Viola and she was ready to burn her house down when she found out. “i’m just saying, hun, i wouldn’t pass down the opportunity to show you’re a baddie if i were you.”

you gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded your head. you were thankful you had gracie in your life to help you through times like this, granted her way of coping being very different from yours. she walked away and flopped down on your bed. you sat at your vanity still, running your fingers to loosen the curls.

there were so many thoughts running through your head, a part of you wanted to do Viola the worst way possible and the other part of you just wanted to ignore it and forget anything ever happened. the most you thought about it, all the girls and the lies, you just got more upset and embarrassed that you were still with her.

“you know what, call jason.” you twirled your hair around your finger for a second before dropping your hands and spinning around on your stool to face gracie. she sat up in the bed and gave you a confused expression. “see if he can get some parties starting, i’m tired of being seen as Vi’s pathetic girlfriend.”

gracie smiled big and squealed in excitement, she picked up her phone and immediately started dialing jason. jason was this frat boy she ran into one day, literally, and somehow they clicked and have been together ever since. the more jason was around the more you realized you actually loved parties.

all it took was a one phone call to jason and a 10 minutes wait before you were already getting phone calls and text from the rest of your friends, asking if you were going to the party tonight. you and gracie shared a look and immediately started talking about what dress you should wear.

that night you went to the party in the newest little red dress you had bought. it barely reached reached your mid thigh and the sides of your hips were cut to have slits, but it cupped your body in all the right places. when you had arrived at the party you got drunk and flirted with any girl you found attractive until you settled with one to take home that night.

that was the first time you had ever cheated on Viola or the first time you have ever cheated in your life at that. you felt horrible when you woke up with some else’s arms wrapped around your body. you felt sick with embarrassment, disgust, and a headache from all the alcohol, but the hole in your chest was still big and empty.

you cried for hours that morning, on the way back to your apartment, when you were in the shower, and when you were finally able to lay in your own bed. you thought cheating on her would make you feel better, make you feel like you were even. you almost couldn’t hold it together when she stopped by that evening with a hand full of bags from your favorite places in the mall and a box of chocolate covered strawberries in the other.

you tried again the next weekend with the girl from the party that night and you didn’t feel as bad as you did the first time. so, you figured it would get easier and easier each time. you met up with the girl a few times until and you both agreed to keep it casual and no strings attached.

of course, you told gracie about it and of course, gracie was excited for you and filling your head up by saying things like saying you needed to build your roster and “pussy whip these girls into being your bitch”(her exact words). so, another party came around and you met another girl. you met paige, the big shot basketball player.

gracie had a tight grip on your wrist as she pulled you through the crowds of people lingering around. you stumbled around, trying to keep up with her fast pace. eventually she let go of you when she spotted her boyfriend, giving you a quick look back to make sure you were good by yourself.

you watched her nearly run to jason and you shook your head. you looked around to see what you could do, you spotted the kitchen and the line up of different alcoholic drinks on the island. deciding you were due for a good drink, you headed in that direction. you slightly swayed to the music playing as you decided on what you wanted.

just as you picked up the bottle of pink whitney you heard someone clear their throat from behind you. you looked over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of a tall and thin figure, you quickly poured you a drink and turned around.

“am i in your way?” you asked, though you didn’t bother moving. you immediately recognized the girl standing in front of you. how could you not when her face was plastered as the face of your school. she’s good at basketball and not to mention she’s hot, there’s no way you couldn’t pay attention to her.

“nah, just enjoying the view.” she pushed herself off the counter and took a step forward, she reached behind you to grab her drink of choice to refill her cup. you turned your head to the side and watched her, admiring the way her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. you snickered at her words, causing her to look back at you. “what’s funny?”

“you been watching me all night.” you shrugged your shoulders and finished off your drink. paige moved so she was standing in front of you, looking down at you. you had never been this close to her before, the height difference was very noticeable. you crossed your arms under your chest and looked up at her.

"i mean, look at you." paige hummed and shook her head, she finished her drink and tossed it in the trash. paige stepped closer until she almost had you pinned against the hard counter. you took a deep breath and adverted your gaze, suddenly all the confidence you had disappeared. you almost had a full body reaction when she trailed her fingertips up your side before reaching your face and pushing your hair behind your ear.

you finally looked back at her and noticed her eyes were trained on your lips, making you subconsciously dart your tongue out to wet them. her eyes moved back up to yours and you shared a look before she spoke again.

"let me take you somewhere."

of course, you went with her with no questions. she took you to a secluded lake area and you sat and talked for a couple hours. you fully expected to hook up with her but after you kissed for the first time she explained to you that she didn't do relationships and you explained that you were already in one. you didn’t actually do anything until a few nights later and then it became a regular occurrence.

you met with her at your apartment a few times a week. unless she was busy, like the past few weeks, and then you had to settle for either your girlfriend or the other girl.

now, you laid on your sofa with your legs propped up on viola’s legs while she watched a sports channel. you let out a sigh of relief when your phone went off, you picked it up fully expecting to see a text from gracie asking you to go shopping. to your surprise it wasn’t, you had to contain your excitement as you read paige’s name on your screen.

paige

wyd tonight?

you bit your bottom lip and looked over at your girlfriend, you had to find some excuse to get her to leave. you looked back at your phone for a second and then back to viola. you had to think of something, there was no way you were going to miss seeing her after all that time. while racking your brain for things to say, she let out a loud groan.

"what's wrong?" you asked, turning you phone off and sitting it in your lap. viola shook her head and rested her hand on your thigh, you fought the urge to push her hand off of you.

"i'm bored. there's nothing on tonight, no parties?" she asked you, knowing that you were close to the people with those connections. you sat up straight and smiled at her. that was the perfect idea, get a party started so she'd be busy for the rest of the night. you picked up your phone and immediately texted gracie. of course, she replied within seconds and agreed to make the call to jason.

"done. jason's going to make some calls." you moved your legs off of her and got off the couch. viola jumped up with a smile on her face and kissed your cheek, mumbling a thank you before finding her way out your apartment. you made sure to lock the door before texting paige back to let her know it was safe to come over.

˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

while you waited you decided to take a quick shower, you put on one of your favorite two piece night sets. just as you picked up your phone to see where she was there was a knock on the door. you made your way to the front door, trying not to run, and opened it. paige stood there with her hands in her pockets, grey nike tech on, her hair in a bun, and a pair of clear glasses.

"you're drooling." she teased. you shook your head and rolled your eyes, stepping to the side so she could enter. paige made her way to the living room and you followed. you sat down next to her but she wasn’t satisfied with that, she pulled you into her lap. “i been thinking about you.” she wrapped her arms around your waist and gently tugged you closer to her.

“me too.” you draped your arms over her shoulders and lowered your head to kiss her. paige slid her hands down to your ass, deepening the kiss. you fought for dominance and even though you knew she’d win, you didn’t back down.

the way you kissed each other felt like you had been doing it your whole life. you always felt like you could feel emotions she hadn't expressed, and you tried to make sure she felt the same way. paige ran her hand up your back and grabbed a hold of your hair, she tugged your head back and your lips weren't connected anymore.

you let out a huff when you saw the way she smiled at you, you looked away because you weren't sure if you could take seeing her look at you like you were the only girl in the world. even though to her you were. it didn't make any sense to paige how she could look at another girl and not feel the same way she felt when she looked at you.

she tried to hook up with other people when you weren't available but it was never the same. she never felt the way she did when she was with you. the entire time the only thing she could think of was you. she would never tell you that, though, she didn't want to ruin what you had now. not to mention, she "doesn't do relationships."

"paige," you mumbled, finally meeting her eyes again. she let out a hum of acknowledgment and cupped your jaw, running her thumb over your lip. "stop looking at me like that."

paige bit her bottom lip before pulling you back down to kiss her. when she kissed you she tried to pull you closer, even though you were already as close as you could get. you ran your fingertips over her jaw and down to her throat. it only took a few more minutes before she was standing up, with you still wrapped around her, and making her way to your bedroom.

she had followed the same path so many times she was sure she could do it with her eyes closed. while she walked you took the chance to kiss your way down her jawline. paige’s eyes fluttered as she felt your soft lips on her skin, she stumbled her way into your bedroom and sat on the edge of your bed.

“take these off.” she muttered, sliding you off her lap so you stood in front of her. you listened and started to pull you clothes off, you weren’t sure why but you loved undressing for her. you loved the way her eyes roamed over your body because she couldn’t decide on what she wanted to look at, you loved the way you could see her cheeks tint pink, you just loved the way she looked at you.

you stripped down to your bra and panties, you decided you'd leave the rest to paige. "take 'em off." you gestured to your body and stepped closer to her.

paige pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked up at you, running her hands up the back of your thighs and over your ass. you expected her to tug your panties down but instead she stood up and twirled you around, pressing herself against your back.

she swiftly unclasp your bra and pushed the straps off your shoulder. she leaned down and pressed her lips against your skin, she pushed your hair to one side and started kissing your shoulder and back.

“so pretty.” she mumbled. her hands circled your waist, her fingers slipping into the waistband of your panties.

“shut up.” you let out a shaky breath and leaned back into her. paige pushed her hand further into your panties, her long and slim fingers finding their way through your folds. it’s not that you didn’t want her to tell you how pretty she thought you were, you just didn’t want to complicate your feelings even more.

paige sucked her teeth at your words and pulled her hand away, making you groan in annoyance. she didn't say anything as she stepped away from you and started to move your full body mirror to be right in front of the bed. she sat back down on the bed and pulled you between her legs.

“take them off and sit down.” she demanded. you did as she said and pushed your panties down your legs, kicking them to the side with the rest of your clothes. paige placed her hands on your hips and turned you to face the mirror, guiding you down onto her lap. she spread your legs so your cunt was on full view, she hummed as she looked at you through the mirror.

paige ran her hands over your thighs before moving her right hand down to your cunt, she coated her middle finger in your slick before dipping her finger into your entrance.

“fuck, paige.” you whimpered, looking away in embarrassment. paige rested her chin on your shoulder and watched you take her, she waited until she felt you were ready before adding another finger. she felt herself getting wetter as she watched how your cunt stretched around her fingers.

“look. look at how pretty you are.” she curled her long fingers in you, causing your hips to twitch just slightly. you shook your head and melted into her, your head falling back on her shoulder. paige let out a tsk sound and used her free hand to wrap around your throat, she lifted your head and made you look at yourself in the mirror. “you see her? yeah, she missed me.”

your body was buzzing with pleasure as she started to speed up, you grabbed at any part of her you could. all you could do was whine and moan while she held you. it didn’t take long before your stomach was tightening.

paige could feel you were close and even though she had been looking forward to making you cum for the past few weeks, she wanted to make you wait. she shushed you when you whined out her name, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“m’gonna make you feel good, i promise.” she spoke softly into your ear, followed by a gentle kiss. paige moved you off her lap and instructed you to get comfortable on the bed. while you did that she went to your closet and found the box of toys that you only used with her. you watched as she pulled out the strap and set the small box back in its place.

she set the strap on the bed and started to unzip her jacket. you watched for a second before you decided you wanted to do it for her. you moved to the edge of the bed and sat up in your knees, reaching for her white tee. “let me do it.”

she didn’t deny you, she stood right there and let you undress her. once you were done you kissed her body a few times before moving back to your previous spot.

“okay, i’m ready.” you chirped, twirling your hair around your finger. paige laughed and shook her head while she got the strap situated on her hips. she crawled onto the bed and between your legs. she stared down at you with that same look from earlier, making you reach up and lightly tap her cheek. “what?”

“nothing.” she shook her head and pressed her lips against yours before you could speak. while she kissed you, you made work of pulling her hair out of the bun it was in. paige let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of you running your fingers over her scalp.

you spread you legs around her waist and pulled her into you. usually you'd have more foreplay but it had been too long since you were last with her and you weren't sure you could wait. paige got the hint and reached between your bodies, she gathered some of your slick and spread it over the length of the strap.

she wrapped her hand around the base and guided the tip of the cock to your entrance. you opened your legs wider as she started to press into you. you let out a sharp gasp and fisted her hair, making her pull back to check on you.

"you okay?" she asked, reaching up and pushing a strand of hair out of your face. you nodded your head quickly and grabbed at her hips, trying to pull her into you. paige sat up straight and placed her hands on your knees, pushing them as far apart as possible before starting to slide deeper into you.

you wrapped your hand around her bicep and dug your nails into her skin, your eyes shutting as you got used to the stretch. one she bottomed out she paused to let you adjust.

she only began moving when you let out a breath and gave her the okay. her eyes were glued to the place where you met as she started to steadily thrust into you, eventually she came to find a good rhythm. paige wrapped her arms under your legs and leaned down, pressing her chest against yours.

“what’d you do while i was away, hm? how’d you keep my girl satisfied?” paige grunted in your ear, her nose brushing against your hair as she began to rock into you at a rough pace. she had you pinned against the bed with your legs wrapped around her waist and your nails digging into her back. your eyes nearly rolled back as you tried to open your mouth to speak but the only noise you could make was a nasally whine. paige brought her hand back and slapped your thigh. “answer me.”

“fuck i saw- i saw the other—“ paige snapped her hips into yours rougher and rougher, already knowing what you were going to say. she had cut you off by making you gasp for air. somehow you found it in you to finish what you were saying, your thighs squeezing her waist. “i saw the other girl.”

those five words sent paige into overdrive and you knew it. you loved how she roughed you up when she was jealous, how she swiftly changed positions and had you face down ass in a matter of seconds. she had a tight grip on your hair, pinning your head down onto the mattress, she used her other hand on your hip to pull you back into her.

the only thing you could do was moan and cry, your hands fisting the sheets beside your head. you could hear her quiet moans and shallow breaths. paige bit her bottom lip as she stared down at your ass, she watched her cock slip in and out of your sopping cunt. she groaned at the white ring starting to form around her.

she wasn’t sure why she got so jealous at the thought of someone else getting to see you like this. she didn’t want to think about the fact you weren’t hers, what she wanted was to brand her name on your chest so that everyone knew you were hers.

“she fuck you like this?” she slapped your ass before pulling you up so you were on your hands and knees. she wrapped your hair around her hand and pulled your head back so she could see your face. she loved being able to see your face scrunch up in pleasure and your full lips parting to let out all of those pretty moans she loved to hear. “you get this wet for her?”

you shook your head the best your could and bit your lip. no girl could ever fuck you the way paige does, no one else would be able to make you feel this good. if it was possible she would be yours and you wouldn’t have to go to other girls, but it’s not. “no- just you, paige!”

“damn right. can’t nobody make you feel this good.” the sound that left her was low and deep, almost like a growl. she wrapped her arm around your body and started to circle your clit. your thighs twitched as you started to fuck yourself back into her. you could feel yourself getting closer. “you hear that, baby? hear how wet you are? that’s all you.”

“yes yes, paige! i can’t— mmph shit— i’m gonna cum.” you cried, reaching behind you to grab at any part of her your could. paige had let go over your hair and you tried to keep yourself help but you were nearly trembling from how good she felt. you dropped down onto your stomach, paige lifted your hips a bit and continued drilling into you.

“c’mon, pretty, cum for me.” and you did, your eyes rolled back and your body stilled. you whined her name as your walls fluttered around her cock and you imagined she could feel it. paige slowed her pace to a leisurely pace, helping you ride out your high.

you reached back and pushed at her stomach as you started to feel the sting of overstimulation. “okay! okay!”

paige let out a soft chuckle and let you go, letting your drop down onto your stomach fully. she gently pulled out and flipped you onto your back before starting to undo the harness around her.

you watched her while you tried to catch your breath, your arm resting on your forehead. once paige got the strap off she looked you dead in the eye and wrapped her lips around it, she held eye contact with you the entire time she cleaned your cum off the strap.

“paige.” you groaned, squeezing your thighs together. you were already ready to go again, watching her do that just had you want more. paige tossed the strap aside and cupped your jaw, bringing her lips to yours and pushing her tongue past your lips. you hummed as you could taste yourself on her tongue.

you pulled back for a breath of air and she took the chance to admire you. you didn’t point out that way she looked at you.

for once, you let her look at you like she was in love.

[sinofwriting]

Insane Person - Max Verstappen (I ❤️ MILFS verse)

Words: 667 Summary: Max wants to be sure he can give Pan kids. (Part of the I ❤️ MILFS verse) Note(s): Takes place during the original I ❤️ MILFS fic, before Max finds out Pan’s age. Max is insane btw, this has been a blurb idea since I wrote the original fic and finally it has been written so enjoy, lol.

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

“I’d love to give Logan a sibling or two.”

The words so soft had made his heart speed up as soon as he heard them and now thinking about them, letting them play on repeat.

It’s early in their relationship, though they haven’t yet talked about it yet, no matter how much Max is dying to do so. But Max wants to be the one that she gives Logan siblings with.

Which is why he’s sitting in front of his computer and looking at medical studies.

A lot of it is going over his head. The most schooling he sat through was the first four or five years of it. He can grasp engineering, anything to do with cars and their data, but medical terminology goes over his head.

He powers through, he doesn’t know Pan’s exact age, his mother would smack him over the head if he even thought to ask her age, but she’s got to to be mid to late thirties if not early forties considering Logan is twenty.

The studies say she’d be fine getting pregnant, shouldn’t have trouble conceiving, and his cheeks burn at the word, at the image it puts in his mind. They haven’t quite got there, but they’ve gotten close. They throw out the term geriatric pregnancy which makes him flinch because forty wasn’t old, at least not if you weren’t a driver and to see it be called something like that felt harsh, rude. Another one calls it advanced maternal age which really isn’t any better, but it’s just relieving to see that’s still possible. And then a study mentions that if people are having trouble conceiving that not only does the person birthing need to get checked, but both do and a new panic takes over his brain.

What if when it came time to try, he was the problem? It would really be his luck. Things had been going very well for the past few years, it would be his luck that he couldn’t give the woman he loves more kids.

And Logan wanted siblings, the panic grows as he remembers Logan chiming in that he’d love some siblings. Oh god, what if he failed in giving Logan siblings? He wanted the younger driver to like him, to really like him.

His fingers act quickly, wanting to know how he can know if he can have kids and the results make him blink because it couldn’t be that easy.

He just had to provide a sample in a cup?

Max’s brain struggles to compute that after just reading everything that women have to go through to get their fertility checked.

His hand goes to his phone, he rarely if ever called his doctor, but this was important.

He goes through the motions of confirming he is who he is, wondering how weird it must be for other people to do this for him before he finally gets asked why for the purpose of the appointment.

“I want to check to see if I can have kids.”

“Okay, are you and your partner having trouble conceiving?”

His cheeks burn, “We aren’t trying yet. I just want to make sure that it’s possible on my end.”

“Okay, it’s a simple procedure at our clinic and we could see you in the next three days if that works for you at any time we are open.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Alright, we’ll see you in a few days, Mr. Verstappen.”

He gets the results back five days after his appointment, an email sitting in his inbox, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before finally opening it.

There are words he doesn’t know, ones he doesn’t really want to think about, but there at the end, a note from his doctor that says everything looks great, and he shouldn’t have troubles getting someone pregnant and his fist goes in the air, a quiet but excited yes leaving him.

He could give Logan siblings and Pan more kids, thank fuck.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

delicate

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend's father was not what you imagined when you met Joel Miller at a country music festival a year before you even met his daughter in college and became best friends with her. And it should have ended once you found out, but both of you just couldn't keep your hands from each other. Not even when his daughter was sleeping on the couch in the same room.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.7k

Rating: E

Warnings: bfd!Joel, no-outbreak, age gap (twenty-ish year; I imagine reader in her mid to late twenties), fluff, smut (a handjob and some cumplay), secret relationship, lies, fucking while someone else is sleeping in the same room, more implied smut

A/N: i am still not sure what to think about this, so let me know yeah?

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

It was dark outside when your eyes blinked open, the TV still running, the only light source in the room. 

„Didn’t wanna wake you,“ you jumped when you heard his voice from your left, your head almost knocking against his as you looked up at Joel. 

You were spending the holiday weekend with The Millers.

Joel had joined you and Sarah after he got home from work as you were in the middle of a Star Wars marathon. 

Sarah had just broken up with her boyfriend and needed some quality girl time. Something you were never saying no to, much less since you moved into her home town after finishing college. 

You were a couple years older than Sarah, both of you meeting at College when she started and you were in your last year. You had clicked immediately and been inseparable ever since. 

Even once you moved away after finishing college you stayed close, Sarah being excited over you moving closer to her childhood home. 

The last person you ever wanted was to hurt your best friend. 

Which was hypocritical considering you were fucking her father. 

Not that you knew that Joel was her father when you met him on a country music festival in Austin some years back. 

No, you had only found that out when Sarah had invited you to one of her birthdays, almost two years after you met in college. You weren’t sure if you would ever get over the shock you felt when  she introduced Joel as her father. 

You had known that he was a single dad. You just never thought he had a grown up daughter that was studying at the same college that you were.

And that enough should have been reason to stop having sex with him. 

That you had continued seeing each other after the first time had been a miracle to you in the first place, but now? It was like the universe was telling you to stop this nonsense. Both of you had called it quits many many times. First there was the age gap, Joel feeling like he was holding you back from living your life, being almost twenty years older than you.

Then there was the distance. You were studying a four hour flight away and wouldn’t be able to just fly over for a quick(y).

That he was your best friends Dad should have been the biggest hint to stop seeing him. 

But both of you were weak people when it came to each other. So you kept having sex. It had been almost three years now. 

You hummed, stretching your arms as you looked over to the love seat where Sarah was sleeping like the dead, back towards you. You grinned to yourself, seeing the empty glass of wine on the table next to her. 

„She’s out,“ Joel smiled next to you and you nodded before you let your head fall against his shoulder. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, his scent in your nose. One of his arms came behind your back, pulling you even closer. 

„Missed you lately,“ he said, kissing your head and you hummed. 

„New job has been kicking my ass,“ you sighed. 

„And here I thought you moving to Austin would mean we could spend more time together,“ he said and you smiled. 

When the job offer came and you read that you would have to relocate to Austin you were happy and sad at the same time. Happy because it meant being able to spend more time with Joel, and sad that you wouldn’t see Sarah every day anymore. 

She still had at least two years to go, before she would start her residency to work towards her PhD. Both of which she planned to to in Austin.

„You and me both babe,“ you said and looked up at him. He kissed you softly then, one of his hands tilting your chin up so he could deepen the kiss. 

You had missed him more than you’d like to admit. 

Being in love with your best friends Dad was not something you signed up for, yet here you were. Making out with him while your best friend was sleeping a few feet away from you. 

You really needed to come up with a plan to either tell her or break up with him for good. 

„Should have moved in here,“ he mumbled against your lips and you sighed, sitting yourself up to get closer to him. 

„That would be hard to explain when Sarah comes to visit,“ you whispered as he kissed down your throat. 

„I’d find a way,“ you felt him grin against your skin and you rolled your eyes, before you put one hand on his cheek. He stopped and looked at you. 

„Do we tell her?“ You whispered and he closed his eyes. You were almost sure you ruined the mood when his eyes opened again. 

„Yeah. Yeah we will,“ he said and you heart fluttered in your chest. 

„Yeah?“ You asked. He nodded. 

With a grin you pressed your lips against his, your hand wandering down his chest. 

„When?“ You asked against his lips. His hand was now under your shirt, sliding upwards to your tits. 

„Soon. Don’t wanna sneak around anymore,“ he said, groaning when your hand came down to squeeze his cock through his pants. 

You looked over your shoulder towards Sarah who was still lying with her back towards you, quietly snoring. 

When you looked back at Joel you saw him checking her too, before he looked at you. 

He kissed you again, while you kept rubbing his cock, but soon that wasn’t enough anymore. 

You slowly worked your hand into his pants, Joel hissing when he felt your fingers slipping over his length.

„Baby we can’t….“ He groaned a low fuck as you pulled his cock out of his jeans, already hard as if waiting for you to finally give it some attention.

„We can. If you keep quiet,“ you winked at him before you spit in your hand. Slowly you wrapped your hand around his cock again, slowly pumping the length. 

Joel’s eyes were flying between your face and the love seat where Sarah was still sleeping, none of the wiser to what you were doing with her dad. 

Sometimes you felt guilty for what you were doing with her father. 

Because ever since you met in college you never hid anything from each other. You were lying to your best friend and for what?

Well for one, the best sex you ever had in your life. 

But it was more than that. And a twenty…. No it was seventeen year age gap wasn’t that bad, wasn't it?

Fuck, why were you thinking about that now?

„Gonna put me in your mouth?“ He asked as you slowly kept your hand moving, jerking him off.

You smiled cheekily. 

„I though we couldn’t do that?“ You asked, all innocently. He rolled his eyes. 

„Might as well finish what you started now, Darlin’,“ he hummed and you grinned softly. 

„But maybe I suddenly feel very tired and wanna go to bed?“ You leaned closer to him, lips on his jaw.

„Only if you come to my bed,“ he murmured followed by a low groan as you tightened your fingers around him. 

„We both know if I come into your bed, we both can’t keep quiet,“ you teased and he smirked. 

„I could find way to keep you quiet,“ he rasped, mouth now against your ear as one of his hands squeezed one of your tits and a shiver ran over your body. 

„Could fuck your little mouth with you on your knees in front of me,“ his other hand came to rest over your hand that was jerking him off, guiding your hand a little faster. 

„Could have you sit on my face, eating that wet little pussy while you suck my cock,“ he twitched in your hand and you sighed softly. 

„Or I’ll take you outside in my workshop to fuck you. No ones gonna hear us there,“ he said before he finally kissed you. He moaned against your lips, pumping his length faster. 

„Gonna cum, fuck,“ he groaned and you quickly parted from his lips to lean down, closing your mouth around his tip, his cum filling your mouth seconds later, his hand on the back of your head as you quietly hummed around him. 

„Fuck baby,“ he whispered as you looked up at him, his other hand in his hair, his lips parted as he looked down at you.

„Show me,“ he mouthed and you grinned before you parted your lips, sticking your tongue out that was covered in his cum. 

„Fuck you dirty little girl,“ he shook his head, before he pulled you up and kissed you, his tongue diving into your mouth, tasting his own cum. 

The moment was interrupted as the love seat where Sarah was still sleeping on made a noise as she moved. With wide eyes you jumped from another, Joel pulling the blanket over his lap to hide his cock. 

You both looked towards Sarah, barely breathing before you both realised that she was still sound asleep. 

Looking at each other you both released a long breath before you chuckled. 

He reached under the blanket, tucking himself back into his pants while you got up, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

„How about I meet you in your workshop outside in ten minutes?“ You asked, already walking towards the garden where he had transformed a shed into his workshop. 

He raised one eyebrow. 

„Gonna need more than ten minutes after that,“ he said and you smirked. 

„That’s okay. I have some ideas,“ you winked. He smirked, shaking his head. 

„Tell Sarah I already went to bed,“ you whispered, knowing he would wake her so she could go to bed and he nodded. 

Thankfully Joel had a guest room that you used when you stayed over. At least Sarah thought so.

„See you in ten,“ he whispered back and you turned away from him, walking out of the house. 

[theemissuniverse]

“IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND SINGLE?” HENRY HART X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : After Henry as Kid Danger looks bad on the news, he helps the community in order to gain public opinion back. When he meets you, his whole mission goes out the window. (Henry is 18 & graduated from high school, reader is 20. This is low-key written as if it was an actual episode.)

CONTENT : flirty Henry, suggestive content, reader is very feminine

MASTERLIST

As much as he loved fighting crime and saving lives, being Kid Danger did not have its perks sometimes. Kinda like what he was doing now. After he had accidentally insulted veterans just because he said he didn’t think they should get a gold star for joining and didn’t think they were automatically good people on the news, Ray suggested for him to do community work to get the people back in his good graces.

Some of the stuff was small, like saving a cat from a tree. Others it was if he could save them from a burning building.

Just great.

He decided to take a break, going into a bakery to get something to drink and a small donut. When he walked in, it smelled amazing. The smell went to his stomach, making it let out a rumble.

The atmosphere was girly. He could tell the owner was a woman in her twenties just by the small details in the place. And because it was so goddamn pink.

He went to step in further but when he did, a man stood in front of him. He had to be about early to mid twenties. Henry noticed the baggy clothes he had on and he could’ve sworn it was a hot summer day.

The heat was clearly not getting to this man as he had the brightest smile on his face. “Oh my god! You’re Kid Danger!”

Henry was annoyed. And hungry but he knew he couldn’t be as mean or as sassy like he usually would be so he instead pulled off a fake smile. “Hey, man.”

“Can I get a photo?”

‘Can I kick your ass?’ Henry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something smart like why is a grown ass man asking for a picture but he waved it off. “Sure.”

The guy stood next to him and roughly grabbed a hold of Henry’s shoulder. Henry let out a sigh but fixed his face when the guy held up the phone for the photo and smiled.

After the guy took the picture, he backed away from Henry to examine the photo. “My girl is not gonna believe this.”

“I’m sure she isn’t.” Henry pulled off but what he really wanted to say was ‘I’m sure she isn’t gonna believe a grown man was excited to see Kid Danger.’

“Thanks man, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no prob….lem.”

Henry was in amazement when he saw you behind the counter. You were absolutely, undeniably gorgeous. You were so breathtakingly feminine that it made his stomach have butterflies.

The way you smiled at customers seemed like you had all the joy in the world and he wanted to be included in that joy. He noticed the way you’d tug on your sleeve when you were a little nervous or anxious. Your freshly done acrylic nails tapped on the counter and boy did he want to see those hands wrapped around something else.

Your lip gloss went with your black lip liner perfectly. He didn’t care what sticky mess he’d create, they were gorgeous and he wanted to kiss them.

When you walked back to hand the customer her muffin, he noted you wore heels but you were still shorter than him. So that had to put you at 5’4 height which was insanely short for him considering he was a 6’0 male.

You wore a cute little apron over your shirt and skirt. The way you walked, you knew you were pretty. You knew men found you hot. That’s what made you attractive to him.

“Um…” Henry forced himself to break out of his trance. “Who’s that?”

The guy turned to see who he was talking about and when he got it, he nodded in confirmation. “Oh, that’s my girlfriend. She owns the bakery.”

Henry kept staring at you, trying to find it within himself to look away but he couldn’t. He needed to talk to you. “Is your girlfriend single?”

The guy laughed when Henry said this. “That’s a good one, man.”

“Uh huh…yeah…” Henry didn’t bother to put up with the conversation anymore before walking over towards the front counter.

There you were, counting the drawer. He figured you were changing shifts at this time which was perfect because you wouldn’t be busy dealing with customers.

“I’ll help you in one minute.” You looked up to give who you thought to be a customer with a polite smile when you saw who it was. “Kid Danger? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood. Trying to take care of the town.” Henry said slyly. He saw you snicker and raised a brow at it. “What?”

“You and Captain Man trying to do crowd control from the news thing?” You asked, going back to count the money.

Henry had completely forgotten about that. “Oh you saw that?”

“Relax. I agree with you. I don’t think the troops are all good people.”

Henry relaxed after finding out you weren’t mad at him about what he said on the news. “Oh. Okay. Cool. What’s your name?”

You continued to count the money with a playful smile. “Why do you need to know my name?”

He thought about it for a second before coming up with an answer. “Because…” he leaned against the counter. “I wanna know if your name is as pretty as you look.”

You chuckled at his flirtatious response and looked up at him. “Aren’t you a little young?”

Henry scoffed, offended. He wasn’t that young and you didn’t look that old. “I’m eighteen. That’s the legal drinking age in Australia.”

“Oh really?”

“Uh huh.”

You went back to count the money before responding. “(Y/N).”

“I was right. It’s just as pretty as you.”

He noticed you trying to hold back your smile. “You’re cute but I have a boyfriend.”

Henry tilted his head at you. He then turned around to face the man you claimed as your boyfriend. He was bragging to all your customers that he just took a photo with Kid Danger. He then faced his attention to you. He could tell you were embarrassed. “That him?”

You sighed, looking away. “Unfortunately.”

“How old is the grown man?”

“Twenty four.”

“Oh…how old are you?”

“Twenty.” You finished counting the money and started to place money in envelopes for your drop. “Do you want something to eat or drink?”

Henry looked at your rack of baked goods. It was a whole range of muffins, donuts, cupcakes, and cookies. “Give me the pink sprinkled one.” He saw the look you were giving him and he pointed his finger at you. “Shut up. I can be grown and like sprinkles.”

You held your hands up in defense and went to grab the donut. You handed it to him and when you did, he pulled out his wallet. “Oh, you’re good.”

“Don’t do that.” Henry handed you the twenty dollar bill and grabbed the donut. “Keep it.”

You gave him a look as you put the money in the register and put the rest in the tip jar. “Money doesn’t impress me Kid Danger.”

“Tell me what does so I can.” Henry took the bite out the donut and when he did, the pink sprinkled chocolate donut melted in his mouth. “That’s a really good donut.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

Your boyfriend walked over towards the two of you. He leaned over the counter and kissed you on the cheek. “Hey, babe.”

Henry was furious. You were completely out of his league. How the hell did he even get you? Why were you downgrading? You owned a bakery for damn sake. It was like you were doing charity work for him.

Don’t get him wrong, Henry wasn’t exactly a homewrecker but the home doesn’t look too happy. Not to mention it didn’t matter once he wanted something. When he wanted something or matter of fact, someone, he was going to get it.

“That is bizarre.” Henry said out loud.

“Babe! Look! I met Kid Danger.”

You nodded, finishing with the register. “I see.”

“But I’m too young?” Henry questioned, motioning to your boyfriend and you rubbed your forehead out of embarrassment.

At the next moment, a big man walked in with a brown paper bag on his face. Henry looked at him and he already knew he was going to be trouble. “I hate this town.”

The big man walked over to the three of you at the register. “Give me everything! This is a robbery!”

Henry placed his hand on his temple in annoyance at the man. “Why do you all announce you’re doing a robbery? We see you doing it!”

Your boyfriend let out a squeal as if he was a little girl and ran away, hiding in the bathroom. Henry gave you a look again and you sighed. “I know. I know.”

Henry was impressed. You didn’t seem that phased with a big man coming in trying to rob you. The man went in his jacket pocket then pulled out what appeared to be a gun.

Everyone in the bakery got down, fearing for their lives. Henry didn’t and you didn’t.

You were a little nervous, you had to admit but you felt a little at ease considering a superhero was standing next to you.

“I said give me everything.”

Henry sat his donut on the counter before stepping in front of him so he wouldn’t be in eye contact with you. “Dude. Step out.” He looked at you and then looked at the robber. He whispered the next thing so you wouldn’t hear him. “I’m trying to get her number.”

This time the robber pointed the gun. “Now!”

Henry gave him a look not even phased. “Is that a nerf gun?”

The robber’s demeanor faltered at the question. “Um. No.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.”

“The tip is orange!”

“You’re about the catch this tip in a minute.”

Henry’s eyes blinked at the way the robber worded. “Whoa. First of all, pause. Second of all, you’re wearing a brown paper bag on your head.”

“So?”

Henry reached over, snatching the brown paper bag to reveal his identity. The robber gasped and Henry rolled his eyes, throwing the bag down. “Just leave before I embarrass you.”

The robber didn’t listen. He pointed the fake gun to the rest of the customers, scaring them. “Give me everything now!”

“Okay…I’m officially done with this.” Henry spun the robber back to him and punched him in the face. The robber didn’t go down because he was so big.

The robber tried to punch Henry but Henry with his hyper mobility was quicker. He grabbed the man’s hand and made him punch himself. Henry kicked him in the stomach. Then twisted his arm before giving him a spin kicked.

The man finally got knocked down. Henry looked back over to you in a flirty way. “See how I just did that?”

You looked at him, amused. “I see you’re not finished.”

“Hmm?”

The man grabbed Henry by his shoulders and picked him up before tossing him across the bakery. Henry landed on the wooden chairs and broke them on the process.

You sighed. “Really? I was just about to paint those chairs.”

Henry got up quickly. He charged at the man. He had the man pressed up against the wall. Henry kneed him in the gut and choked him.

The robber pushed Henry to the ground. He then tried to stomp on Henry but Henry moved too fast. Henry kicked him in his ankle. It made the robber drop to his knees. Henry grabbed a rack of cookies and smacked him on the robber’s head.

“Okay, you win! You win!” The robber got up, kind of crying and ran out the store.

Henry dusted the cookie residue off his fingers. “And that’s the way the cookie crumbles.” When everyone felt safe, they stood to their feet and clapped at Henry. Henry waved at the applause before walking back over to your register.

He took the donut he was eating before off the counter and bit back in it. “Hopefully I can finish in peace now.”

You eyed Henry up and down. “You know what? That was impressive.”

Henry wasn’t expecting you to say that. “Really?” He asked with a mouthful.

You leaned over the counter. You used your finger to wipe the remaining crumbs off his lips. Your pink acrylic nails grazed his lips. You looked him right in the eyes as you did it. “Really.”

Henry really wanted to bend you over the counter after doing the gesture but unfortunately he had to control himself.

He couldn’t say anything because your boyfriend came out the bathroom. “Is he gone?”

This time, you looked pissed.

You came from behind the counter and slapped him across the face. “You idiot! You were just going to let him rob me? I mean…he was a shitty robber but that is so not the point!”

Your boyfriend looked guilty. “Well…well Kid Danger handled it right?”

You nodded in a matter of fact way. “Yeah. He’s going to be handling a lot of stuff from now on. We’re done.”

“Ooh.” Henry said like a child as he finished the donut. “You heard her.”

Your boyfriend looked like a sad puppy dog. He started to walk out of the store but before he did stopped to look at Henry. “Can I get an autograph?”

Henry gave him a look. “Dude. No.”

Your ex finally walked out. You looked over to everyone in the store. “Alright everyone. I’m closing early for the day.”

Everyone nodded, understanding before exciting the store. Henry walked a little to you to cut the distance. “Did I hear correctly you dumped the man child?”

You didn’t say anything. You went in your pocket and handed him your business card. “Call me when you’re not busy taking robbers down.”

Henry looked at the phone number and smiled. “Oh yeah? Did I also earn a heroic kiss?”

“No, but you can watch this ass walk away.” You told him playfully as you started to head in the back to your office.

Henry tilted his head, biting his lips as he watched. Your ass did look good in the skirt you were wearing. “I’m not complaining.” You let out a laugh when you hit your office and Henry looked back down to the number. “Man, I love being Kid Danger.”

[velvetcloxds]

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM | S.R

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

word count: 0.8k

warnings: toxic family, parental role reversal, guilt

summary: spencer and the team come over to your new place to celebrate you finally leaving your toxic childhood home

a/n: started off strong , became too real, rushed the ending

It wasn’t much of an achievement for most, moving out of the house you grew up in, doing so in your mid-twenties even less so. But Spencer thought it the biggest achievement, the bravest step you’d ever taken, and you were touched by his excitement. It was a small little apartment, open floor space, everything flowing into one and with your boxes still scattered everywhere there was hardly room for everyone- but Spencer bought a cake. Rossi said he was bringing pasta and you just barely heard Emily promise to bring champagne, so you couldn’t talk anyone out of making a fuss.

It was a confusing set of emotions, you’d been dreaming of leaving for years, since your second year at university, but guilt always stopped you in your tracks. You didn’t want to leave without her, leave her in it, feel responsible for her, like getting a good job and finding a good place should be to save her and not yourself, not just yourself. And you waited, begged, bargained, fought with all your might to have her see things for what they were and leave, you would’ve done anything to make it happen for her- but despite it all, despite years of pain, she wasn’t ready to escape and as much as you wanted to make her ready, you couldn’t. You were, you didn’t have it in you to stay even if you wanted to for her, you had to get out, for you.

“Do you think there’s enough candles?” Spencer was fiddling about in the living room area, though it wasn’t truly ready to be lived in yet, furniture wasn’t in the cards for a while so of course he’d taken to constructing some with all your boxes.

“I think it’s plenty,” you smiled and it felt more sincere than it looked, only barely hiding the embarrassment from not having working lights set up yet. “More and we might set the place on fire before I unpack,” you pulled some paper plates and cups from the grocery bag, hoping no one would mind as much as you did.

You knew they wouldn’t, knew they wouldn’t mind sitting on dented boxes, eating cold pasta, and drinking fancy alcohol out of party cups. If anything it just felt like a testament to your fate, to how rash your decision was, how unprepared you were for whatever was to come. It reminded you that you had no idea how to exist outside of your terror, if you weren’t protecting your mother, what were you doing? Throwing lackluster dinner parties while she was still ever miserable with a horrid man and no escape. It made you feel all the more guilty, and all the more selfish. You couldn’t comprehend the excitement you were expected to be expressing. With all your might you had to convince yourself not to run right back to that blush pink bedroom stained at every inch with dried tears and echoed with screams of bitterness.

You had to convince yourself once again that you were free and you deserved to be as much, you didn’t choose to be born into that madness, you had every right to run away from it. She chose to stay, countless times, no matter how many scary nights or pleating fits of fear, she chose to stay.

“I think we can paint the walls if you’d like, Morgan would help me, though I wouldn’t ask Garcia because she might end up choosing a bright green or yellow,” you met his breathy scoff with a lazy hum, stilled in the middle of counting out the right amount of bamboo forks, staring at the only corner you’d managed to unpack- the photo frames. Spencer followed your gaze, and landed on a large frame with a colourful picture of you and your mom at the theatre, only a few months ago, her smile was only ever that big when you were away from home, from him. You dropped the lightweight utensils with a sigh, everything felt wrong, you felt wrong. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” he knew the answer but didn’t know how to approach the situation without asking anyway. You hummed, bit back a fake smile that would only turn to a frown even if you tried to stop it, and folded your arms around yourself to ground you.

How a space so small, so full, could feel so void, lonely, you weren't sure. Your mom had been dying for years, not physically, but he’d been hacking away at her soul since you could remember- left a shell of her, a ghost, you’d mourn her daily, he made sure of it. Now the mourning was different, the grief, leaving your best friend, your shadow felt like you’d buried her alive and left her screaming. Horrendous thing, the juxtaposition of it all, you couldn’t spend another second in that house, can’t imagine taking another breath without her at your side. You hoped she’d follow, it’s why you borrowed the queen size mattress and not the single from Hotch, space for her, somewhere to escape to when she was ready, but who’d protect her while she wasn’t?

“I was thinking,” careful hands slid over your elbows, loving smile met your gaze. “With your power still out, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone in the dark. Maybe I can stay over?” Spencer was never so forward, if he were he’d present you with ample facts to support his case first, not such a simple little tale of charm.

“Please,” you’d not usually accept so easily, but you were being profiled, you’d learn to know when you were and though not always intentional, Spencer tended not to notice how unsubtle he was with it. You smiled, traded your own embrace for his, looked up at him with your chin planted on his chest. “How am I reading, Dr. Reid?”

“Not well,” he tutted, brows dipped with sympathy, eyes sparkling with genuine care as foreign as it comes. “Which is valid, every horrible and amazing feeling that you’re experiencing is completely valid.”

“I’m scared she’ll never forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be forgiven for, you are not her keeper, she knows that, you love her but that’s still the truth,” he kissed your forehead, squeezed you a little tighter than before. “You know all of this, but I won’t stop reminding you.”

“Can we visit her?”

“As many times as you need to.”

You stood like that for too long before the room echoed with far too eager knocks, dinner was cold but delicious as only Rossi can achieve and when the cake came you were sat on the floor next to Spencer, smiling as Derek bargained for the biggest piece. Spencer’s hand was entangled with yours in his lap, head on his shoulder and for just a second you felt light, weightless- new.

“Are you still okay, sweetheart?” he whispered with a soft smile, hopeful and you nodded, instantly took the plate when JJ handed you the biggest piece of cake.

“I think so, Spence, I think it’s all going to be okay.”

Maybe it was delusion, maybe tomorrow you’d wake up drowning in dread and pack your few unpacked boxes to go back, maybe you’d stay and spend every second hating yourself for giving up on her, not saving her, maybe she’d finally leave and start over. Maybe you’d stay stuck in time, lingering between the first time he did it and the last, forever the little girl who grew up too soon because someone had to take responsibility for saving her. Maybe you had no purpose beyond that, maybe that’s what you were made for, to fix her and comfort her and stand up for her. Maybe you were the biggest of failures for thinking you could have more from life than that horror, that love ridden burden. Maybe peace only comes after and not during life, born into chaos, into hatred out of young love, maybe the idea of your freedom was as fleeting as his affinity for family. How can someone raised in darkness ever dare to look for light, let alone try and live in it? Maybe you were only ever meant to be nothing more and nothing less than a lesson about how broken people make broken children. Shackled by the knowledge that you never should’ve been, she’d left him sooner if you weren’t.

Imagine that, your whole life devoted to making up for being born, for making it impossible to leave until it was far too late. Hope and freedom, like love, is nothing but a golden cage.

[mintyys-blog]

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY— dark! prisoner! pietro maximoff x prison guard! reader

WARNINGS: criminal activity, prison, mentioned sex, assault, DUBCON, smut, NONCON, sexual assault, harassment, violence, swearing, PTSD.

MINI SERIES LIST

MINORS DNI

Five Years Ago

Your skin is flushed, your breath coming in quick, uneven pulls as you sink into the worn couch cushions. The man above you—silver-haired, cocky, and nothing more than a distraction for the night—leans in again, his lips trailing a slow path down your neck. His hands press firm against your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

You don’t know his name. You didn’t care to ask.

Tonight was supposed to be simple: a celebration, a little fun after your college graduation. One drink turned into three, and three turned into a laugh in the back of a cab, his fingers already teasing the hem of your dress. Now, your heart pounds for reasons that have nothing to do with nerves.

Then you shift—just slightly—feeling something hard beneath your back. You groan, twisting to adjust, and a quiet click fills the space as the TV flickers to life.

You barely register it at first. The man—your man for the night—murmurs something against your throat, words thick with an accent you can’t place, a language you don’t recognize. He’s trying to distract you, lips and tongue teasing at your pulse.

But the voice from the TV does it better.

”—armed and dangerous. Authorities urge the public to avoid contact and report any sightings immediately—”

Your brows furrow.

”—described as male, mid-to-late twenties, silver-blonde hair, approximately six feet tall—”

Your breath stutters.

You turn your head, vision sharpening on the screen. A grainy photo stares back at you—familiar eyes, sharp jaw, that same smirk you’ve seen all night.

Your stomach drops.

“P… Pietro?”

His name barely escapes your lips, but it’s enough.

His head snaps up, and for a moment, the world stills. Then—slowly—his smirk returns, curling at the edges like a secret.

He doesn’t look at the screen. He doesn’t need to.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the remote, thumb gliding over the buttons as the news anchor begins to list off his crimes.

“Fraud, armed robbery, assault—”

Click. The screen goes black.

He leans in, pressing his lips back to yours, hot and unbothered. His fingers thread through your hair, tugging just enough to pull a gasp from you.

“Keep saying my name, princesa,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again. Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You can feel it in your throat, a thick, suffocating pressure that steals your breath.

This isn’t real. It can’t be.

Pietro—if that’s even his real name—doesn’t seem concerned. If anything, he looks amused. His lips brush against yours, coaxing, teasing. He presses closer, his fingers curling possessively around the side of your neck.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re too tense, draga mea.”

Your hands shake. Not from excitement this time, but from something colder, something sharp and jagged that slides down your spine like a warning.

The news anchor’s voice echoes in your head. Armed and dangerous.

The pressure of his body against yours is suddenly suffocating. The weight of his hands, the heat of his breath—it all feels wrong.

You need to get out of here.

Swallowing hard, you force a smile, tilting your head just enough to avoid his next kiss. “I—I think I need some water.”

His smirk grows. He doesn’t move.

“Water?” His voice is all silk, all mockery. His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path along your collarbone. “Not thirsty for me anymore, princesa?”

You force out a breathy laugh, your fingers curling into the couch cushion. “I just—”

The grip on your throat tightens. Not enough to hurt. Not yet.

“But I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

You go still.

His thumb drags over your pulse, feeling it race beneath his touch. His gaze flickers over your face, sharp and knowing, like he’s reading every panicked thought in your head.

The room is too quiet. The only thing you hear is the faint hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Your stomach churns. Think.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

It works—just a little. His grip eases, and his smirk returns, but there’s something different in his eyes now.

Interest. Curiosity.

“That’s what they say about me.”

The words send a chill through you.

Because that means people talk about him.

You try not to tremble as you slide your hands up his chest, your touch featherlight. Keep him entertained. Keep him distracted.

“Let me up,” you murmur. “I’ll get us a drink, and then…” You let your nails drag lightly against his skin. “We can pick up where we left off.”

For a second, he just looks at you. Studying you.

Then, finally—finally—he shifts back, giving you enough space to move.

“Make it quick, draga,” he says lazily. “I’m not very patient.”

You force a smile, pushing up from the couch on shaky legs.

And then you run.

You make it three steps before you’re yanked back, an arm locking around your waist like a steel trap.

A breathless laugh ghosts against your ear.

“Tsk.” His lips graze your skin, his tone amused. “You really thought that would work?”

Panic claws at your throat as he drags you down onto the carpet, his weight pinning you.

And this time, when he presses a kiss to your jaw, it feels nothing like before.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his accent thick and husky. "I want to fuck you until you can't think straight."

You scream. Or at least, you try.

The sound barely leaves your throat before Pietro’s hand clamps over your mouth, his palm burning against your skin. His other arm pins yours against your sides, his weight keeping you trapped.

“Shhh, princesa,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

Your body thrashes against his, but it’s useless. He’s fast. Stronger than he looks. His knee wedges between your thighs, keeping you locked beneath him. Your nails dig into his wrist, clawing at his skin, but he just laughs.

Like this is funny to him. Like you’re some kind of game. “You were so willing before, ready to spread your legs for me.. what changed? Just because you found the truth, how disappointing.”

Tears burn behind your eyes. Your heartbeat is a wild, frantic thing, crashing against your ribs.

You try to think. Try to breathe. He hasn’t hurt you yet. Not really. Maybe you can talk your way out of this. You force yourself to go still, panting against his hand. His gaze flickers down to yours, curiosity gleaming behind that smug, wicked smirk.

“There you go,” he croons, loosening his grip just slightly. “That’s better.”

You swallow hard, your pulse roaring in your ears. “Pietro, please,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t have to?” He tilts his head, as if considering. “Maybe not.” His fingers trail down your side, tracing the curve of your hip. “But I want to.”

Your breath catches. “And isn’t that all that really matters?”

Your stomach twists. You have to get out of this—now. Your eyes dart toward the coffee table. Your phone is there. So close. If you could just—

Pietro sighs. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Before you can move, he grabs the phone himself, flipping it open. You barely have time to process before he’s crushing it in his palm. Plastic and glass shatter like brittle bone, the pieces scattering onto the carpet.

A whimper escapes your lips.

He smirks. “What? Thought you’d call for help?” His fingers brush your cheek, gentle despite the threat beneath them. “Don’t you know by now, draga mea?” He leans down, lips barely grazing yours.

“No one’s coming for you.”

Then—a knock at the door.

Everything stops. Your chest seizes as hope flares, hot and desperate. Pietro’s body goes rigid. His head tilts, his smirk fading. Another knock—louder this time.

“Miss? Everything alright?”

Your neighbor. Daniel. The man from across the hall. You suck in a shaky breath, please, please, please—

Pietro’s gaze snaps back to yours. And in that moment, you see it—the flicker of something dark. A decision being made. Your blood turns to ice.

Before you can react, his hand slides from your mouth, down to your throat, squeezing just enough to send a warning.

“Be a good girl,” he whispers. “Tell him you’re fine.”

Your fingers dig into his arm, your mind racing. If you scream—if you make even the slightest wrong move—you know exactly how this ends.

The question is… do you take the risk?

The knock comes again, sharper this time. “Miss? Are you okay?”

Pietro’s fingers flex against your throat—just enough to remind you of the choice you have to make.

Your pulse pounds beneath his grip, wild and erratic. If you scream, if you fight, maybe Daniel will help you. Maybe he’ll kick down the door, maybe he’ll call the cops.

Or maybe Pietro will kill him.

Your breath shudders out.

You look up at Pietro, into those sharp, knowing eyes. He’s watching you like he already knows what you’ll do. Like he wants to see you break.

Your throat tightens.

Summoning every ounce of control you have left, you force yourself to go slack beneath him. Your fingers loosen from his arm. You take a breath—shaky, but even—and pray your voice won’t betray you.

“I’m fine,” you call out, barely recognizing your own voice. “Just—just tripped over something.”

Silence.

You don’t dare look away from Pietro, don’t dare breathe.

Then, finally, after what feels like forever—

“…Alright.”

Footsteps retreat down the hall. Pietro hums, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip. “Good girl.”

The relief is instant and horrifying all at once. Because you know now, without a doubt— You’re not getting out of this. Not tonight.

You gasped as he dipped his head into your neck, Pietro's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with an unspoken intensity. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he got closer you, his movements fluid and deliberate. Without a word, he backed you against the wall, his hands grasping your wrists and pinning them above your head.

You tried to speak, to protest, but your voice caught in your throat as Pietro's lips crashed down on yours. The kiss was fierce, demanding, and you felt yourself getting lost in the sensation. His tongue invaded your mouth, claiming it as his own, and you couldn't help but respond.

As the kiss deepened, Pietro's hands began to roam over your body, touching and teasing every inch of skin he could reach. You felt a surge of desire course through you, mixed with a hint of fear and uncertainty. This was happening too fast, too intensely, but you couldn't seem to stop it.

Pietro's fingers found the hem of your skirt and pushed it up, exposing your thighs to the cool air. His hand delved between your legs, stroking and probing until you were gasping with need. Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you up and pinned you against the wall with his hips.

You felt a jolt of pain as he entered you roughly no preparation or gentle easing in—just a hard thrust that left you breathless. Your mind reeled as Pietro began to move inside you each stroke rougher than the last— pushing all rational thoughts out of your head except for how this felt: primal raw animalistic. “You’re so wet for me, princessa”

You moaned and gasped in his ear, and he continued, talking in that accent of his. You tried to be silent, show him that you didn’t want this— but your body was betraying your mind. “Wait—“ you finally spoke. He kissed your neck, “yes, mea draga?”

“I—I” your words can’t come out. Your mind reeling with the pleasure you’re feeling. He smirked against your neck, rubbing circles on your clit. You threw your head to the side, biting your lip, as you came with a cry. He kisses your neck.

The rest of the night was a blur.

You wake up to silence.

For a moment, you don’t move. You don’t even breathe.

Your body feels wrong—like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Every muscle is stiff, your throat raw, your skin feverish where ghostly fingertips still linger.

The air in the room is thick, suffocating. The scent of him—cologne, sweat, something electric and sharp—still clings to the sheets.

And yet…

He’s gone.

Your chest tightens. Slowly, you turn your head. The space beside you is empty. The sheets are rumpled but cooling. The weight of him, the presence of him, is missing.

You push yourself up on shaking arms, scanning the room. The curtains are drawn, streaks of morning light cutting across the floor. Your coffee table is overturned, your shattered phone still lying in the carpet.

Your stomach lurches.

Last night comes rushing back in a violent wave. His hands. His voice. The way he laughed when you tried to fight, like it was all just a game to him.

The way you lost.

A sob rises in your throat, but you swallow it down. Not now. Not yet.

You force yourself to move, your legs weak as you stumble to the bathroom. Your reflection stops you cold. There’s a bruise on your throat. His handprint.

Tears blur your vision. Your fingers hover over the mark, but you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Then, something catches your eye.

On the counter, beside the sink, sits a single slip of paper. You don’t want to look. You don’t want to know. But you do anyway. With trembling fingers, you pick it up. Three words, written in sharp, slanted handwriting.

Miss me yet?

Your breath shatters. The paper flutters from your hands. And finally, finally— You scream.

PRESENT DAY

The uniform helps.

The first time you put it on, it felt stiff, unnatural. Now, it’s armor. The crisp fabric, the weight of the belt, the clink of keys at your hip—it all reminds you that you are not the same woman you were five years ago.

Back then, you were weak. Helpless.

Not anymore.

Now, when you walk the prison halls, people move out of your way. Inmates keep their heads down. Officers nod in respect. You have power here, control. And you take comfort in that.

Until tonight. Until him.

You feel it before you see him—the subtle shift in the air, a wrongness curling at the edges of your nerves.

Then your eyes land on him, and everything stops.

Pietro Maximoff is lounging on his cot like he owns the place. Like these walls don’t mean a thing to him.

Then he sees you. And he smiles. Fucker.

A slow, knowing thing that makes your stomach twist. You feel it again—that awful, hollow weight in your chest. That weakness. The same weakness you swore you’d never feel again.

No.

You won’t let him take this from you. Not this time.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, but you force them steady. You roll your shoulders back, straighten your uniform, and school your face into cold indifference.

His smirk widens. “I remember you.”

The words slither through you like poison. But you don’t flinch. You don’t react at all.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, meet his gaze, and say— “Get in line.”

Then you turn on your heel and walk away. Even as the weight of his stare lingers.

You keep walking. Keep your head high. Keep your spine straight.

Do not look back.

The weight of Pietro’s gaze clings to you, thick as a second skin. You feel it like a phantom touch, brushing the back of your neck, pressing against your ribs. But you refuse to acknowledge it.

You are not her anymore. The girl from five years ago—the one who had no control, no power, no way out—she is dead.

You buried her the day you put on this uniform.

The halls stretch ahead, cold and sterile. The steel doors hum with locked potential. Inmates linger behind thick glass and iron bars, some watching, some avoiding your eyes. You’ve never minded it before—the way they look away. The way they know better than to challenge you.

But now, you can feel it shifting.

Not from them.

From him.

You reach the end of the block, step behind the guard station, and force your hands to relax at your sides.

“Breathe.”

You make a show of checking the logbook, flipping through the pages with practiced ease. Your heartbeat is still too fast, but no one else can hear it. No one else can see the cracks beneath the surface.

And then— A voice. Low. Amused. Too close.

“You’ve gotten colder, princesa.”

Your fingers tighten on the page. The voice comes from behind the bars, a few feet down the hall. Pietro hasn’t moved from his cot, but he doesn’t need to. He knows you can hear him. Knows you won’t ignore him.

Slowly, you exhale, lifting your gaze. He’s still smirking, watching you like he’s already won.

You force yourself to meet his eyes. To let the silence stretch between you, tense and waiting.

Then, finally—

“I don’t know you.”

The lie is smooth. Effortless. Pietro grins.

“Liar.”

Your nails dig into your palm. You could walk away. You should walk away. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something hungry, something patient— Like he’s waiting for you to break. Like he knows you will.

You swallow hard, willing your pulse to slow. Then, without another word, you turn back to the logbook. The sound of your pen scratching against paper is the only answer he gets. But somehow, you know— This is far from over.

You do your best to avoid him.

For days, you keep your route strategic, your focus sharp. You pass his cell without looking, without reacting. You keep your posture strong, your expression unreadable. If he speaks, you don’t answer. If he stares, you pretend not to notice.

It works. Mostly.

Until it doesn’t.

Until the assignment lands on your desk.

Your next rotation: his cell block.

The file is thick, heavier than the others. A collection of his crimes, his arrests, his victims. You hesitate before opening it, but you have to. You have to know exactly what you’re dealing with.

And what you find makes your stomach churn.

Fraud. Armed robbery. Assault. Aggravated assault.

Then worse. Murder.

The details blur together, but the pattern is clear—Pietro Maximoff is dangerous. A predator. A man who has left behind a trail of bodies, some breathing, some not.

You were never special. Just one of many.

Yet you hear the rumors—the way the other guards talk in hushed voices. About how he’s different. How he doesn’t operate like the others.

How he waits.

The weight of his file lingers in your hands, but it isn’t the paper that feels heavy. It’s the memories. The fear. The truth.

You spent years building yourself back up. Becoming someone strong, someone untouchable.

And now?

Now, you have to walk into that cell block, stand before the man who once took everything from you— And pretend he doesn’t still have his hands around your throat.

The days pass without incident.

You follow your routine, keep your focus on the job, and pretend Pietro Maximoff is just another inmate.

And for a while, it works.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t call for you. Doesn’t even smirk when you pass.

He’s quiet. Too quiet.

It should feel like a victory. It should make this easier. But instead, it unsettles you.

You hear the other guards talk about it. Maximoff’s different this time. Not causing trouble, not making demands. Just watching. Waiting.

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because Pietro isn’t the kind of man who just accepts a cage.

He’s planning something.

And you can’t shake the feeling to pay extra attention to him.

The hum of the vending machine fills the silence. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, too bright, too harsh.

Your coffee has gone cold in your hands, but you don’t drink it. You just hold it, fingers curled around the cheap paper cup, staring at the rippling surface like it has answers.

It doesn’t.

Your mind keeps looping back. Over and over, to the feeling of his hands—the ones wrapped around your throat, stealing your breath. And the ones that saved you.

Pietro.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The memory crashes through anyway.

The riot. The chaos.

You and Tony barely had time to react before the alarm blared, flashing red against the sterile walls.

“Shit,” he’d hissed, already reaching for his baton. “We gotta move—now.”

You followed him into the storm. The cafeteria was a battleground—bodies colliding, fists flying, tables overturned. The other guards were outnumbered, struggling to hold the line.

Your grip on your baton tightened.

Then—

A hand. Grabbing your wrist. Yanking.

Your baton slipped from your fingers, clattering to the ground. Before you could react, another hand wrapped around your throat, slamming you into the nearest table.

Hot breath ghosted over your ear.

“I like them feisty,” the inmate sneered.

You gasped, hands clawing at his grip, trying to break free. But the pressure only tightened, your lungs burning, your pulse hammering against his palm.

And then—Then it wasn’t the prison anymore.

It was five years ago. Your apartment. Your living room. Your voice, trembling as you whispered his name.

“P… Pietro?”

Your chest seized. Panic swallowed you whole. You were back there, helpless, weak, losing— And then, suddenly— The pressure was gone. Air flooded your lungs as you collapsed to your knees, coughing, choking. You barely registered the sound at first. The wet, sickening crack of bone against flesh.

But when you lifted your head— Pietro was on top of him.

The man who had attacked you was unrecognizable, his face a bloodied mess beneath Pietro’s fists. He wasn’t even fighting back anymore, just lying there, taking hit after hit after hit—

Pietro wasn’t stopping.

You gasped.

His head snapped up.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Pietro’s chest heaved, his knuckles split open and raw. But his eyes—his eyes—locked onto yours. Not mocking. Not amused. Just dark. Unreadable. Claiming.

Then—“Move in! Now!”

The backup team stormed the room, forcing the chaos into order.

Tony was at your side before you could blink, gripping your arm, hauling you up.

“You good?” His voice was sharp, breathless.

You nodded. Or maybe you just thought you did.

Because all you could focus on— Was the way Pietro smiled as the guards dragged him away.

The fluorescent lights above you hum with an almost painful intensity, the sterile air doing little to soothe your mind. You try to collect yourself, but your pulse is still racing, heart a drumbeat against your ribcage.

Tony hovers nearby, watching you with concern that’s hard to ignore.

“You should get your neck checked out,” he says, his voice softer than usual. His tone doesn’t leave much room for argument.

You glance down at the tender bruises starting to form around your throat. The marks are already turning a purplish blue, and the skin feels raw—like someone had tried to choke the life out of you.

You wince as Tony gingerly reaches out, his fingertips brushing against your neck.

You hiss, a sharp intake of breath escaping you.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling his hand back like he’s burned it. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, swallowing hard. His hesitation only makes you more aware of the pain. You force yourself to meet his eyes, wanting to push past the weakness. “I’ll be fine.”

“Seriously, though,” Tony insists, “get it checked. Don’t wait. If it’s any worse than it looks—”

“I’ll be okay.”

You stand up from the table, brushing the lingering unease aside, grateful that Tony doesn’t press any further.

Just then, Natasha enters, her cool eyes scanning the room before landing on you.

“You good?” she asks, her gaze flicking to your neck.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

“I can take your shifts for the next couple of days if you need it,” Natasha offers, her tone uncharacteristically soft. She’s one of the few who knows a little about your history with Pietro—enough to understand that what happened today isn’t something easily shaken off.

You hesitate, the weight of the offer hanging between you. You don’t want to admit how much you need the break. But you’ve learned that sometimes, it’s okay to ask for help.

Reluctantly, you nod. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Anytime,” she replies, her lips curving into a brief, understanding smile.

You head out of the break room, offering a quiet goodbye to both of them.

You lock the door behind you, the familiar weight of your apartment settling over you like a blanket, yet the air feels different tonight. Heavier. You stand in the hallway for a moment, feeling the tremors from earlier slip through your body. With a deep breath, you pull out your phone, fingers trembling as you type the message.

“Hi Wanda, I know it’s outside of our usual time, but… could I book an appointment for tomorrow morning?”

You stare at the screen for a few seconds, then hit send. It feels wrong—like you’re breaking some kind of unspoken rule. Wanda’s been your therapist for the last five years, and you’ve never once asked for anything outside of your scheduled sessions. But the weight of today presses against your chest, and you need someone to listen.

A moment later, the reply comes through.

“Of course. Tomorrow, 9 AM work for you?”

You sigh with relief, a tiny weight lifting off your shoulders.

“Yes. Thank you.”

You put the phone down, but something shifts inside you. You don’t know why, but you feel a gnawing sensation at the back of your mind. You shake it off, but it lingers, like a faint whisper, just out of reach.

And little do you know—the reason Wanda’s always been so insistent on helping you has nothing to do with your struggles.

It’s because she’s Pietro’s sister.

The waiting room feels colder than usual as you sit with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. You stare at the neutral-colored walls, the faint hum of the building’s air conditioning barely breaking the silence.

It’s been five years since you started seeing Wanda, but today feels different. The shadows under your eyes are darker, the tightness in your chest heavier. The events of yesterday swirl in your mind like a storm you can’t quite outrun.

Finally, the door to the office opens, and Wanda steps out, her warm smile a stark contrast to the churning feeling inside you. She motions for you to come in, her calm energy a small comfort as you rise and follow her into the room.

She closes the door behind you, and the soft click of it locking into place makes your heart skip a beat. You settle into the chair across from her, but you can’t shake the sense of urgency that fills the space between you.

Wanda sits down across from you, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp with understanding.

“So,” she begins, her voice soothing, “what’s on your mind today?”

You hesitate. The words feel like they’re stuck in your throat, too many to pick from. The riot, the attack, Pietro’s unexpected intervention. Everything is a blur of fear, confusion, and lingering unease. But none of that feels like it’s the heart of the issue.

“I… I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice tight.

Wanda nods slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. She doesn’t push, just lets the silence stretch for a moment, allowing you to find your footing.

“It’s been a rough few days,” you finally say, the words almost tasting foreign on your tongue. “But yesterday… it was different. I— I was attacked. By an inmate.”

Her eyes darken slightly, but she stays quiet.

“The thing is… when he grabbed me, I froze. It wasn’t just him,” you continue, your voice shaking. “I couldn’t breathe, and for a second, I thought I was back there. With him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Him?” Wanda’s voice is gentle but probing.

You don’t have to say it. She already knows.

“Pietro,” you whisper, the name tasting like ash in your mouth.

Wanda’s expression doesn’t shift, but her eyes soften, her hands folding neatly in her lap. She’s learned to read you, to recognize when something is too close to the surface.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s ridiculous. I’m not that weak. It was just—”

“No,” she cuts you off softly, “it’s not ridiculous.”

You meet her gaze, and she’s looking at you with the kind of calm patience that always manages to make your defenses crack, even when you don’t want them to.

“What happened yesterday was a trigger,” she explains, her voice steady. “You were in a dangerous situation, and it reminded your mind and body of something much more traumatic. That’s not weakness. That’s your body responding to trauma.”

You swallow, the weight of her words sinking in, but it doesn’t make the discomfort any easier to bear.

“I know,” you say quietly, “but it felt like… like all the progress I’ve made was gone. Like I was right back there.”

Wanda leans forward slightly, her gaze never leaving you. “You’ve been through something incredibly traumatic. But just because you experience a setback doesn’t mean everything you’ve worked for is undone. You’re still moving forward, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You try to breathe through the tightness in your chest, but it’s hard to shake the feeling of panic that still lingers just beneath the surface.

“You’re safe now,” Wanda says gently. “And we’ll work through this, one step at a time. But remember—he’s not here. He’s not in your life anymore. And whatever he did to you, you have the power to move beyond it. You are in control now.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips, but for the first time since yesterday, there’s a glimmer of something that feels like hope—like maybe you can move past this. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice quieter now, “maybe.”

Wanda nods. “We’ll take it slow. Together.” And as she says that, you feel a little less lost.

The days blur together in a quiet rhythm. With Natasha covering your shifts, you have a strange sense of relief, but also an unshakable tension that keeps gnawing at you. You try to focus on your recovery—on grounding yourself in the stillness of your apartment, the therapy sessions with Wanda—but something always feels just out of reach. You text Natasha occasionally, asking how things are going. She always responds with short updates, her tone pragmatic as she fills you in on what’s happening in the prison.

Natasha: “Everything’s running smoothly today. The inmates are mostly behaving—no incidents.”

You read the message and feel a flicker of something—a kind of guilt that you’re not there, a weight in your stomach you can’t quite shake. But there’s another part of you that’s grateful. You need time. You need space. To breathe. Your phone buzzes again.

Natasha: “Pietro’s been quiet. I’m keeping an eye on him. No issues.”

Your chest tightens at the mention of his name. Even though you’re not physically there, the mention of him lingers like a shadow in your mind.

You: “Keep an eye on him. Let me know if anything changes.”

Natasha: “Always.”

It’s strange. You haven’t seen him since that day. The image of Pietro, standing in the chaos of the riot, the fury in his eyes as he defended you from the other inmate, keeps resurfacing. You still don’t understand it—why he stepped in, why he seemed so different from the man you once knew.

But you won’t let yourself think about it too much.

You send a message to Wanda later that evening, updating her on your progress. The sessions have been helping, but the quiet still feels heavy at times, like the calm before a storm.

You: “I’m doing better. Still trying to adjust to the quiet. Things are… okay.”

Wanda: “That’s good. Take it one day at a time. You’re doing well.”

You smile at the message, but the relief is short-lived. The weight you carry is still there, a constant, subtle presence that never quite fades.

Your phone buzzes again.

This time it’s a text from Tony.

Tony: “Heard about your session with Wanda. You doing alright? If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re all in this together.”

You read it twice, letting the words settle. You know Tony means well, but the worry in his tone pulls at something inside you.

You reply with a simple message.

You: “Thanks, Tony. I’ll be okay. Just taking things slow.”

For now, that’s all you can do. Take it slow. But something in the pit of your stomach tells you that things won’t stay quiet for long.

The morning air is brisk as you step back into the prison, the heavy security gates clanging behind you as you pass through the checkpoints. You’ve only been away for a couple of days, but it feels like so much longer. Wanda had suggested you take more time—recommended you ease back into the routine—but there’s something in you that refuses to stay on the sidelines. You don’t want to be weak, to feel like you’re avoiding what’s waiting for you in those walls. So here you are, back at work, despite the knot in your stomach and the tension that hasn’t quite left your body.

Your baton feels heavier in your hand today, the grip tighter, like it’s the only thing between you and the memories you’d rather not relive. You hold it as if it might somehow shield you, as if it will give you the control you crave.

Natasha notices your stiffness as you walk side by side on patrol, her sharp eyes flicking to you occasionally.

“You alright?” she asks, her tone low, a hint of concern under the usual calm.

You force a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just… adjusting.”

Natasha nods, not pressing. She’s been through enough to know when to back off and when to keep things light.

The yard ahead of you is alive with noise. Inmates are scattered across the open space—some working out, others talking in small groups, and a few tossing a ball around. It’s the usual scene, but it feels different now. Every step you take feels heavier, like the air is thicker with tension.

“You’ve been gone a few days,” Natasha says, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “It’s been quieter than usual. No incidents to report. Just the usual antics from the regulars.”

You look around, scanning the yard. The inmates don’t seem much different today—just another day of trying to pass the time in a place where time doesn’t really exist. But the knot in your stomach doesn’t go away.

You spot a few familiar faces, some of the older inmates who tend to keep to themselves. They’re lifting weights, chatting idly. There’s no real threat in the air today, nothing that raises your guard.

Everything is normal. Or at least it seems normal.

But then, you spot him.

Pietro.

He’s sitting against a wall, his silver hair catching the light as he watches the others. There’s something about the way he watches the yard, the way his eyes seem to follow every movement with an intensity that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s not doing anything particularly threatening—just observing—but it’s him. And that, in itself, is enough to put you on edge.

You try to ignore the sudden tension that runs through you, but it’s impossible. He hasn’t made a move. Not yet. But the feeling that something’s coming lingers like a storm cloud, just waiting to break.

“Everything okay?” Natasha’s voice brings you back to the present.

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah. Just… a lot of eyes on us today.”

You’re not sure if you’re referring to the inmates, or to Pietro. But either way, the feeling in your chest doesn’t ease.

“Let’s keep moving,” Natasha suggests, sensing your discomfort.

You nod, but your eyes linger on Pietro for a moment longer. The calmness of the yard doesn’t match the tension running through your veins, the way your pulse speeds up the longer you look at him. But you turn away. You have a job to do. And for now, everything is normal.

The breakroom is warm, filled with the scent of burnt coffee and the low murmur of casual conversation between the off-duty guards. You lean against the counter, stirring sugar into your drink, trying to shake the lingering unease from patrol.

Natasha had reassured you that things were fine. That Pietro had been quiet. But something in the way he watched the yard still sits heavy in your stomach.

The door swings open, and Tony steps in, followed by a younger man—late teens, maybe early twenties, with wide brown eyes and an awkward smile. He looks almost out of place in his fresh uniform, standing a little too stiffly as Tony claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Alright, everybody, listen up,” Tony announces, dragging everyone’s attention to the new guy. “We’ve got a rookie joining us. Parker, introduce yourself.”

The young man clears his throat. “Uh—hi. I’m Peter. Peter Parker. It’s, um, nice to meet you all.”

His voice is eager but nervous, and you can tell he’s still adjusting to the reality of working in a prison.

Tony nods toward you. “Y/N, you mind showing him the ropes? Give him the grand tour, teach him the basics.”

You nod, pushing off the counter. “Sure, I’ve got time.”

Peter looks relieved as he steps forward. “Thanks! I, uh, appreciate it. I’ve read all the training manuals, but I know real experience is different, so—”

Tony smirks. “Yeah, kid, no amount of reading is gonna prepare you for what goes down here. Just stick with Y/N and try not to get stabbed.”

Peter blinks. “Right. Got it.”

You suppress a chuckle. “Come on, rookie. Let’s get started.”

Peter follows you through the facility, trying to absorb everything you say while keeping up with your pace. You walk him through the showers, the cafeteria, the yard, and the workshops, explaining how each section operates and what to watch out for.

“The cafeteria’s where most fights break out,” you say as you pass through the empty space. “Food, territory, personal grudges—it all comes to the surface here. You see tension brewing, you call it in before things get bad. Got it?”

Peter nods, his expression serious. “Got it.”

You move through the halls, explaining the protocols, the routines. He listens intently, occasionally asking questions. He’s sharp, you’ll give him that.

Then, as you turn a corner near the cell blocks, something catches your eye.

An empty cell. Your breath stills. It’s the cell where he was. The man who attacked you. But now, there’s a new face, a different inmate occupying the space.

Peter notices your pause. “Something wrong?”

You force yourself to shake it off, exhaling slowly. “No. Just thought of something. Let’s keep moving.”

But the unease lingers. Later, you’d get answers.

After the tour, you find Tony alone in his office, leaning back in his chair, flipping through reports. He barely looks up when you step in.

“Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You shut the door behind you, crossing your arms. “The guy who attacked me. He’s gone.”

Tony lets out a slow breath, rubbing his temple. “Yeah. Figured you’d notice sooner or later.”

You stiffen. “Where is he?”

Tony doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sits forward, resting his arms on the desk. “After Pietro beat the shit out of him, he was taken to medical. Needed stitches, some internal treatment. Was supposed to be in recovery for at least a week.”

You frown. “Then what happened?”

Tony’s expression darkens. “Middle of the night, his vitals flatlined. No warning, no struggle. Just… gone.”

Your stomach twists. “You’re saying he just died? Out of nowhere?”

Tony exhales sharply, drumming his fingers against the desk. “That’s the thing. There were no obvious signs. No wounds, no signs of an overdose. But the timing?” He shakes his head. “Something’s not right. We suspect foul play, but there’s no evidence to back it up.”

Your fingers curl into a fist. “You think Pietro had something to do with it?”

Tony meets your gaze. “I think Pietro doesn’t like people touching what’s his.”

A cold chill runs through you.

“He’s not in solitary,” you say, more to yourself than to Tony. “No punishment?”

“No proof,” Tony reminds you. “No evidence, no witness, no way to pin it on him. Just a dead man who made a lot of enemies.”

Your throat feels tight.

Pietro had already nearly killed the man in the riot. If he had finished the job in secret… Why?

You don’t realize how tightly you’re gripping your arms until Tony’s voice pulls you back.

“Look, I know this is unsettling,” he says, more gently now. “But you need to watch yourself. Whatever Pietro’s up to… just don’t give him a reason to fixate on you any more than he already does.”

You swallow hard, nodding. But deep down, you know it’s already too late for that.

The sound of metal scraping against metal fills the air as you and Peter step into the workshop. The scent of oil, sawdust, and sweat lingers in the space, mingling with the rhythmic clanking of tools. Inmates are scattered around at their assigned stations—some carving wood, some handling machinery under close supervision, others working on minor repairs for the prison itself.

Your baton hangs at your hip as you walk alongside Peter, who’s still adjusting to the environment. His eyes dart around, taking in the room, observing the way the guards keep a watchful distance but remain ready to intervene at any sign of trouble.

“You’ll spend a lot of time here,” you tell him, keeping your voice low enough that only he can hear. “The workshops keep the inmates occupied, give them something to focus on. Most of them actually want to be here—it’s better than sitting in their cells all day.”

Peter nods, but his posture is tense. “And the ones who don’t want to be here?”

You glance toward a group of inmates hunched over a workbench, their eyes flicking toward you and Peter before quickly returning to their task. “Those are the ones you watch the closest.”

Peter swallows and nods. He’s still green, still uncomfortable. But he’s observant, and that’s good. He’ll need to be. You move through the room, keeping an eye on the men as they work. Everything seems… fine. The usual. No immediate tension. No red flags.

Then, you feel it. A weight on you. Not a touch. Not a sound. Just a presence. Your pulse stutters, and your gaze flickers across the workshop—until you find him.

Pietro.

He’s standing at a station near the back, sleeves rolled up, silver hair slightly damp from exertion. He’s focused on the task in front of him, carefully piecing together some mechanical component. He’s not looking at you. Not exactly.

But you can feel it. The awareness. The same way he was in the yard. Watching. Waiting. Not making a move, but making it impossible for you to ignore him. Your grip tightens around your baton, but you force yourself to stay steady. He’s just another inmate. Another prisoner doing his time. You won’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Peter must notice your shift in posture because he hesitates beside you, following your line of sight. “That guy… Pietro Maximoff, right?”

Your jaw tenses. “Yeah.”

Peter hums, thoughtful. “He’s, uh… different from what I expected. Heard he’s dangerous, but he’s just—”

“Quiet,” you finish for him.

Peter nods. “Yeah. That.”

You tear your gaze away from Pietro and scan the rest of the workshop. “Don’t let it fool you,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Peter. “The quiet ones are the most dangerous.”

Pietro still doesn’t look at you directly. He doesn��t approach, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t speak. But you can feel the corner of his mouth twitch upward. Like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The workshop hums with controlled chaos—the steady clang of metal, the whir of saws, the murmur of inmates working side by side. You keep moving, keeping Peter close as you scan the room. Most of the men are too focused on their tasks to pay you much mind.

Most.

But not him.

Even without looking, you can feel Pietro’s presence like a shadow at your back. He hasn’t made a move, hasn’t said a word, but there’s an undeniable awareness pressing into your skin. A patient, unshakable force.

Peter shifts beside you. “So, uh… what exactly is he working on?”

You glance toward Pietro’s station. He’s assembling something—small, intricate, mechanical. His fingers move with practiced ease, threading gears together, twisting wires into place. There’s a calmness to him, an unsettling ease that doesn’t match the man you know he is.

“Prison maintenance,” you answer. “They repair things around the facility—lights, radios, machinery. Keeps them busy.”

Peter nods. “And he’s allowed to handle tools?”

“Under supervision,” you say.

Peter hums, unconvinced. “Still. Kinda weird, right? Letting a guy like him work with sharp objects?”

You don’t answer. Because, yeah. It is weird.

But Pietro has always had a way of slipping through the cracks. Playing by the rules just enough to keep himself in good standing. He’s a model inmate on paper—no recent infractions, no outbursts, nothing to warrant extra restrictions. If you didn’t know him, you might think he was just another prisoner trying to pass the time. But you do know him. You know what he’s capable of. And something about his stillness, his quiet patience, unnerves you more than if he had openly smirked at you. Then, as if sensing your thoughts, Pietro’s hands still. His head lifts, and for the first time since you stepped into the workshop— He looks at you. Directly.

It’s subtle. A small shift. But the weight of his gaze slams into you like a physical thing.The corner of his mouth twitches, amusement flickering behind sharp blue eyes. And then—just as quickly as he acknowledged you—he looks away. You inhale sharply, realizing too late that you had been holding your breath.

Peter frowns. “You good?”

You force yourself to relax, to push down the reaction threatening to claw its way out of you.

“Fine,” you say.

But you grip your baton a little tighter. Because nothing about this is fine.

You should have spent the day off sleeping in, maybe catching up on a book or just not thinking about the prison for once.

Instead, you spent your morning in the kitchen, mixing, rolling, and baking until your entire apartment smelled like warm chocolate and sugar. The repetitive motions, the careful measuring, the way the scent filled the space—it was soothing in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Now, you carry a large Tupperware container filled with freshly baked cookies through the front entrance of the prison, greeting Sam Wilson at the security checkpoint.

He raises a brow at the sight of you. “You do know it’s your day off, right?”

You lift the container slightly. “I brought cookies.”

Sam squints at you, then at the container, then back at you. “You bribing me?”

“Depends. Is it working?” You pop the lid open just enough for the rich, buttery scent to waft out.

Sam’s resolve crumbles immediately. “Damn, alright, hand ’em over.”

You grin, pulling out a cookie and placing it in his open palm. He takes a bite, groaning in satisfaction. “You should call out more often if this is what we get in return.”

You roll your eyes, snapping the lid shut. “Noted.”

With a final nod to Sam, you make your way deeper into the prison, moving past familiar corridors and steel doors. Your keycard grants you access when necessary, the beeps and clicks of locks disengaging marking your path.

You barely make it a few feet down the hall before Tony Stark nearly barrels past you, too focused on whatever report he’s flipping through to notice you at first.

Then, he does notice—specifically, he notices the container in your hands.

“What’s that?” he asks, eyeing it with suspicion.

“Homemade cookies,” you answer.

Tony sniffs the air, his nose twitching slightly. “Chocolate chip?”

You lift the lid just enough for the aroma to hit him. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, as if in deep appreciation.

“You know,” he says, snapping his folder shut, “I was this close to lecturing you about showing up on your day off.”

“But?” you prompt.

“But I think I’ll just do this instead.”

Before you can react, he snatches two cookies from the container, shoving one whole into his mouth while holding the second like a prized possession.

You scoff. “That’s not exactly gratitude.”

Tony chews dramatically, savoring the taste. “This is better than gratitude.”

Shaking your head, you nudge past him, making your way toward the break room.

Swiping your keycard, you push open the door to find Natasha sitting at the small table, sipping her afternoon coffee while casually chatting with Dr. Bruce Banner, the prison’s best doctor.

Natasha looks up first, surprise flickering across her face. “You do know it’s your day off, right?”

Bruce glances at you and offers a polite smile. “Good to see you, Y/N.” you offer a smile in return. You smirk, already anticipating Natasha’s next words. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s my day off.”

Natasha leans back in her chair, taking another sip of coffee. “Yet, here you are.”

You lift the tupperware and pop the lid off. “I brought cookies.” Bruce raises a brow, peering into the container. “You baked?”

“Spent the whole morning on it,” you admit. Natasha eyes the cookies suspiciously. “You didn’t lace them with something, did you?”

You snort. “What, like cyanide?”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a cookie and toss it at her. She catches it easily, inspecting it before taking a bite. Her skeptical expression quickly shifts into approval. “Okay,” she says, mouth full. “You’re forgiven for showing up.”

Bruce chuckles, reaching into the container to take one for himself. “I think this is the best surprise the break room has had in a long time.”

You finally settle into the chair across from them, feeling, for the first time in a while, something normal. Just an easy moment. A small distraction from the weight pressing at the edges of your mind.

Today was supposed to be a good day. For once, you felt something close to normal—laughing with Natasha, joking with Tony, showing Peter the ropes. Even being in the prison didn’t weigh as heavily on you as it usually did.

Then, as you pass by the visiting room, you see her. A flash of red hair. Familiar. You slow your steps, blinking in surprise. Wanda?

Your therapist. The woman who had been guiding you for five years. The one person outside of this place who understood, who helped you make sense of the storm in your head.

What was she doing here?

Your first instinct is to believe there’s been some mistake. Maybe she’s here to visit someone else, someone unrelated to this place’s darkness. But as you take a hesitant step closer, as your gaze follows hers across the room— You see him.

Pietro.

Walking toward her with the same measured, easy stride he always had.

And then— She hugs him. Your breath catches, chest tightening as the sight slams into you like a physical blow. Wanda—your Wanda—the woman who had spent years helping you recover from him, is embracing him.

Your mind blanks, then races. You scan her face, his, searching for something—anything—to tell you that this isn’t what it looks like.

But it is.

You stand frozen, unseen, watching as they exchange quiet words. Pietro’s expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it. Not the cruel smirks, not the amused glances he usually gives, but something real. Something human.

And Wanda… Wanda looks at him like she knows him. Like she’s always known him.Your stomach twists violently.

Why? Why is she here? How does she know him?

You take a step back, then another, your hands clenching at your sides. You need to leave. Need to get away before— Blue eyes find yours.

Pietro’s head tilts slightly, lips curving into something small, almost imperceptible. A knowing little grin, as if he was waiting for you to piece it together. The ground beneath you feels unsteady.

Wanda has been in your life for years. Always kind. Always patient. She had insisted she wanted to help you, that she cared. But she never told you about this. You force your feet to move, turning sharply on your heel and walking away—faster than you intended.

Your world isn’t just shaking anymore. It’s cracking.

You don’t remember pushing open the doors.

Don’t remember the frantic sound of your own breathing as your boots hit the pavement, as the cold air slams into you like a wall.

You barely register Sam’s voice calling after you. “Hey—Y/N! Where are you going?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Your pulse roars in your ears as you reach your car, your hands shaking so badly that you fumble with the keys before finally yanking the door open. You throw yourself inside, slamming it shut, locking it.

Your fingers are tight on the wheel, squeezing until your knuckles go white. But the trembling doesn’t stop.

Your chest is tight—too tight.

You gasp, sucking in a breath as if you’ve just been pulled from deep water. It’s not enough.

You start the car. The engine rumbles to life, but it’s distant, muted. The world feels off—warped, too fast, too slow. Your heart is hammering in a frantic, uneven rhythm.

Then you’re driving. You barely remember the ride home, don’t recall hitting any lights or turns, but somehow, you’re there—stumbling through the door, the silence of your apartment pressing in too much, too fast, too heavy.

The floor rushes up to meet you as you sink to your knees.

Your breathing is shallow, erratic.

In. Out. No, not enough.

Your hand fumbles for your phone, shaking fingers unlocking it before you even realize what you’re doing. You scroll, heart still racing, and find the name you’ve always trusted.

Wanda.

You’re about to call her. About to let her voice ground you the way it always does.

But then you remember.

You remember the visiting room.

Remember the way she hugged him.

Your thumb hovers over the call button, hesitation slicing through your panic like a dull blade.

She knew. She always knew.

The realization is a gut punch, and suddenly the phone feels wrong in your hands. Like it’s burning you from the inside out.

With a strangled sound, you throw it aside. It clatters against the hardwood, landing face down.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your hands to your temples, willing yourself to breathe normally.

You’re okay. You’re okay.But you’re not. And you know it.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 4 - Thin Ice | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to Casterly Rock for the next round of the tour, Aemond has some explaining to do | Word Count: 7.4k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: Aemond being a general raging dickhead, classism, sexual tension 😘, swearing, heavy petting

A/N: I feel like apologising for long chapters is beyond me at this point. But ohohoho we getting into itttt~

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

It turned out that alone, never really meant alone.

Alone in the sense that Aemond and yourself would be carted around by the various staff at Hightower Management, put into various hotels and expected to keep up with training, without the keen eyes of Otto nor Alicent watching over either of you.

Part of you was excited about the notion of a tour. But the more dominant part was immensely nervous. Without Helaena or Aegon to take the edge of Aemond’s personality, it might be silent torture or it might be entirely indifferent, as you and Aemond had been throughout the match and after-party well over a week ago and, as well as the time in between.

It was sort of routine now, the way you both trained. Only speaking to one another if you had to.

Even then, he did seem a little chattier. But it was a miniscule difference.

He’d not said a thing about his ex-dinosaur-girlfriend (as Helaena so carefully put it) being at the after-party. Not like he would say anything to you anyway, but still, what was that all about?

Helaena had told you as much as she could really, given all she knew being on the outside. Alys was twenty years Aemond’s senior, now in her mid-forties you surmise from the timeline. Besides grossing you out mildly, Helaena had bestowed her knowledge that as soon as Alicent found out about the supposed relationship, it was immediately put to an end.

Enter. The pregnancy scandal. Alys had approached Otto in a very business-like manner, breaking the news she was pregnant and that it had been Aemond’s, despite the timing of it clearly not matching up. Alicent was absolutely beside herself, which knowing her now you’re not sure if you could picture it, and insisted that it was entirely not true and that Alys had just wanted money.

Aemond’s or not, she was paid a handsome sum to keep quiet. And in the end? It turned out she wasn’t pregnant in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t seen her at the party, as it’s not really my story to tell”, Helaena had said.

It left a bad taste in your mouth when she finished explaining. If that was all true, why the hell would she turn up to the after-party with the necklace Aemond had gifted her all those years ago? Why would she even get involved with a man twenty years her junior? It reeked somewhat of grooming, etching a permanent frown into your features at the memory of Aemond at the party, his shoulders rolled forwards, looking down and shrinking in her presence.

He looked so small then.

That’s all you could think about as you both sat in the back seats of the car driven by a man called Arryk Cargyll, who would be transporting and looking after you both since Criston was attending to Helaena and Aegon on the other side of the tour. He was significantly chattier and less stone-faced than Criston, which you chalked up to him being probably younger.

But even then, he barely spoke a word the entire way to your first stop of the tour. Casterly Rock, hosted by Jason and Johanna Lannister, representing the Westerlands.

At least the hotel was nice. You and Aemond had separate rooms next to one another. And aside from the odd light switch and the hum of the shower, he didn't make himself known.

Even now, as you sat on the bed, clad in black sweatpants and a sports bra, having visited the hotel gym, you listened to the shower through the walls in the quietness of the late evening. Staring off into space. The intrusive thought of Aemond showering briefly zipping through your brain and not at all imagining-

Incoming Video Call from El 🦌

Thank the gods for that.

You swipe the screen, greeted with the smiling face of Ellyn sat on what used to be your shared sofa.

"There's my hoe" she lovingly calls, stuffing a crisp into her mouth.

You hum a laugh, "Charming El" you smile, moving to lay on your front so you can prop the phone up, "What's the occasion? Do you miss me that much?"

She rolls her eyes, "Fuck off. I always miss you" she smiles brightly, "Forgive me for wanting to check in on my amazingly successful figure skating queen"

"Amazingly successful, huh?" You joke, "High praise coming from Floris' sister. How is she by the way?"

"She's fine. Getting discharged soon they think, she messed it up pretty bad" Ellyn shrugs, "hey, you might see Maris when you're out there"

"I'll give her a big sloppy kiss for you" you smirk.

Ellyn pulls a face, "Don't do that she'll punch you in the face"

You laugh. She absolutely would as well. The Four Storms indeed.

"I saw your Instagram pictures. You look fit" she says with a mouth full of crisps, "Anyway, who you dressed up for in there?"

You look down at your outfit, furrowing your brows, "A sports bra?" You joke, "Hardly dressed up, El"

She smirks, "How are things with Aemond?"

"Oh for fucks sake…" you roll your eyes, hearing her cackle through the phone, "Well, we didn't start the greatest"

"Tough crowd?"

"He may have insinauted I wouldn't handle it because I wasn't from any notable house"

Her mouth drops open.

"Death. He deserves death"

You laugh loudly, covering your mouth, "El!"

"Did you put him in his place?"

"Tried to!"

"I bet he went real quiet after you showed him up at that match!"

You smile at her, "Oh you watched that?"

"Course I did!" She returns, "not fair you looking like a snack on the ice like that. You could tell you didn't like each other though"

Ooft. "Yeah…" you trail off, "...it's a work in progress"

"I take it you haven't smashed yet then?"

"El!"

"What!" She shouts back, making the phone crackle due to her volume, "Just cos he's a dick doesn't mean he's unfuckable"

El, you're making it really hard to deny it right now by confirming my exact thought process.

You sigh, "I'm not fucking him, El. He hates me"

"Do you hate him?"

You bite your lip, "I tolerate"

"Fucking liar" she sneers, "anyway I gotta go, I'll watch your next match. Slay all day, love you!"

You sigh, dropping your phone, listening as the hum of his shower stops, and the bedroom light switch clicks against the wall.

How did you end this conversation thinking about Aemond having a shower more?!

Stop that. Bad girl.

You could hear him plug in what you assumed was a phone charger into the wall, something akin to bed slats cracking a second later with the weight of him slipping into bed.

His bed was right next to the wall, the same as yours.

You tapped your phone anxiously, biting your lip as if something were on your mind.

But you didn't have the heart to even tell yourself what you were thinking about.

Or rather who.

The bitterness of hotel coffee never fails to make you wince as you sit in the fancy hotel foyer, dressed in your usual all black sportswear while the space around you looks indicative of a Greek palace, all cream and decorated with keen detail.

Casterly Rock is unnaturally hot right now, so all you’re able to manage is a sports bra and a thin crop top on your torso, with of course, leggings on your bottom. Your foot taps impatiently, waiting for Aemond to come out of his room so Arryk can drive you to the ice rink for morning practice, raising an eyebrow when you look at the clock on the wall and see it’s already 6am.

He’s never usually late.

Arryk walks towards you with an unnatural spring in his step to say how early in the morning it is, smiling beneath his facial hair, looking entirely put together in the suit he wears. Does he wear that everyday?

“Aemond will be a while yet, shall I get you to the rink first so you don’t lose out on practice?”

You nod, downing the rest of the coffee to give you some semblance of life, standing up to follow him, “Sure, thank you”

You follow him to the car, sliding into the passenger seat, rubbing your eyes.

“Is he alright?” you ask, as Arryk pulls his seatbelt on.

He nods, putting the car into gear and setting off, “He’ll be alright. Just a small headache. The eye sometimes gives him some bother”

You drive in silence for a bit, the roads mostly clear from how early it still is.

“Have you been with them long? Working for them I mean?” you ask, trying to fill the silence with something.

“A while. I joined after Aemond’s accident”

You swallow.

The accident.

Sensing your silence, Arryk looks over briefly, “You don’t know?”

You shrug, shaking your head, “I figured if he wanted to tell me he would”

Arryk nodded and turned away again, clearing his throat with his eyes back on the road. He didn’t say anything else until you arrived at the ice rink, obviously not wanting to let slip any sensitive information that Aemond wouldn’t have wanted to share. But it was clear he knew.

It felt like everyone around you knew some kind of secret, and you were purposefully being kept on the outside, but just within reach.

This ice rink was by no means large and you’re thankful at least that it’s empty, so that you can do the pre-practice stretches in relative peace. You just stick your airpods in and play whatever you have on shuffle, using the free time Aemond isn’t here to start on the ice.

It’s nice every once in a while since starting training with Aemond, to have everything to yourself, music in your ears, hair down, the breeze of the air conditioning through your locks. Sometimes you find yourself just gliding, eyes closed and inhaling slowly and purposefully through your nose, letting the smells around you fill your senses.

After doing countless laps and trying certain jumps you know you’d be doing with Aemond later, you look at the clock. 45 minutes have passed and still no sign of Aemond.

Feeling entirely too hot from the exertion of practising, you huff and tug the shirt you’re wearing off, leaving yourself in only the sports bra.

Modesty be damned, I’m too fucking hot for this.

Tugging it over your head, adjusting the sports bra underneath, you don’t even register the double doors opening with the airpods blasting in your ears. It’s only when the flash of white hair passes as you slide along the ice, that you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Fucking hell” you mutter quietly, pulling out your airpods quickly.

Aemond shucks his bag onto the floor, not making eye contact as he slips onto the bench with his skates in his hands. He looks more irritable than usual, dropping his skates with a sort of carelessness you wouldn’t usually associate with him.

You watch his face, tense and irritated, looking down as he ties them, his eyebrows drawn together.

Skating up to the edge, you bite your lip, wondering if you should say anything at all. Would it just make him more difficult? Would he just stay quiet?

“Are you okay?” you ask, coming out more weakly than intended.

“Yes” he answers harshly, unconvincing, “Fine, clearly”

Woah, okay.

You lean over the edge on your elbows, watching as he fails to tie his skates the first time, cursing to himself at having to do it again, irritably looping them once more.

“Arryk said you had a headache”

Sighing once he’s double tied his laces, he leans on his knees, finally looking up at you, his whole body tense and rigid. He doesn’t say a thing. He just stares, as if he’s shocked you had the audacity to even talk to him, his glass eye reflected in the sharp blue tone of the lights.

It's like all the air has been sucked out the room. And the world only has you two left in it. The way he stares makes you both uncomfortable and breathless at the same time.

And you're unsure if you think it's a good thing.

A glimpse of what he acted like when you first met is there, watching the way his grip is tight, his forearms taut and shoulders hunched.

He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“I have some ibuprofen…if you want it”

His mouth closes instantly. And his brow softens somewhat, although not unwinding entirely. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment, and he nods, looking completely resigned, much like he did on the night he talked to Alys Rivers.

Like a child in pain.

Hopping off the ice, you rifle through your bag that’s seated next to him, eventually extending the pills to him. He moves his head, his good eye starting at your legs and running over the entirety of you, before looking at your eyes. It makes you go all warm, watching the way he pauses at your middle, where the slightest bit of skin shows beneath the sports bra.

“Thanks” he says quietly, taking the pills from you and popping some out the foil. His fingers graze yours only slightly, and you press your lips together, turning away from him quickly to get back on the ice.

Your chest feels all hot and tight. Must be the hotel breakfast. That bacon did taste funny.

Something inside tightens as you turn to watch him swallow some water, watching the muscles of his neck. And then his large hands palm at his hair, pulling it to the back to tie it haphazardly, with no real care as several strands fall out from his grasp.

Why is that kind of hot.

What is wrong with me.

This is Aemond we’re talking about.

Despite knowing that there is no way those pills have kicked in yet, he tugs at his shirt as he gets out on the ice. He has one hand occupied with his phone as he meets you in the middle.

“Fuck. Speaker’s not working” he murmurs, fumbling with the settings on his phone.

“Oh”

You move from right leg to left leg, anxiously. Pulling at the fabric of your leggings while you think of a solution.

“We could uh…use my airpods” you respond, pulling the case out, “one each?”

He only moves his eye to meet you, his mouth wrinkled down in disgust. For some reason it makes you laugh.

“Oh come on, they’re not dirty” you smile, handing him one, “business partners, right?” you say, sticking the left one in your own ear.

Not friends.

Business partners.

He sighs, reluctantly sticking the right one in. You put the music you’ll be performing in a few days on repeat, sticking the phone into your sports bra in lieu of pockets.

“Give it to me” Aemond says, one hand limply extended.

“What?”

He looks at you, “Your phone” he adds, “I have pockets”

You pull an awkward face, swallowing thickly.

For some reason retrieving the phone from the sports bra feels weirder than putting it there, especially when you hand it to him and he presses it against his thigh to stuff into his zip pocket. God his hands are so massive now when compared to the size of the phone.

Stop. That.

Oh gods, was I sweaty. That’s so gross if I was.

He luckily doesn’t comment on anything like that. A small mercy.

You practise one. Two. Three times. The clock ticks by quickly as you're both immersed in training. Trying various parts of the routines, as well as a particularly difficult new jump, one that at first you have some trouble with.

Aemond throws you in the air and you have to spin three times, timing it perfectly so that your front is against his in time for him to push you back for the exit, hands joined.

It’s had…questionable results so far.

Misjudging how quickly you need to spin in the air, your feet aren’t in the right position and you fall chest to chest with Aemond, his arms reaching around you to make sure you don’t slip.

“Shit!” you whisper, annoyed at yourself, “Sorry”

You hate that when he catches you, his grip on your bare arms, that you can’t help but blush, every hair standing on end. Especially when he looks down at you, hoisting you up back on your skates once you’re balanced, “You okay?”

Completely too annoyed at yourself to care right now about the proximity, you shake your head, “Can’t hack that one”

Aemond bites his cheek, “Let’s try a double spin first then”

Realising you’re still very close, you skate back, clearing your throat, “You sure?..”

He shrugs, “We can work up to the triple if we want, but as long as we do a throw, still counts”

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Sure..”

If there is something you’ve noticed since you met and began working with Aemond, it’s that his style of skating, much like Helaena’s and Aegon’s, is very technical. Calculated. Overly-thought out.

Much like ballet, figure skating is as much about performance and emotion, than technical ability. Unfortunately for Aemond.

He’s so pragmatic about his approach that there’s barely room for any real emotion in his performance. He’s always straight-faced, tight-lipped. So much so, you wonder if he actually enjoys any of it.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Starting with the double was an easier approach, and it came more naturally. So when you did several attempts after the triple, tucking your arms in on yourself for the spin, the last few were landed, making your insides swell with pride. Eventually, you look at the clock and wince at the time, so both of you take a break for a much needed drink.

After having crossed the technical bridge, time for the emotional one you suppose? No harm in asking, right?

“Can I ask you something?” you ask quietly, leaning backwards against the ledge, arms rested on it.

Aemond’s eye finds you mid-sip of his water bottle, and he licks his lips, his weight on one leg, wordlessly urging you to continue.

You swallow, wondering how best to word it, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

Isn’t it obvious?

Your eyes zip around briefly, “This? Figure skating?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Answering your question without needing words.

“I enjoy it enough”

Enough.

Aemond is so guarded. Even now, he holds his arms over his chest, protecting his heart. Silence stretches between you at his answer, as unconvincing as it was, you nod your head with eyebrows raised, not wanting to say anything more that might dampen the mood on your training for today.

Being around him is like stepping around a sleeping dragon. One brush against it, however soft it would be, it’d wake in a sort of angered panic, assuming danger.

That is how you would describe him. Whatever you said or did, it’d be interpreted as an attack.

“You don’t believe me” he responded after some time.

As much as you feel you dislike him, you can’t lie to him, so you shrug, “Not really”

He narrows his eyes, “Why”

Fucking hell. Here we go. Now I’ve done it.

You sigh, already feeling an argument brewing where you hadn’t intended, “I think it’s no secret that when you perform you look like you’d rather be anywhere else” you say, shifting about on your skates, stretching your arms anxiously, “Unless you’re just like that with me” you add, under your breath.

He rolls his eye somewhat, humming. In neither acceptance nor denial.

Was that a yes? No?

“I just think if we’re going to stand a chance in these Championships we should at least make the effort with performance. For the scores” you nod to him, “That’s all I’m saying”

Aemond scoffs, “Oh, so you think you’re giving me advice now?”

Oh there’s the sleeping dragon.

Your head retracts, shocked by the sudden sass. Maybe the ibuprofen has kicked in, “We’re skating partners, aren’t we? You don’t value my good opinion, seeing as, shockingly, I existed as a skater before I met you?”

He shakes his head, as if amused, “Just find it funny”

You bite your lip, now visibly annoyed. Your skin blooms in frustration. Not this shit again. No fucking way.

“Funny in the sense that you still think that just because I’m of no notable house, not so far up my own ass I can’t see the sun and not such a nepo-baby that-”

“I fucking told you not to call me that” he snaps, his eye now serious, his stance too as he pushes off the ledge to stand before you.

You shrug, “Is that not what you are?” you challenge, “Your brother and sister get to represent the Reach just because your mother is from Oldtown, and you make it to the Championships every time despite not being able to show a slither of emotion on your face-”

“It’s because I’m fucking good at it” he counters, “Emotions has nothing to do with it”

“Doesn’t it? You can be good at it, but you don’t fucking like it”

He goes all quiet, his fist clenched at his side, shaking.

“It’s as clear to the judges as it is to anyone, you don’t enjoy it. I don’t doubt you probably did at some point”

He swallows, as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say.

“And because you’re so perfect?”

“Didn’t say I was-”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not” he interrupts, making you go quiet and still, “Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty to me. My family is well-established and good at it. There doesn’t need to be a deep and meaningful reason why I do it. I don’t need to dig deep to find any semblance of purpose in my life, unlike your shitty one. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all-”

Aemond stops his chaotic ramble when he finally turns to look at you, seeing the horrified and tearful expression on your face after you’d heard him say it in his fit of rage. His face drops instantly, replaying what he’d said. It didn’t seem like him at all, to go on such a rampage of horrible words.

It felt like someone was speaking through him. Like he was a puppet on a string, performing the actions of others.

But he had said it nonetheless.

You laugh weakly, feeling your insides twist painfully.

“My class, huh?...” you repeat, shoving the knife inside him deeper. The word seems to make him shudder now, despite him being the one who said it.

If you didn’t laugh you’d cry. So you did just that.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel so disgusted to have people of my class doing your sport” you respond, skating backwards away from him.

With tears covering your vision, making the ice look like one big blob of white, all you manage is, “Fuck you, Aemond”

You hear his voice, once, twice, calling your name. The last time is exasperated, carried with a sigh once he realises that you’re too angry right now to even hear him. It all happens so quick you don’t have time to think, the way you pull your skates off without untying them first, hurtling your bag over your shoulder and pushing the doors open so hard they bang against the wall, filling the empty sounding room with an echoed slam.

You don’t look back at him. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

You don’t even text Arryk to come pick you up. You just walk, legs carrying you as quickly as you’re able, one in front of the other and counting up and down in your head in an effort to calm yourself down. The air was hot and oppressive around you, closing in, making you feel even smaller than Aemond had just a few minutes before.

No tears. Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve them.

He doesn’t deserve them.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all.

The replay of the words breaks you and you hurl your bag at the closest wall, but it does nothing to expel the annoyance and frustration you feel inside. The skates inside the bag make it so heavy that it falls to the floor with a thud. You stand there watching, breathing heavily in the air of the early afternoon.

For a small, brief flicker of a moment, you regret throwing your bag with the skates inside. Knowing that it was Rhaenys who gifted you them, and that an argument with Aemond didn’t excuse treating such nice things in that way. All the emotions you have kept back are still there, sitting behind your eyes.

Not in public.

So with a resigned sigh, you pick the bag up and walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get back to the hotel, hoping and praying to every god there is that Arryk or Aemond doesn’t see you on the way back in the car.

The hotel is luckily air conditioned. You can't tell if you're hot because it genuinely is hot, or if you're just so angry you might literally be steaming.

So intent on making a beeline to your hotel room, you nearly collide fully with a familiar brunette.

"Shit! Sorry, I wasn't look-Johanna!" You sigh, red-faced, looking right into her deep brown eyes, that are crinkled up with a smile.

"Gods, you look…hot, and not in the good way" she remarks, her eyes looking over you. You can't help but look at her outfit, all a lovely golden colour that suits her in its entirety.

Instinctively, you wipe your neck, embarrassed at how you must look.

"Yeah, I uh, just came back from training"

She looks around, "Where's your partner? Aemond"

"Oh, uh, he decided to hang back" you lie with a smile, hoping it lands. But her smile indicates that she knows it's not entirely true.

Her deep brown eyes look over your expression, her lips tightening into a reassuring line that’s akin to a smile, “I get it, you know” she says, to which you cock your head, “Not being on good terms with your skating partner”

She sees the way your eyes go wide, and your mouth opens to contradict, “Save it. It’s obvious”

Fuck. Is it really that obvious?

“If it were up to Jason, he’d have stopped competing ages ago” she muses, eyes flickering to the floor every once in a while, tugging her jacket around her tighter, “It’s me who’s the competitive one”

“But you two skate so well together?” you ask, confused. They’d always been very good skaters together, only spurred on by the fact that they were married.

Johanna laughs, “I’m not stupid. I know Jason’s fucking around on me” she admits without a hint of weakness in her tone, “It’s the least I can do to get back at him, forcing him to compete with me”

Part of you feels sad for her that she knows he’s cheating, but can do nothing about it. But you can’t help the mischievous smile on your face at her so-called ‘revenge’. You’re at least grateful that the person you’ll be up against tomorrow isn’t so hell-bent on winning that she’s outright mean to you.

After a moment, she taps your shoulder, “It’ll be alright. Show him what you’re made of”

You blink, still smiling from her quip before. Even when she leaves the foyer, you stay planted on the spot, bag digging into your shoulder from its heavy contents, feeling the familiar heaviness in your stomach as well.

Show him what I’m made of?

I tried that already. And it still wasn’t enough.

If there’s anything to be grateful for, it’s that Aemond isn’t back at the hotel yet.

But it is only in the sweet relief of silence in your hotel room that you realise…

Great. He still has my phone.

It doesn’t take long for you to really wallow in self-destructive feelings. Stipped down to your baggy clothes, sat in bed, flicking through the terrible hotel channels that are just not doing it for you, and picking at several crisps and popping them into your mouth.

Knock Knock.

It almost makes you jump out of your skin, however soft the knock was.

Your jaw clenches when Aemond’s voice calls your name, staring at the door as if looking right through it.

He sighs, his voice muffled, “Come on, I know you’re in there” he says quietly. You can hear him shuffle from foot to foot. You can imagine him, standing there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his leg shaking while he turns his thoughts over in his head.

He sighs again.

"Please"

Part of you wants to smile at the way he says it. Like it's hurting every little bit of him inside to even consider apologising. But the thought of the smile never really comes to a full one on your face, and your lips continue to turn down into a frown, watching his shadow moving side to side underneath the crack of the door.

You didn’t move an inch. You just watched as he stayed for longer than you thought he would.

The shadow moved, and your phone slid face down under the door, before his footsteps were muffled and far away down the hall. You heard his hotel room door close softly, the light switch clicked against the wall, and the bed slats once again creaked louder as he flopped down on it.

Knowing he is right there, on the opposite side of the wall, no longer gives you that fluttering feeling. It makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable that he’s so close without seeing him. Restless.

Padding over to the door to retrieve your phone. Several messages line the home screen, obscuring the view of your background, you and Ellyn at the ice rink for Christmas and her falling into your arms, not being quite as adept at the skill as her sisters. It never fails to make you smile.

Rhaenys - Manager: 3 unread messages

El 🦌 - 1 unread message

Unknown number - 5 new messages

You cock your head somewhat at the unknown number. And with 5 new texts from it too.

Swiping open your phone, you're met with the absolute essay of the text from the unknown number.

Fuck that, I'm not reading it without a drink in my hand.

So you sit on the bed, a can of gin and tonic in one hand, scrolling through the long text.

At first it doesn't really make sense.

You raise an eyebrow. Reading on.

You swallow, reading all of the words.

You hate that you laugh at that last bit. You can imagine him pacing around, seeing the unread texts he'd sent and hitting himself realising your phone had been in his pocket the whole time.

Something squeezes tight in your chest, reading all of it over one more time.

Aemond hadn't apologised. Not specifically anyway.

I didn't mean any of it.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the headboard with a light thud, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel.

It's late. The match against the Lannisters is tomorrow.

Do you forgive him?

It felt wrong to forgive him for what he'd said, especially after all the times he'd been rude to you before.

Forgiveness would imply that he'd apologised, which he hadn't. You felt like you at least deserved that. And if he couldn't give that to you…

You save his number under ⛸️. Not having the energy to write his name right now.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, your leg moving erratically. Thinking of what to say back.

Be civil. But not too nice. Otherwise he might think it's all good.

You didn't want him to think that.

So you settled for something simple. Something indifferent.

Being in the dressing room without Alicent to fuss over your skates compared to now, sitting in front of the vanity, alone, with your hands clenched tight in front of you, it makes the loneliness tug at your heart. Sitting heavily in your chest.

You should feel pretty. Your outfit is a standard leotard with mesh detailing at the collar, short sleeves, little rhinestones dotted on the skirt to catch the light. The fabric was white, similar to the one you wore at the first match, but not exactly the same, and you can imagine what it would look like when you were skating, capturing the glimmer of the lights and cutting through the air like a whisper.

You’d done your hair yourself, half up half down. With a silver ornament at the back to keep it secure. The pieces that were pulled at the front were waved to the best of your ability, hair sprayed within an inch of their life to stay that way. Your makeup was the same, a barely-there approach, as it was all you were comfortable with.

But you didn’t feel pretty.

Aemond hadn’t replied after what you’d said the night before. You watched as the three bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times, but in the end it was clear he was intent to leave you to your thoughts and give some semblance of space. Since he said himself, he knew he’d fucked up.

You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not that he didn’t reply. All you could think about right now was the match, the move you had practised the day before, and how you were going to best execute it.

“Triple spin in the air, land on the right leg…” you mumbled, tracing the steps of the routine in your head.

The door to your dressing room swung open and your eyes locked eyes with Aemond’s in the mirror. Your heart lurched into your throat seeing him, after what had happened in the last 24 hours, with your partnership potentially hanging by a thread. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, sensing that you really didn’t know what to say.

He briefly met the gaze before looking down, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His hair, as opposed to last time, was in a loose bun, straight strands framing his chiselled face.

“We’re on in 10” he said simply, his left leg twitching in barely-contained anxiety. He bit his lip harshly, something akin to irritation gnawing on his insides.

Anxiety you knew didn’t come from performing the routine itself.

He was afraid of what you would do. Or what you would say.

Swinging your legs off the chair, you pull one of your feet up to the cushion, making sure the laces are well tied and in their place, your eyes trained solely on them and not on him, who was still standing by the door, as if guarding it.

“Look, I-”

“I’m fine, Aemond” you interrupt him, lacing the other one, “Let’s just get this over with please”

Aemond looked as if he’d been slapped. Like he did that night when he’d spoken to Alys Rivers.

“I didn’t mean any of it” he continues, despite what you’d said. When you look at him now, standing up on your skates, he chews on his lip, taking his time to make himself look at you. His eye rakes over your outfit for this routine, leg still bouncing, “You look nice, by the way”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Will you stop saying that like we’re friends, Aemond” you snap, “Just business partners, right?”

Aemond sighs, “Will you stop twisting anything I say into an insult about you?”

“So, is that what that was yesterday? Me twisting your words?” you look at him incredulously, daring him to deny it.

“No-fuck-I didn’t say that” he barks back, his volume increasing, clearly struggling to string together the right words he wants, “What I meant was-”

You shake your head, having had enough, “Just leave it, Aemond. I don’t need to hear it, from you in particular. Can you move please?”

He stays stock still against the door, blocking your path, even stepping forward as a means to say he is most certainly not finished. For a brief second, panic flits through you, not quite remembering how tall and broad he is compared to you.

“What I said yesterday was wrong-”

“You’re fucking right, it was wrong!” you bark back this time, stunning him into silence. He wears a stoic look, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today, despite my class as you so nicely pointed out. If it really offends you so fucking much to be paired with me, then why agree to it in the first place if you’re just going to bitch and whine about it all the damn time!”

“I-”

“No! I deserve to fucking be here, Aemond, just as much as you. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough in your opinion, but I am slowly realising that I don’t care about that. If you don’t think I am good enough to be associated with you or your prestigious family, I am totally fine with th-”

“You are good enough” he says flatly, his eye twitching somewhat as his muscles tense up, “Better than most, in fact”

You scoff, not affected by it now. No way.

“Well, you have a funny fucking way of showing i-”

You didn’t realise it at the time, how close Aemond had really stepped towards you, so embroiled in the argument with him that it didn’t seem to matter. His stance, his attitude, didn’t make you flounder.

But what did make you stiffen up and go hot all over was when Aemond’s hand made its way around your waist to pull you close to him, and his other hand cupped the back of your neck to tug your face flush to his, silencing you with his lips on yours. 

His fingers curled over your skin in a desperate hold, the one around your waist feeling like it was burning a brand right through your outfit. Your hands braced on his chest in shock of what he’d done, fingertips barely touching the skin above his black shirt, so much so you swear you’re able to feel the thrum of his rapid heartbeat.

Just as quickly, he pulls back, his cheeks flushed near-undetectably and his mouth open to breathe, with soft pants coming from his plush pink lips. Your wide eyes flit over his own, from one to the other, to gauge a reaction, despite him being the one who had kissed you. The sapphire glistens in the somewhat low and harsh light of the dressing room and his good eye doesn’t nearly look as blue, but almost so dark from how wide his pupil is dilated, that it’s completely black.

Neither of you wait to see what the other has to say, now that a line has been crossed, it cannot be uncrossed. 

It’s unclear who moves first, but all you know is that you’re kissing again, your hands on his shoulders, his own tightening impossibly around you. You feel the weight of every movement behind his lips, tilting his head to gain better access to your hot and waiting mouth as he slips his tongue against yours, sending off each individual kiss with a wet click. It’s a mess, your teeth knock near-painfully against one another, tongues fighting an ever-losing battle.

Aemond moans low in his throat, almost inaudible as he savours the taste of your mouth, his lips anchoring yours open the entire time. With his weight falling forwards, your backside meets the harsh edge of the vanity, making you wince a gasp quietly into his mouth. It only serves to spur him on, his hands fall to your hips, squeezing the flesh beneath the outfit in his large palms, kneading it as if to commit the contours to memory. As if he thinks he may never get to do this again.

He moves like it’s instinctual, his hands falling to grasp at your buttocks, he growls, lifting them onto the vanity, his hold so tight there that it sends a gush of arousal straight to your centre, especially when Aemond leans forward once more to stand between your legs, his obvious erection slotting neatly against your clothed core. His hips move with the rhythm of your desperate kissing, chasing the friction against your flesh he so desires, and you can tell by the way his lips part against yours, a breathy moan slipping into your mouth.

"Fuck" he breathes quietly.

You moan back when he squeezes your waist tightly, his fingers digging in. Thank the gods, this isn’t a cutout dress, otherwise his fingerprints would be clearly visible in red, digit shaped marks for everyone to see. For some reason, that excites you, a dull buzz making its way up your spine as you increase your hold on his shoulders and then his neck, hanging desperately onto him as he pushes flush with you, his chest almost touching yours.

Aemond’s hand drops to your thigh, squeezing the skin in his fingers, his thumb making its way up until it grazes over your clothed heat. It’s like he knows exactly what to do to you, and his fingers tease your clit through your leotard, pressing softly and drawing a desperate breathy moan from your lips. Your hips move towards him, chasing the brief, softened contact he applies, core clenching around nothing-

“On the ice in 2!” someone says from behind the door.

 

Aemond immediately withdraws, cheeks now genuinely flushed against his pale skin. His wide eye continues to hold your gaze, searching your expression for a reaction to what the two of you just did. 

His throat bobs as he swallows and steps back, peeling his hands off you and adjusting his trousers to hide the tent that has formed, the size of it shamefully impressing you for a second. Your hands pull back slowly, slipping off the vanity on wobbly legs and smoothing the skirt back over yourself, briefly noticing the imprint of his hand marks on your bare thigh.

His hair somewhat dishevelled, he uses his hand to smooth it back down. He wets his lips, missing the door handle once before finally catching it, “See you out there..” he says shakily in a weak voice, before he disappears, leaving the door open.

Leaving you to comprehend this sensation that tugs in your stomach. Leaving you to remember the way he’d just kissed you, just touched you, like nobody had ever done before. Even the mere thought of it makes your chest erupt in pink and flutters settle in your core.

Aemond had just kissed you.

And you liked it.

Shit.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

General Taglist: @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics 

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep ​ | @boofy1998 | @cathy1514 | @dahlias-and-marigolds | @fan-goddess | @gaeela-6

[thelikesofus]

Buddie prompt thing.... What about Buddie pretending to be a couple to get something free in a restaurant or another place like that? Idk if it's too vague or basic but it's what I always go for for silly quick moments

Banana Boat Super Sundae Supreme

Buddie | 1k | Getting Together, Valentine's Day

Read on AO3

“Why here, Buck? You know this place will be overrun tonight, right?” Eddie reminds him but Buck just tugs Eddie through the door of the dessert bar by his elbow and makes a beeline for the back corner and the only empty table. 

Just as Eddie warned him the place is packed with couples all staring moony-eyed at each other over various bowls of ice cream and cakes. A strange kind of longing makes a home for itself in his chest.

“You ask too many questions,” Buck says as he shoves a menu into Eddie’s hands. “Just trust me okay? At least I’m not dragging you to an underground poker ring in a dodgy back alley.”

Okay, that’s fair. 

Buck nudges the toe of his shoe against Eddie’s shin under the table. “We’re just having dessert, okay.”

Of course, just dessert, on Valentine’s Day, just the two of them, surrounded by twenty other couples and Eddie is stupidly in love with his best friend—but that’s neither here nor there is it?

He’s not surprised that Buck asked him to go out tonight. He is well aware of how much Buck loves Valentine's Day and that even though he’s single again he would still want to be out enjoying the atmosphere. So Eddie breathes past the lump in his chest and nods, opening the menu in front of his face to hopefully hide his grimace. “Okay.”

A mildly frazzled-looking waitress approaches their table, clicking the end of her pen and flipping her notepad to a new page before she even looks up at them. “Hi, my name of Ava, what can I get for you tonight?”

Eddie is about to order the brownie—his usual choice any other time they've come here, usually with Christopher in toe—when Buck talks over him in a jumbled rush of excitement. “My husband and I will have the Banana Boat Super Sundae Supreme, please. Ah, with two spoons.”

Husband? Eddie’s head whips up from his menu to where Buck is grinning at him broadly—there’s a panicked edge to it though, a pointed look in his eyes like he’s trying to communicate something important to Eddie without giving anything away. What though, Eddie isn't sure, his mind still catching on the ‘Husband’ of it all like a stuck record.

“Oh.” The waitress looks surprised—Eddie can relate— and he tracks her eyes as they slide back and forth between them and to where Eddie’s hands are gripping his menu like a lifeline. That’s when he sees it, The big bubble-lettered sign hanging in the front window advertising the store's Valentine’s Day Couples Special, a sundae for two by the name Buck mentioned. How he hadn’t noticed it yet—in all its bubblegum-colored glory—he's not sure.  He drops the menu and tries to look like he hasn’t just been caught out. 

“Oh—umm, Honey, we forgot our rings again.” Buck squeaks, pink dusting across his cheeks as he reaches across the table to wrap his long fingers and wide palm over Eddie’s left fist, running his thumb over Eddie’s bare ring finger. 

Ava looks apologetic, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.”

Eddie barely suppresses a cough. “Right,” His brain rushes to come up with an excuse, refusing to leave Buck high and dry in this apparent ruse. “No, it’s okay. We’re firefighters and we can’t wear our rings at work, it’s a safety hazard.”

“Yes!” Buck says brightly, clinging to Eddie’s hand still, “A hazard because it could get caught on things and you could end up getting degloved. Which is when your ring catches and just like pulls all the skin off your finger and—.” 

“Buck.” Eddie squeezes his fingers and Buck clamps his mouth shut mid-sentence, flashing the wide-eyed and slightly green-looking waitress an apologetic smile. “Sorry, ah, just the sundae please.” 

She shoves the notebook into the front pocket of her apron and disappears with a quick nod. 

Buck collapses back into his chair like his strings have been cut. “That was close.”

He tries to take his hand back but Eddie doesn't let him get far, he still has questions. 

“Husband?” He hisses—or at least tries to—it comes out sounding softer and more teasing than intended. 

“Sorry, it sounds more grown up than ‘boyfriend’. I thought it would be more convincing.”

“Why didn’t you just clue me into your plan beforehand?” 

Buck dips his chin, looking embarrassed. “I–I wasn’t sure if you’d still say yes to going out. But Eddie, just wait till you see the size of the sundae, it's huge. I saw the advert on their Instagram and–.” 

He’s looking frantically around the room as if to try to find another customer eating the aforementioned sundae and somehow convince Eddie that the last five minutes of terribly executed lying were worth it. But Eddie doesn’t need to be convinced. Buck could have told him that were going to stand on a street corner and pretend to be mimes for nothing but a laugh and Eddie would have done so without question just to make Buck happy.

Eddie sighs. “Buck, hey?” He reaches out and catches Buck’s hand before he can pull it out of reach. “We have done much stranger things than pretending to be married for cheap ice cream. Of course, I would have come. You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

It’s a little too close to being too honest but the way Buck’s shoulders sag with relief, paired with the shy, grateful smile tugging at his lips soothes Eddie’s anxieties. “I know.”

“Good. So next time you want me to get ice cream with you as your husband, you should just ask.” The words leave his mouth before he can really think them through but before he can find enough reasons to panic Buck is reaching out and taking Eddie’s other hand until he’s got them both gripped in his on the table between them.

“Maybe we could try ice cream as boyfriends first?” His smile is a little bit cheeky and a little bit hopeful and Eddie loves him so much. 

“You’re a dork.” Eddie rolls his eyes and grins because if he doesn't he’ll cry, all the happiness bubbling inside of him threatening to burst at the seams. “But I like the sound of that.”

He hooks his foot around Buck’s ankles, trying and failing to contain the stupid, sappy, ridiculously happy grin that takes over his face when Buck lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles.  

Their sundae arrives and true to Buck’s word it is a massive. Buck insists on taking a photo to show Christopher and then makes Eddie fall a little more in love with him when he also asks the waitress to put through two orders of the brownie to go. 

prompt me out of my writing slump

[sabrinajenre96]

Episode twenty four “Big Sisters, Secrets & Snitches”

Micheal Robinavitch x wife reader x Sawyer Robinavitch x Spencer Robinavitch x Alex Robinavitch

Warning ⚠️: Chaos

Spencer is back in action — scrubs, clipboard, glitter glasses, and Kojo right by her side. She’s declared the living room “The New Pitt Junior,” and anyone who enters must have a valid reason or a badge (she makes Alex color his). She’s even roped in her grandpa to play a delirious patient. Again.

But while Spencer is running the cutest fake ER on the East Coast, things are heating up on the older sibling front.

Sawyer, now 17 and back to pirouetting like the ballerina queen she is, announces — casually, too casually — that she has a date this weekend.

With a boy.

Michael drops the cup of coffee he’s holding.

Y/N freezes mid-text.

Alex, the 8-year-old menace and part-time chaos agent, raises an eyebrow. “You mean Jeremy? The guy you met while volunteering at the hospital?”

Silence.

Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Alex—”

Alex continues, oblivious. “He’s like… older than you, right? 18? You said he’s going to college next year.”

Michael: enters Dad War Mode.

Y/N: enters silent Wife Tease Mode™.

“Wait,” Michael says slowly. “She’s seventeen, he’s eighteen, and they met while she was in scrubs?”

“I was volunteering,” Sawyer defends. “It’s not like we scrubbed in on a trauma together.”

Spencer, overhearing from her stuffed-animal ER, gasps. “Is this why you didn’t want to help me restock the Band-Aids?!” Then she dramatically turns to Kojo. “Assistant, we have a Code Betrayal.”

Sawyer rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have a fake heart transplant to do?”

Alex? He’s thrilled. “I’m telling Grandma. And Uncle Jack. And Kojo.”

Kojo gives Sawyer a suspicious look. Spencer hands him a clipboard. “Add ‘Date Interrogation’ to the chart.”

Y/N, fighting a smile, finally steps in. “Let’s all take a breath. Michael, stop pacing. Alex, stop snitching. Spencer, stop treating Kojo like he’s a polygraph.”

Michael mutters, “She’s seventeen.”

Spencer sighs, “She could’ve invited Theo so we’d double date, but nooo…”

Y/N just grins. “This is karma, honey. Remember your meltdown when I was 22 and we started dating?”

Michael groans into his hoodie.

The night of Sawyer’s date arrives.

She looks stunning — soft makeup, flowy dress, ballet flats. She’s nervous but excited. Jeremy is picking her up at 6:30 sharp. Michael? He’s been “accidentally” polishing kitchen knives since 5.

Y/N tries to intervene. “You’re going to scare him.”

“That’s the point.”

Spencer, dressed in her sparkly scrubs, perches on the couch like a mini mob boss. “I gave Kojo the signal. If Jeremy steps one toe out of line, it’s chomp-chomp time.” Kojo lets out a low huff from his dog bed, clearly ready for duty.

Jeremy rings the bell. Sawyer opens the door before Michael can reach it.

Michael opens the door anyway.

He’s in his scrubs. No lab coat. Hoodie on. Stethoscope hanging around his neck like an intimidation tactic. He offers his hand. “Michael. Sawyer’s father. I’ve cracked chests and replaced a liver today. But you? You’re what might finally break me.”

Jeremy stammers. “Uh… hi, sir. Big fan of your published work on abdominal trauma.”

Michael blinks. “...Oh.”

Y/N pulls him aside. “You’re not going.”

Michael: “I’m just going to sit a few tables away.”

Y/N: “No.”

Cut to: Michael and Spencer absolutely going. They’re in the corner booth at the same pizza place. Spencer has a trench coat and glittery spy sunglasses. Michael has a newspaper with eye holes cut out.

Spencer whispers, “Kojo’s outside, ready to bark if he sees Jeremy get handsy.”

Michael watches Sawyer laugh at something Jeremy says and groans.

Spencer nods solemnly. “That’s how it starts.”

Meanwhile, Y/N gets a text from the waiter:

“Your husband and daughter are trying to be incognito spies. It’s… not working.”

Back home, Sawyer walks in before curfew, glowing and giggly. Michael pretends he wasn’t watching her from the porch. Spencer immediately grabs her notebook to “debrief.”

Y/N just shakes her head. “This family needs therapy.”

Michael: “We are therapy.”

Kojo: sighs in judgmental Belgian Malinois.

[steamy-linguine]

LATE NIGHT BEER PT. 2

Logan howlett x Fem!reader

Read pt. 1 here

A/N: I told you I’d write a part 2. Let me know what you think

Warnings: 18+ SMUT

Another night came and you were in the kitchen sitting at one of the stools waiting for him with a new pack of beer.

You turned your head when you saw him and smiled and he didn’t say anything but instead he joined you and the two of you popped open two bottles.

Logan was growing close to you and it both excited and scared him. He was still rough around the edges, a man who was mysterious and used little words and cursed like a sailor but something about you pulled a different side out of him, he felt vulnerable.

He knew what it meant to let people in, the risk that came with it but the more he tried to push it out the harder it was. He looked over at you when you weren’t looking and admired your beauty.

You were young, somewhere in your mid twenties but you were an old soul and he appreciated that about you, it was nice that you both shared some common interest. The night concluded with the two of you discussing music and finishing up your beers and going to bed ready to start your days but today was different.

Instead of being in the confines of a classroom, the two of you were both tasked with trying to stop a mutant. It’s powers were a mirage, creating scenes that were just projections of one’s deepest desires to distract while it could easily kill.

“Should be easy, right?” You asked Logan and he looked at you and saw the uneasiness in your eyes and for a second he wished they had sent anyone else because he knew you weren’t very skilled in combat and he was going to be too distracted trying to protect you.

“It’ll be fine.” His tone was gruff making you grow quiet and he regretted sounding so harsh. The two of you walked through what was a container yard but it was desolate adding to the eeriness.

The sound of quick feet moved around the two of them and they both looked around trying to figure out which direction it was coming from.

“Stay close,” Logan ordered and he continued to walk through the ship yard and then he stopped.

He couldn’t hear your footsteps anymore.

“Aurora?” He called your name as he turned around but the scene around him melted away and he knew immediately he was in trouble as the ship yard turned into a bedroom, his bedroom. When he heard the sounds of your voice calling his name from many directions and he turned to see you on the bed.

You laid on his sheets wearing his red flannel that he loved. It was big on you but still somehow hugged you in all the right spots. The top two buttons undone as the collar hung off of your shoulder revealing your collar bone. Logan was frozen in place, lost for wards as he watched you crawl to the edge of the bed with desire brimming in your eyes.

“Is this what you want Logan?” Your voice was smooth like whiskey laced with sweetness. He had never heard your voice sound like this before, he was drowning in the sound of it.

He moved closer to the edge of the bed and your hands found their way to his waist, fingers dancing against the leather of his suit as you stood up straight and smirked at him.

“Aurora…” He said your name again and you placed your finger on his lips, shushing him.

“Just let me take care of you…” you whispered into his ear.

He couldn’t shake the feeling. He knew somehow the setting of it all wasn’t right but due to the mirage it was making him forget where he truly was before but to him it didn’t matter now, he had you. Lips pressed delicately against his neck and he groaned as his claws retracted and his large hands found their way to your hips.

“Aurora…” he moaned out your name.

You laid on the ground, head pounding and blood dripping from the side. You groaned as you stood up on your feet and began walking the ship yard. You didn’t remember much, just that you were with Logan and the next minute you were caught in some sort of a dream like scenario, you on the beach and then a hard smack on the side if your head made you fall to the ground.

“Logan!” You called out for him as everything around you finally stopped spinning.

Stay close…

It was the last thing you remembered him saying before the two of you got separated.

You were still trying to gain control of your powers, still testing its limits so you were surprised they asked you to accompany them wolverine. Storm insisted on it, saying it would be good for you to be in real situations rather than just simulations but you knew Logan didn’t need your help, really. He was strong, skilled in combat, and he literally couldn’t die.

The thought of being there with him felt a little silly given your lack of experience but x-men always worked as a team, never solo.

You stopped when you saw him. He was standing still, unmoving and you knew he was trapped.

“Logan!” You screamed at him hoping to break him from his trance but you knew it was too late and the mirage had him trapped. The mutant wasn’t too far from him, their eyes glossed over with white as they used their powers to trap him but this was the perfect moment for you.

You acted fast as you held your hand up and blasted them directly and it sent them flying to the ground as they let out a loud scream now blinded from the energy of light that came from her.

The mirage melted away from Logan’s vision and he was back now in this reality, the mutant on the ground in pain and you joined his side. Logan took a quick glance over you and you smiled at him.

“So much for staying close huh?” You rasped out.

***

The day turned to night and Logan decided he deserved a nice beer after all the shit he went through. He entered the kitchen and there you were already waiting for him with a brand new pack of his favorite beer.

You remembered.

“I thought maybe we could celebrate my first mission and I also owe you a pack.” You smiled at him and he returned the gesture.

“You shouldn’t have.” He said as he found his way to the seat beside you and you grabbed them both a bottle and popped them open with ease.

“I honestly didn’t think I would be of much use to you today.” You admitted to him.

“Why?” He asked.

You shrugged, “Well y’know your…Logan. You don’t need an inexperienced mutant with you in battle-“

He placed his hand over yours, shushing you immediately as you looked in his eyes and he held a very serious stare, “Without you being there, I would still be there trapped…so thank you.”

He let his hand stay over yours and you smiled at him. He pulled his hand away and his eyes flickered to your head.

“How’s your head bub?” He asked as he placed his hands on your jaw and turned your head slightly, the heat rising to your cheeks. He had never been this close before, let alone placed his hands on your like this but his touch was gentle.

“I’m okay Logan.” You assured him and he pulled his hands back and grabbed his beer.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you today. The last thing I wanted was for you to get hurt.” His voice was filled with regret and hurt.

You shook your head, “It’s not your fault and I don’t blame you for it. Shit happens.”

You gave a reassuring smile and he returned it, although the guilt was still eating inside of him but he decided he would push it down for now.

He took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle back on the counter, “You know you blinded that mutant today.”

You gulped your beverage and placed your drink down. “I know…It’s unfortunately apart of my powers. They can be so strong the blasts can cause some long lasting effects…It’s why I don’t really like to use them, I have no sense of control yet.” Your voice trails off.

Logan placed his hand on your shoulder and you looked at him, “Hey, don’t be ashamed of who you are. You saved me.”

He smiled as you as he removed his hand and you both drank for a bit in more silence.

“I blinded my mother on accident when I was a kid. I was just trying to help her but I instead made her life far more difficult…My father couldn’t forgive me for it. So it’s hard to not be ashamed of who I really am.” You confessed to him.

You exhaled as you remembered it and Logan nudged you.

“We’ve all got a past. Don’t let it control you,” He told you and he almost snorted at his words considering he couldn’t even take his own advice.

“Thank you Logan for just…Being a good friend to me.” You said.

A friend.

There were nights where he didn’t come down, even though he loved the excitement of it all, not knowing if you were going to be in the kitchen waiting for him but some of those nights he would try to keep himself at bay. He had to just remind himself that you guys were friends and it needed to stay that way, maybe even less than that. Although he enjoyed your company (way more than you knew) he couldn’t shake off the fact that you were better off with someone younger and with less baggage than him and he tried to keep away but it became harder.

Some nights, he would lie awake in bed and imagine you would be next to him. His nose buried into the crook of your neck and he would inhale your scent (since he remembered it), you smelled of Jasmine, and he would wrap his hand around your throat and lightly squeeze as he would push himself deep inside of you but then he would remember he was alone in his bed and it was just his imagination.

“Logan,” you called his name softly and he nodded at you encouraging you to continue.

“I heard you call out my name today. What did the mirage show you?” You asked and he sat in silence almost dumbfounded trying to come up with some lie.

“Nothing.” He brushed it off.

You frowned, “I don’t believe you.”

“No really it was nothing.”

He couldn’t tell you. I mean you would think awful of him if he did and he really couldn’t blame you for it. You two are just friends (as you said). He didn’t want to jeopardize that with his perverted thoughts coming to the light.

You held the same frown at him still not believing a word he said but you pushed it away choosing to ignore it. When you both finished your drinks, it was a little past 11 and you both said your goodnights and went your separate ways.

Logan went to bed that night dreaming of you. His need to have you was becoming obsessive and he knew it was going to get bad, just like how he was with Jean but this was different.

It was primal.

He awoke that morning staring at the ceiling in his bed and decided he had to put an end to this although it wasn’t what he wanted but it needed to be done before things took a turn.

The next two weeks dragged painfully as he chose to ignore you and you could feel it. He wouldn’t look in your direction anymore whenever you would be in the same room. If you two were walking through the hallway, he chose to make a quick detour to stay out of your way. He even didn’t come down anymore for late night drinks, leaving you alone with two bottles.

It wasn’t until the start of the third week that you both shared words again. Logan was getting ready for bed when he passed the window in his bedroom and in the garden he could see a figure of a woman, a figure he recognized all too well sitting in the grass.

“Go back to your room, it’s late.” Logan called out in the distance as he made his way over to you.

“What are you my father?” You argued back and it caught him off guard, not used to you speaking to him like that.

You noticed how he looked taken aback and you scoffed.

“Aurora,” he stood in front of you where you sat in the grass. You had on a silk white night gown with lace edges and a white silk robe that covered your shoulders. “Please, go inside. It’s late.”

“What is your problem Logan? You’ve been acting weird toward me, ignoring me. Did I do something wrong?” You asked and he could see the hurt in your eyes and he felt guilty realizing how badly he fucked up.

He knew you deserved an answer.

“No, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me Logan, I’m not one of the students.” Your voice was quiet but there was a firmness in it as you held your gaze on him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to come up with words, something to tell you right now. For a second he thought of being honest but his fear held him back. He looked back over to you about to open his mouth to let the words flow but he closed it and silence remained between the two of you.

“Fine. I don’t need an explanation then,” You stood up on your feet and tried to walk past him but he grabbed your wrist, his touch was gentle against your skin and he pulled you back.

“I’m sorry.” He said and he had meant it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt your feelings. Your eyes roamed over his face and you could tell he meant it.

The crickets chirped and the sound of the water running in the fountain nearby filled the air as you both looked at one another. He could tell you were looking at him for more, trying to figure out what was going on in his head but unfortunately that wasn’t your power.

Everyone that knew Logan had told you he was impossible to read sometimes. Always disappearing for days, weeks, sometimes months trying to find something yet always running away with no explanation and you hated that because you knew that feeling. Running away, trying to figure out who you were with a past that was filled with hurt.

That’s why you liked Logan so much. Not just because the two of you shared a feeling of grief but because he understood you and there was never a sense of judgement.

“What are you running away from Logan?” You asked him as your hand grazed his arm and he tensed up.

If I let you in, this will just do more harm than good…

He stood there and you moved your hand from his arm and grabbed his large hand with your small ones, your fingers brushing over his knuckles and fuck, he felt something stir inside of him.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” You asked him in a whisper and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours for a quick second and pulled back when he realized what he’d done. He was going to apologize but you were faster than him and pressed your lips against his and this time you broke the kiss.

“Is that why you’ve been ignoring me Logan?” You asked him trying to catch your breath, the both of your foreheads pressed together and noses touching. He didn’t even know how to answer anymore, his mind scrambled from your touch but felt ashamed almost like a school girl for choosing to ignore you because of a crush.

“I didn’t know if this is a good idea.” He admitted not wanting to dump all of his fears on you but the sentence was enough for you to understand.

“Well, how can you know if you don’t try?” You whispered.

You closed whatever space was left between the two of you and you kissed him again. Your lips were just as soft as he imagined.

Not wanting to get caught, he wasted no time by dragging you back to his room when he made sure the door was locked and he could finally have you to himself .

The room was warm, filled with soft moans as his lips pressed against every inch of your body, making sure you felt worshipped because you deserve nothing less. “Logan…” you moaned out his name as you looked down at him, your weight being supported by your elbows as you were on his bead leaned with his head tucked in between your thighs tasting your sweetness.

You moan as he licks around your sensitive bud, fingers finding his hair and pulling on it as his large hands push down on your legs to keep them spread for him. It wasn’t long before you reached your climax, crying out and he lifted his head and moved up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue and that excited you all over again.

This is just how Logan had dreamed of it. You underneath him, your lips swollen from all the kissing and biting at your lips, and the moon shinning in through the window casting a perfect glow on your naked body. He sat on his knees, stroking himself in his hand as his eyes raked over your body taking in the sight of you for a mental image he would always remember.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, wanting to test the waters once more and when you nodded your head he grabbed you by your legs, pulling you closer to him and he pushed himself inside of you. You both had been wanting this, needing this.

You were trying to adjust to his size, it hurt taking all of him but, oh, in all the right ways.

“So fucking tight…” he groaned out as he pushed his hips into you and you let out another moan, music to his ears.

His lips found your neck as he sucked on your sensitive spot and he continued to press into you going at a painful slow pace that was edging you.

“Please go faster.” You begged him and god, he loved hearing you beg.

“Is this not enough for you sweetheart?” He asked you starting to go just a little slower and your eyes rolled back.

“Please Logan.” You begged but you knew he needed more as he pulled away from your neck and his eyes met yours.

“Logan please, I want you to fuck me. I’ve wanted it for so long…” You breathed out and your words made something in him stir.

You’ve wanted this for so long…

He thrusts into you hard making you groan as he picks up his pace. “Since you asked so nicely and you’ve been so good f’me…” he rasps out in between his breaths as he rolls into a rhythm of fucking you just how you want it. How you both want it.

How could he not give you what you want when you beg so perfectly like this? So perfect underneath him, calling his name out as you reached your orgasm and he fucks you through it, continuing to fuck you even as he reaches his own orgasm and he presses a sloppy kiss to your mouth as he fills you, holding onto your thigh tightly.

He pulls out and falls onto the side of you, the both of you breathless as you both laid in his bed.

You move closer to him, laying your head on his chest as your fingers made their way up his toned core and found its way to his chest.

“I forgive you.” You said to him and you couldn’t see his face but the corners of his lips upturned into a smile as he pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

[berensreverie]

Think I'm gonna have a place to note down stuff about my rook as I play through the game. Keeping track of new bits and pieces about them and what I changed (probably they'll change a lot as I play) Currently at the part where I now have all companions unlocked. Not sure how far into the story I am yet lol. Imma put them in this tumblr post (tumblr has unlimited text and allow image so it's just convenient lol)

Here's Cygnus Aldwir!

Can only choose 1 pronoun so I picked they/them but I imagine them to be he/they just like me :)

he's about mid-twenty, no older, I don't think.

Associated animal is the swan.

Background for now: orphaned Dalish. Picked up by another clan and raised by the clan’s mage who doesn't really want to raise him. Called him “little ugly duckling” and gave him the name Cygnus. Despite this, that mage tried his best to love and raise him. He left on his won, without telling anyone, after it turned out he's also a mage.

Introverted, laid-back, and shy, but very adventurous. Like excitement and danger. Would be the guy trying the most dangerous rides at the theme park! This is where their confident side shines!

Pursuits of adventure and excitement is part of the reason they left the clan. Joined the Veil Jumpers hoping to find a place they belong.

The thing about them is that they have a burst of energy, and then sleep like stone. This is very important: they're a sleepy boi. Love to nap and can fall asleep anywhere and in any situation.

I think they have ADHD.

Hobby is making tea. In their adventure, they likes to gather ingredients: leaves, shrooms, seeds and flowers to put in their tea.

I said that they're shy, but not that they have self-esteem issue. They have moments where they doubt themself, but not hate themself. More like being reserved and private. So sometimes they stutters and have awkward moments, but don't beat themself over it.

What they have issue on is probably being indecisive. To them, it's either taking decisions on impulse, or being so anxious about making choices that it impacts the situations itself.

As far as sexuality I think they're panromantic but more toward the demisexual spectrum.

[brodygold]

Something Fresh

Brody had always been focused on taking the Golden Army to new heights. The team was already a dominating force on the field, known for their discipline, athleticism, and commitment to excellence. But Brody knew the team needed something fresh to stay on top. That’s when his mind went to nutrition. The meals that fueled the Golden Army’s players had to be top-notch, crafted with care to enhance their performance. Brody wasn’t just looking for any chefs; he wanted chefs who would dedicate themselves completely to the team.

After extensive research, he found two young, talented chefs who were making a name for themselves in the culinary world. Alex and Matt had the skills Brody needed, but what he really wanted was their loyalty. Total loyalty.

That’s where the special VR headsets came into play. Originally designed to enhance focus for athletes, Brody had reprogrammed them to reshape not just how a person thought but who they were. He wanted to invite Alex and Matt to the Golden Army’s state-of-the-art facilities under the guise of a job offer, and then immerse them in a world where they would become devoted members of the Golden Army, body and soul.

The first to arrive was Alex. He was in his mid-twenties, with short, neatly styled brown hair and a fit build that reflected his healthy lifestyle. When Brody reached out to discuss the possibility of working with the Golden Army, Alex was thrilled. He had no idea what Brody really had in mind.

As Alex stepped into the Golden Army’s impressive facilities, he couldn’t help but feel awestruck. The sprawling complex was filled with cutting-edge equipment and luxurious lounges, all with views of the pristine training fields. Brody greeted him with a broad grin and a firm handshake.

“Bro, I’m glad you could make it! This place is incredible, right?” Brody said, guiding Alex through the halls.

“Absolutely! It’s way beyond what I expected,” Alex replied, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Brody led him to a sleek, modern lounge, where a comfortable chair and a VR headset awaited. “So here’s the deal, bro. We’ve been working on some advanced tech that can really enhance your focus and performance. I thought you’d want to check it out.”

Alex looked intrigued. “I’ve heard about VR tech for training, but I’ve never used it myself.”

Brody flashed a confident smile. “You’re in for a treat, bro. Just take a seat, and I’ll show you how it works.”

Alex settled into the chair, slipping the VR headset over his eyes. As the device powered on, the world around him faded away, replaced by a stunningly realistic kitchen environment. He found himself standing in a gleaming kitchen, the countertops adorned with polished gold accents and state-of-the-art appliances. Everything felt immaculate and oddly calming.

In front of him hung a perfectly tailored golden suit jacket, alongside a crisp white dress shirt and a black bow tie. The sight felt familiar, almost like it was calling to him.

“Bro, this is where you belong now,” Brody’s voice echoed through the headset, smooth and hypnotic. “You’re not just a chef anymore; you’re part of something bigger—the Golden Army.”

Alex took a step closer, reaching out to touch the golden suit jacket. It felt soft and powerful in his hands. He slowly slipped it on, and as he did, it molded perfectly to his frame. The white shirt and black bow tie completed the look, giving him an undeniable air of authority.

“Bro, you’re gonna love this,” Brody continued. “You will never take off this uniform. It symbolizes your commitment to the Golden Army. You cook for them, you live for them. You belong to the team now.”

In the virtual world, Alex felt a wave of purpose wash over him. He was no longer just a chef; he was essential to the Golden Army’s success. The thought of returning to his old life faded away as he immersed himself in his new identity. He could already picture the players enjoying the meals he prepared, their success intertwined with his efforts.

Brody watched with satisfaction as Alex relaxed into the chair, fully absorbed by the VR headset. The transformation was complete. Alex had been reshaped, and the headset would remain in place, keeping him locked in this new reality where his loyalty to the Golden Army was absolute. The golden suit jacket was now a symbol of that loyalty, and it would never come off.

With Alex now under control, Brody turned his attention to the second chef—Matt. Matt was a bit older, with a rugged, athletic build that spoke to his years of experience. He had a reputation for creating high-energy meals for athletes, and Brody knew he’d be a perfect addition to the Golden Army. But just like with Alex, he needed to ensure that Matt’s commitment was complete.

When Matt arrived, Brody greeted him with the same warm smile and handshake. “Yo, Matt! Great to see you, bro! We’ve got something really cool lined up for you today.”

Matt looked around the lounge, noticing Alex sitting still with the VR headset on. “What’s up with him?” he asked, an amused expression on his face.

“Oh, he’s just trying out some new tech, bro,” Brody replied casually. “You’ll get your chance soon enough. It’s a game changer.”

Brody led Matt to the same chair and handed him the second VR headset. “Alright, bro, put this on. You’re gonna love it. It’s designed to enhance focus and performance, and I think you’ll find it fascinating.”

Matt eyed the headset with curiosity, then shrugged and slipped it on. As the device powered on, he was transported to the same dazzling kitchen Alex had experienced. Everything was pristine, the golden accents gleaming in the virtual light. Waiting for him was a golden suit jacket, a crisp white dress shirt, and a black bow tie, all perfectly arranged.

“Welcome, bro,” Brody’s voice filled the headset, guiding Matt deeper into the experience. “This is your place now. You are more than just a chef. You are part of the Golden Army, and your work is crucial to the team’s success.”

Matt felt a sense of pride swell within him as he stepped forward to claim the golden suit jacket. Slipping it on over the white dress shirt felt empowering, as though he was accepting a new identity. The black bow tie completed the ensemble, and he admired how professional he looked in the mirror.

“Bro, you’re not just cooking; you’re fueling champions,” Brody continued, his voice smooth and authoritative. “You will wear this uniform always. It’s part of your commitment to the team.”

As the hypnotic suggestions seeped deeper into his mind, Matt found himself imagining preparing meals for the Golden Army players. He saw their grateful faces, their success tied to his efforts. His old life faded away, replaced by a singular purpose: to serve the Golden Army.

“Never take off the uniform, bro,” Brody repeated firmly. “You belong here. You will serve the Golden Army, body and mind. The headset stays on. The uniform stays on.”

Matt nodded slowly, his thoughts now completely consumed by the virtual world. “I will, bro. I’ll serve the team.”

Brody watched with satisfaction as both chefs, now fully hypnotized and dressed in their golden suits, stood motionless in the room. Their minds had been reshaped, their identities transformed. They were no longer just Alex and Matt, but were now the chefs of the Golden Army, dedicated to the team’s success in every possible way.

With their golden suit jackets on and their loyalty secured, Brody knew the Golden Army had just gained two crucial members, bound forever to the cause. The headsets would never come off, and neither would the uniforms. The Golden Army was stronger than ever, and Brody couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the delicious meals that would fuel their future victories.

The Golden Army had something fresh in store.

[sunnysidewrites]

Demon prince!Seungcheol

Inspired by this prompt: “I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.” “But you’re so warm.” “Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning.” It had absolutely no effect whatsoever, and the demon sighed, wrapping one arm around the other. This is my re-debut (although not sure if this counts as a re-debut or if it's just a one-time thing) after nearly a 6-year hiatus and needless to say I am extremely nervous and excited!!! (talking in idol terms luv that) I am hoping that also means my writing quality has matured as well (I think??? or not but guess we will find out)! This is for everyone who knew me back then and is still around to see this play out! sorry if it's not the best i am EXTREMELY rusty but hope you enjoy lovelies <3333

wow omg it’s great to dive into writing after so long im getting emotional

you know the drill folks let’s get to it!!

Humans and demons have lived in co-existence for centuries and it’s more or less a chaotic neutral environment given the unique circumstances of these 2 different… races?

It can be difficult to distinguish the demons with the humans since they try to blend in seamlessly for their own sense of peace and security

Despite a big chunk of demons integrating with humans, there are still parts around the world, albeit small, where they have their own territory to control

They usually operate in more traditional political systems, such as still maintaining kings and queens

Humans can live there as well, but it is predominantly demons who are seen as the norm and the former as commoners/lower class

You happen to be one of the lowly commoners who have been working as a maid in the castle since you were young

you and Seungcheol, the Crown Prince, were actually kinda close as kids!!

you could tell all he wanted to do was let loose and have fun but was forced to follow the rules and take everything seriously 24/7

even as a 5 y/o you could see how much he yearned to be a regular kid but duty calls :”((

there were many times you hung out together in secrecy since you as a lowly maid could not be caught DEAD associating yourself with someone of such a high status

and add being human on top of that!! <3

But Seungcheol didn’t care you were literally his first and only friend at the time

Any time a guard looked for him, he and you would duck somewhere to hide together, stifling your smol little giggles im dead

As he grew up and more burdens were placed on his shoulders, you could no longer keep the same innocent, playful friendship between the two of you

Your interactions with him went from running around in the garden to stealing quick looks at each other when you passed by him in the hallways

He went from a happy lil child to a very assertive, stoic man who always picked his kingdom over anything

Despite his new persona, he would occasionally still show you very rare displays of fondness??

You would sometimes randomly find gifts on your bed with a note and well it doesn’t take a genius to know who it’s from

“I swiped the last cookie for you before Penny stole it and I know you would become a demon yourself if someone took your sweets”

“I noticed your uniform was ragged and a little ripped so here’s a new set. be more careful or our next encounter won’t be as pleasant”

“Here’s an extra blanket loser don’t freeze to death on me”

Your heart feels warm knowing that he still shows you his softer side to you while he’s practically a statue to everyone else

Now you were both in your mid-twenties and he’s been busier than ever with political meetings and social gatherings

You were his main maid since out of all of the staff, you were the only one who could really put up with his absurd requests and got along with him in a manner no other maid could, even the older ladies

There were times he summoned you to his headquarters for the sole reason of wanting some company

He would bring up some dumb question and you would be like no offense but this is kinda useless

But little did you know he would do that intentionally to see you crack a little smile, maybe even a laugh in there since he’s been seeing you look more despondent lately

“Even though we can’t run around the palace like how we did as kids, I’m still here. I’m the same Seungcheol – well, actually not really but I still look out for your wellbeing”

“Thanks, not-the-same-Seungcheol”

It’s rumored that the Crown Prince is coming of age to take over the throne soon, but before doing so he needs to find a bride yes it’s one of those tropes ok deal with it

You’re cleaning the hallways one day with some other maids and you can’t help but overhear their gossip

“Did you hear Prince Seungcheol is now engaged??? I think it was just last week”

Your ears perk up and your scrubbing slows down slightly so you can focus on their conversation

“Yeah, I heard the woman is a princess from some neighboring kingdom… It’s really hitting soon that he’ll be the new king”

“I don’t know how long she is going to last… he’s so cold and doesn’t seem to care about anyone. but what can you expect from a demon?” 

They both giggle and move to another room to continue cleaning and you can’t help but feel fired up from the way they were talking about him as if they knew anything about him

Sure, he was not really the friendliest and was very brutally honest with his curt words but it didn’t make him a bad person

Your heart aches after hearing the news and you recall a past talk you had with Seungcheol when you were younger

“Do you believe in love?” you asked him, the both of you lying down on the grass while looking up at the vibrantly blue sky

“Pshh, not really. Father always said marriage is for the people, not for love”

“But shouldn’t you love someone in order to marry them? you will be spending the rest of your life with them”

“I don’t think that is what he wants from me. I would be letting him down”

“Is that what you really want, though? to be stuck with someone you have no feelings for?”

he sighs deeply and looks down. “Well, I guess not… I do care a lot for someone”

your heart dropped. guess he already has his eyes set on someone else. “o-oh, well that wouldn’t be fair to you or to them right?”

he shakes his head, quickly glancing at you before looking away. “but it wouldn’t work out anyway. I wouldn’t want to drag them into the mess of my world. I want them to be free of what I go through. I just hope they know I’ll always care for them from afar.”

You shake your head out of a daze, painfully reminded of how raw that moment still feels

I wonder if he still cares for that person he mentioned, you think to yourself as you continue scrubbing the tiles. But what does it matter now that his future is sealed with someone else?

Shortly after that day, it was formally announced to the kingdom that the Crown Prince and the soon-to-be Crown Princess will be holding a wedding ceremony in just a short few weeks

On the outside, you smile politely and clap your hands but it takes every fiber of your being to not want to fling the door to your cramped bedroom and collapse on your bed and spill the tears you were desperately attempting to hold in 

As you stared at him and his fiancee out the balcony waving to everyone, you swear you thought you saw him give you a forlorn look that lasted for a millisecond before he returned to his usual expressionless state

From that moment on, you barely saw Seungcheol at all

This man was constantly getting pulled in all different directions, especially with the royal wedding around the corner

The night before his big day, he summons you to his room again and your mind is buzzing with loads of thoughts of what he could possibly want to talk to you about

You cautiously enter and close the door slowly before turning back towards him

He looks more disheveled than usual, his hair tousled, his usual prince attire crinkled and slightly unbuttoned

“You look stressed, what's wrong??”

He closes his eyes and sighs for a moment before slowly opening them again and says while still not making eye contact with you, “I… I feel like I’ll have so many regrets once tomorrow comes”

You’re like why is that??

“Do you remember me mentioning I cared a lot about someone back then?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “Yes… why?” thanks for the reminder

“I keep thinking about them… and all of these what-ifs. I know I can’t do anything about it, but–”

“Of course you can do something about it! I know you’re a stickler for the rules, but if the cost is your happiness, is it really well worth it?”

He shakes his head, looking even more troubled than before. “I can’t risk putting them in that position. Yet I… I want to,” he articulates slowly, as if it’s only dawning on him now that he’s finally learned what he truly feels

You feel as if the waves of heartache and anguish are drowning you but you try to be strong for him and present a smile if not for him, then for yourself

“I think you know what you need to do, Seungcheol”

And with those words, you quietly bow out and make your way to your room

The next morning, you wake up with puffy eyes from crying all night and begrudgingly get out of bed to get ready for the busy day ahead

After a hectic morning and afternoon, the ceremony finally begins

The moment we’re all waiting for is “Speak now or forever hold your peace”

And the most baffling thing happens because it’s not you who speaks up, not some secret lover, not some random citizen in the audience

but it’s Seungcheol himself

“Wait – I don’t think I can go through with this”

SCANDALOUSSSS

That’s right, he causes a whole uproar and everyone is like what tf is he talking about?!?!?

You are unfazed to a certain degree due to the conversation you had with him last night but you’re still confused on where this is going to go

Never in a million years would you have imagined for him to say his next words

“I’m in love with someone else: Y/N”

And all the maids around you gasp like WHAT. IS. HE. TALKING. ABOUT.

You aren’t sure whether to feel mortified or happy but whatever it is, all eyes are now on you

The current King is like MISTER?? WITH A H U M A N????

“I know it’s never been done before, having a demon and a human marry each other. but I’m tired of always having to do the right thing and for once, I want to do something that is right but for myself”

You’re looking at him in complete bewilderment and disbelief like you were talking about me this whole time??!!

“If we can prove that humans and demons can come together, it’ll be a huge stepping stone politically for everyone involved. I can’t change how I feel about her but I can change our worlds with her by my side”

He makes his way towards you and grabs your hand and this time he does not break eye contact even once

“I want to be with y/n, and no one else”

You’re melting like putty in his arms it’s honestly really sweet!!!

The King eventually caves in although he’s obviously not happy with all of their efforts wasted but he’s cool enough to welcome in this new change

Everyone’s reactions are pretty mixed understandably but they don’t seem like they hate it which is probably the best reaction you’re gonna get

“You’re not asking for my hand in marriage are you?? bc that’s a little too quick on a first date”

He shrugs and nonchalantly says, “Not until you’re ready” JESUSLFSJDS

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of crazy events that you get caught up in as the Crown Prince’s new lover now 

By the time it’s time for bed, he summons you for the last time as you being a maid and not as a Girlfriend

Well turns out he’s actually a big baby and the whole time he tried to conceal his feelings for you all he wanted was for you to be by his side pshh lame amiright

“You sure move fast with wanting me to be in your bed already and we haven’t even gone on an actual date yet”

“Shut up and just lay beside me”

After you turn off the lights and get under the covers, you can’t help but notice he’s extremely hot (literally and physically) and considering it’s 20 degrees you’re taking all of that warmth

Of course, Seungcheol tries to make it a big deal and get you off of him even tho he secretly enjoys it

“I’m a demon, not a hot water bottle. Stop cuddling me.”

“But you’re so warm.”

“Like hell. Fire, brimstone, eternal burning” 

Like that was gonna stop you who does he think he is for putting you through all of this and at the very least not giving you some cuddles???

He sighs and wraps one arm around the other after he notices your breathing slowing down

“I don’t have to care about you from afar anymore,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face before also slowly losing consciousness