#i turned off the black backdrop

[riboism]

tear you apart

》 mob boss! p.sh x fem. ballerina! reader

》 wc: 3.3k

》 plot: a powerful mob boss becomes dangerously distracted by a captivating ballerina, leading him to abandon an important business deal because of his new obsession. Determined to regain his focus, he confronts her one night after a show, only to find himself even deeper entangled in his desire—and a conflict that could jeopardize everything.

》 content: swan lake ballet, ballerina!reader, mob boss! seonghwa, dom! seonghwa, gloved finger-fucking?? eventual smut

🎧 tear you apart- she wants revenge, sour switchblade- elita, into the woods- bragolin

It was now the final act of the show. Rothbart was defeated, his dark powers broken, and the swan maidens were free at last. In the soft glow of the stage, you and Siegfried danced together, your movements light and delicate, like drifting feathers. Each step felt weightless as you floated through the scene, surrounded by the gentle swell of the orchestra and the dreamy, pearlescent backdrop that bathed everything in a soft, otherworldly light. This was the most serene moment of the entire performance—yet your heart raced wildly in your chest.

Throughout the entire show, a sense of unease gripped you, following your every movement on stage. No matter where you turned or what role you played, you felt his eyes on you, that same piercing, unrelenting gaze that had been following you all season. 

Park Seonghwa always sat in the same seat, just a little off-center in the orchestra, ensuring he had the best view of you. Like clockwork, he was here every Saturday night, with his hair slicked back with precision, dressed in a long, black coat that skimmed the floor, and his leather-gloved hands resting motionless on his knees. His eyes followed you all over the stage, studying your every move, every tweak of your brow, his plump lips parted in fascination. His unblinking, stone-cold expression sent shivers down your spine, and yet, you couldn’t deny the intrigue it sparked in you. His observance of you, so focused and ceaseless, made you feel powerful—seen. As if, in his eyes, you were the only ballerina on that stage, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance. You almost looked forward to seeing him in the audience every night, that is, until some whisperings from the other ballerinas during dress rehearsal rattled you. 

"A mobster? Really? I thought those only existed in Scorsese movies," one ballerina laughed softly, her eyes darting nervously to the corner where he sometimes lingered after performances.

"It's true!" another whispered eagerly. "He's part of the Park crime family. Remember when they started cracking down on drug trafficking? Then they suddenly dropped all charges. I heard he paid off half the force. And now—well, I hear he’s eyeing the theater as a front for money laundering."

There was more truth to their rumors than they realized. After his father’s sudden departure, Seonghwa had inherited the mantle, becoming the head of the Park family business—a role he’d taken on with cold, unerring resolve. He was trusted to be the new, pragmatic decision-maker, one who wold keep the family business running smoothly. Everything had been going according to plan, right down to choosing an old, run-down theater on the outskirts of town as his next investment. 

It was a simple acquisition, one that should have been handled quickly. But one evening, he found himself sitting in the darkened theater, watching intently as you stepped onto the stage in your pearly white tutu, your sculpted legs covered in thick stockings, twirling on your experienced tippy toes, forcing him to wonder how you can move so gracefully while doing something that seemed so painful. 

Seonghwa never thought much of performance art; it simply wasn’t his world. His world was dark, brutal, and unforgiving. But from the first graceful movement, and the beautiful melody from the live orchestra, he was captivated with the world of the Swan Lake. You moved with such elegance and emotion that he couldn’t look away, each gesture leaving him more entranced than the last. From that night on, he returned every evening you performed, ignoring his obligations just to see you dance. He became infatuated with the beauty and artistry he hadn’t known could exist. 

The original plan was simple: aquire the theater, reshape it into something profitable, and then use the profits to conceal earnings. But now, the thought of disrupting your world was unbearable. Reluctantly, he abandoned the deal, his priorities now twisted by an enchantment he resented. 

From that very first performance, you unknowingly unraveled the careful fabric of his plans. Seonghwa found himself slipping away from his duties week after week, drawn back to that same old theater. His associates began to worry, questioning his judgement, but he couldn’t help it. He told himself it was just a curiosity or distraction—anything but the truth. You had enchanted him, woven yourself into his thoughts so deeply that he couldn’t bring himself to go through with the acquisition. Every time he saw you, he was reminded of what he stood to lose.

His associates were quick to notice his shift, whispering about his lack of judgment and uncharacteristic indecision. They urged him to reconsider, to stay grounded—but he felt himself slipping. Trouble was on the horizon; he could sense it. Part of him loathed you for the hold you had over him, for making him slack off from his responsibilities. Yet, night after night, he was drawn back, helpless against the spell you’d cast, unable to break free, and unwilling to let go.

Seonghwa knew he couldn’t keep living like this. His soul was burning hopelessly, and he needed to put out this fire fast. 

—

It was quiet now, the theater emptying as the final notes of the orchestra still seemed to hang faintly in the air. You slipped into your dressing room, exhausted yet exhilarated, the glow of the performance still warming you as you changed out of your costume. Carefully, you removed your stage makeup, wiping away the traces of the Swan Queen. The transformation always felt strange, trading feathers and grace for the ordinary routine of going home.

You packed your things slowly, placing each item into your bag with a practiced rhythm, already looking forward to the calm of your apartment. But as you reached for your coat, a prickle of unease returned. It was that lingering feeling, the sensation of being watched, that had haunted you all night.

The silence shattered with a sudden, firm knock on the door, catching you off guard. Your heart raced, and before you could even gather yourself to respond, the door creaked open, slow and deliberate. His face appeared in the dim light, and you caught your breath. It was him.

Seonghwa stepped in just enough for his figure to fill the doorway, his familiar dark coat draping around him like a shadow. His expression was unreadable, the same cold, composed look he always wore, yet his eyes held a strange intensity that made you feel hot.

Your heart pounded as he stood there, with his gaze fixed intently on you. You felt a flicker of fear—a quiet, instinctive warning. Everything about him radiated power, a kind of quiet danger that you couldn’t ignore. Yet, having him so close to you now felt exhilarating, almost like you were waiting for him to knock on your door. 

“I hope I’m not intruding,” He apologized, his sharp features now softening in your presence, hoping to disarm you. 

“I’m sorry, c-can I help you with something?”

He paced around your small dressing room, his eyes lingering on the little details—your stage makeup scattered across the vanity, the photo frames of other ballerinas lining the walls. Anxiety twisted in your stomach as you watched him, still unsure of why he was here. Then, he turned to you with an unreadable expression, extending his gloved hand. "I just wanted to introduce myself properly," he said, his voice smooth but distant, “Park Seonghwa. I’m from a private equity firm. I know the owner, Hongjoong.” Shakily, you reached out your hand, the leather of his glove feeling cold and unnatural against your skin. You suppressed a shiver as his grip lingered just a second longer than you expected.

“I’m Y/N.” 

"Y/N...Congratulations on being this season’s Swan Queen," he continued, his voice low and deliberate. "You’ve done very well. You must be very pleased with yourself."

You managed a quiet thank you, though the words felt strange on your lips, your usual confidence faltering under his watchful gaze. His praise should have flattered you, but instead, it left you feeling oddly exposed, like he saw more than you intended to show.

He released your hand, but the strange, lingering sensation stayed with you, leaving you both captivated and nervous.

Feeling faint, you sat down on your vanity chair. "So, you know Hongjoong?" you asked, searching for some logic behind his sudden presence.

"I do," he replied smoothly, though there was a slight glint in his eye that betrayed him. "We’ve been discussing a potential business venture together."

The truth, however, was a little more complicated. Seonghwa had met Hongjoong only once, barely enough to call him an acquaintance. From the start, Hongjoong hadn’t seemed eager to hand over his only asset to a man of Seonghwa’s reputation, especially not when rumors swirled about his intention to repurpose the theater into something as mundane as a car wash to serve as a front for his family’s business. But Seonghwa knew how to persuade, and when he named his price, Hongjoong’s reluctance began to waver.

That first night, they’d arranged to negotiate the deal, and Seonghwa had come prepared to secure the theater with his usual finesse. But Hongjoong was running late. Growing tired from standing in the lobby all evening, Seonghwa decided to sit in an empty seat during the show only to rest his feet, but your elegant movements captivated him, and made him forget who he was and why he was there. 

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in a way that made the small room feel even smaller. Your breath hitched as his intense gaze softened slightly, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The air between you felt charged, the warmth of his presence mingling with the lingering cold from his leather gloves.

“But I’m not here to talk about that,” He said, towering over you, “I could actually use your help in something.” 

There was something odd yet inticing about his request. What could he, a possible mob boss, want from someone like you?

“And what might that be?” You asked, your throat suddenly feeling dry. 

He was so close to you now that you could pick up the warming notes of his cologne— spices, sandalwood, and a hint of citrus. You’d seen his face a thousand times before, always shrouded in the dim lighting of the audience, his expression always stoic and muted. But now, with the light catching the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his plush and perfect lips just inches away from you, he was utterly captivating. You couldn’t look away. 

"You see, I have this problem," he said, pacing slowly around you, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken. The air shifted each time he moved, the chill of his absence replaced by an intoxicating warmth as he drew near again. 

"A problem?" you echoed, your voice a little breathless, trying to focus as his reflection loomed behind you in the mirror.

"Mm." He stopped directly behind you, lowering his head closer to the nape of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "It’s you," he admitted, his tone dropping into something dangerously intimate.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Me?"

Seonghwa straightened himself, meeting your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. "You’re making it very hard for me to focus on my job," he said. His words were as smooth as they were direct. "And when a man like me gets distracted… it causes complications."

He moved again, standing to your side now, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. The closeness was almost unbearable, every nerve in your body hyper-aware of his presence.

"So," he continued, his eyes locking onto yours, "I thought perhaps you could help me resolve this little… issue of mine."

Your mind raced to comprehend the suggestion wrapped in his words. The way he looked at you left no room for misinterpretation, his meaning clear without being crass. You felt a sudden pulse between your legs, forcing you to squeeze your thighs tighter. 

"And how exactly would I… help?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa tilted his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. "You’re a clever woman," he said, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder with deliberate care. "I think you already know."

—

You sat perched on your dressing table, forced to see yourself reflected in the mirror. There was a nervous flutter in your stomach as Seonghwa loomed behind you, his broad shoulders and low eyes making your breath hitch. You watched as he parted your thighs before eagerly ripping at the center seam of your stocking, revealing your glistening cunt to you both. Before you could react, he brought down his gloved hand, tapping on your pulsing clit a few times before pressing down in slow and small circles. 

The coldness of the leather made you gasp, your heartbeat spiraling in excitement. You could see your slick coating his fingers, bringing a faint shine to his black gloves. 

“Such a fat little pussy,” he breathed into your neck, the sudden warmth making a few hairs stand at your nape. He lightly slapped your cunt again, his mouth watering at your chubby, wet folds. “Didn’t think such a sweet little ballerina had something like this between her legs.” 

You couldn’t help but feel vulnerable as you took in your reflection, hardly recognizing the scantily clad woman before you. You pressed your eyes shut as he continued pulling a string of shaky, breathless moans from your lips.

“Let’s see how well this little pussy can take me, hm?” He challenged, refusing to wait for your response before inserting a leathered digit into your wet walls. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, struggling to wrap around the thickness of his glove. Seonghwa chuckled at your tightness.

“Please,” You begged, tightly holding onto his working arm. But the desperation in your voice only egged him on. He thrust in a merciless rhythm, the squelching sounds from your arousal sending blood down to his groin. 

“Please what dear? You want more?” Seonghwa grinned devilishly before stuffing in another finger, the sudden stretch sending a mix of pain and pleasure to your core. He worked you open at a brutal pace, soaking in your sweet moans as you gripped onto him tighter. 

You were slowly coming undone, your knees quivering and threatening to cave in. You felt his hand grip onto your inner thigh, holding you open as much as possible for him. It was then that you fluttered your eyes open, only to find his gaze already locked onto yours in the mirror. You felt a twist in your stomach like he’d caught you doing something you shouldn’t be doing. You quickly realized that Seonghwa had been watching you in the mirror, his gaze unwavering as he took in every tear tracing your scorned red cheek, the delicate furrow of your brow, and the way your plush, pouty lips let out the softest, most beautiful whines he’d ever heard. Just as enchanting as your expressions were on stage, they were even more alluring here as he ravished you at his will. 

His fingers were so much deeper now, hitting you in all the right places, until the tension inside of you snapped and you finally let go all over his gloved fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You sputtered, watching your wetness drip down his gloves. Exhaustion suddenly took over you, forcing your head to fall against his chest. 

“I hope you don’t think we’re finished here,” He whispered, his soft, full lips feathering over your ear lobe, “There’s still a lot of things I need you to do.”

—

You were sprawled out over the table now, your top completely discarded, leaving you in just your ripped stockings. Seonghwa liked the stockings you wore on stage. They were so pearly and smooth, and he almost felt bad for ruining them this way. He leaned down and peppered a trail of kisses under your ear, down to your collarbone, lingering over your hardened peaks briefly, before continuing down to your pelvis. 

You felt a wave of heat spread over you as he kissed around the outside of your cunt before spreading your lips with his fingers, reuniting you with the coldness of the leather. He dragged his long, warm tongue over your hot slit, groaning once your essence reached his tastebuds. 

“You taste just as sweet as you look,” He praised, before wrapping his lips over your swollen clit. He sucked and pulled, swallowing every bit of juice you offered him hungrily. 

Your back arched in bliss, your hips rolling as he gleefully lapped away at your cunt. He pressed his strong hands down your inner thighs to keep you still, your puffy pussy now spread completely open for him to devour. He savored every drop of you, like a predator that spent weeks catching its prey.

Seonghwa told himself he’d finally be rid of this infatuation after tonight and return to his duties with no more distractions, but how could he now after seeing you like this? With your body so willing, the sheer afterglow hitting your face and collarbones, the uneasy rise of your chest, and those lustful, messy moans? It all enticed him even further, and he worried he’d never be able to stay away. 

Seonghwa was at his peak now, and he couldn’t hold out any longer. He quickly sprang up at his feet, the sounds of his belt unbuckling making your core throb with anticipation. His angry, red tip pressed against your slit, making you gasp at how hot and hard he felt. 

Seonghwa pushed himself in slowly, inch by inch until his shaft was completely sucked in by you. He cursed at your tightness and moved his hips slowly, allowing you to adjust to his girth.

“Fuck!” You cried out, curling your toes as he plunged deeper into you. He fucked you hard and rough, determined to take all his anger and frustrations out on you so that he could return to his stoic self. He hated you for throwing him off his game, and he still held onto that hope that he’d finally let go of all his pent up emotions once he finishes fucking your brains out. He just needed to get it out of his system.

You winced at his tight grasp on your hips. His pace was brutal, the sounds of your dressing table rocking against the wall overpowering your desperate screams, yet you refused to open your eyes. You didn’t want to see his face while he thrusted into you with an unspoken vendetta. His gaze alone made you feel even more hot and frazzled. 

Suddenly, you felt his hand creep to the back of your head, pulling your head up by a fistful of strands. You took in a sharp breath, the pain of your pulled hair forcing you to open your eyes at last.

“Look at how good you fucking take me,” He grunted, pushing your head down farther to help you get a good look at his cock stretching out your swollen cunt. “ ‘Take me just like a good girl.” 

Your face grew hot as you watched yourself take him in, eyes bulging at his thick cock that was decorated with pulsing veins and twitched inside of you so deliciously. So drunk off his cock, you found yourself rambling nonsense as he fucked you into oblivion. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me so good!”

You felt you both were melting into each other, your breathing growing erratic and unsteady until you finally lost your composure.

Seonghwa pulled out of you, spilling himself over your wet cunt as he sucked in a breath, making sure to milk out every last drop of his seed. You couldn’t help but watch as he spread his thick, white cum over your swollen pussy lips, your body twitching from the sensitivity. 

When you looked up at him, you found his face flushed as red as yours, his mouth slightly agape, with an expression that caught you off guard. The moody, confident alpha male who had entered your room now seemed unsteady, his composure cracked, leaving him looking utterly broken and confused.

He leaned down, his breath mingling with yours for a fleeting moment before his lips finally pressed against yours. The kiss was seamless, as though the two of you had been meant to move together in this way all along. The warmth of his touch ignited something between you, a spark that quickly became a flame, and a flame that would soon become a raging fire that could never be put out.

Seonghwa's desire for you only intensified in that moment. Whatever his plans had been before tonight, they now felt irrelevant, tangled up in the web of feelings he could no longer suppress. He didn’t know what this meant for his current predicament—how this would complicate everything—but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t be letting you go anytime soon. He’s marked his destiny by letting himself be engulfed in the flames.

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Madri Lager: drunk words

Contents: cursing, just a little conversation between them to set the mood and provide a backdrop for the next fic, not proofread

No fucking way. 

There’s just no fucking way. 

“Why the hell are you here?” You hiss. 

Gojo fucking Satoru strolled into your lecture hall, smug grin on his fuck ugly face, arms folded behind his head and swinging his legs like a maniac. From the doors at the front, he immediately spotted you all the way at the back, sat by your lonesome and you could see his shit-eating grin widen. The whites of his teeth blind you almost as much as his impossibly white hair.

Then, the freak had the audacity to climb the stairs, ignoring the whispering and the pointing, and sat next to you. Well, a seat down because you refused to move your bag, even fought with him a little when he tried to lift it. 

He shrugs, slinging an arm around the back of the chair between you, fingertips way too close to your shoulder, and black sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge. “Was feeling bored so here I am.”

Counting to ten, you tried to put on a patient voice, like you’re berating a child, which you pretty much are, and you grit out, “Bored people take up hobbies. Bored people do things like puzzles and cooking and knitting. Bored people don’t crash lectures and bother other people.”

“I love when you lecture me on common knowledge, wifey. It really warms my heart.” To emphasise his stupid point, he presses a hand to his chest and fans his face with the other. “You’re just so smart.”

You slap his hand away when he tries to boop your nose. People are staring, turning their heads like owls as they strained to listen to your conversations. Some people are taking pictures, no doubt sending it to The Bulletin or whatever, because people have nothing better to do than gossip. You hate this attention; the pointing and whispering because of your appearance you’ve learnt to tolerate, but this? 

This is just irritating on a different level.

At least once a day, a cheerful stranger comes up to you and asks in bewilderment if you’re Gojo’s fiancee. In fact, they ask if you’re really, actually the future wife of Gojo Satoru like he’s some mythical being and you’re a frumpy little worm. Fuck them. And fuck him. 

“Go away, Gojo,” you roll your eyes, typing as much of the lecturer’s notes as you can, a little distracted by the peering eyes around you and the ones running over your clothes . 

He sighs and lifts the lace from your dress, rounding the neckline. You feel it tickle your neck, and you fight the urge to shudder. In disgust. With a forced melodramatic tone, he complains, “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“Are you fucking twelve? Go watch a movie like a normal person.”

“Movies are boring,” he retorts as if it’s fact. 

You roll your eyes. “And what? I’m so much more interesting?” 

What a stupid question. You really shouldn’t have asked that because the serious expression on his face as he lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug makes you blush. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“Did you meet Suguru on the course or was he your piercer first?”

Still typing, you throw him a side glance, feeling suspicious of the sudden change in conversation. But it’s welcomed. “We met on the course. First year. We were in the same class. He’s a good guy.”

Gojo huffs as if he didn’t like your answer. 

The piercer’s actually a decent person; he was friendly, smart, and kind. He made long, boring classes feel shorter with his interesting insights and opinions, and he had such a great way of expressing them — he was the most eloquent male you’ve ever met. However, there was always something off about him, like an inner turmoil that neither you nor he could ever quite understand. 

It was when he absentmindedly said he was thinking of dropping out that you felt you knew him a little better. You both shared a long talk at the back of the Life Sciences building where your little stroll took you, him smoking and you listening to his mutterings. He spoke of this feeling of being out of place, which you understood better than anyone else, and how the traditional path didn’t suit him. He disappeared for a while, a couple months, and you thought your response might have spooked him. After all, no one ever really comes to you for advice. But when he reached out to offer you a free piercing as his first ever client at his newly opened studio, you realised maybe you are capable of dropping an odd pearl here and there. 

“Well, Suguru’s my bestie, so back off,” Gojo pouts.

From your peripheral, you see him eye the big lecture hall and you don’t really know what he’s thinking. It’s an odd realisation to think that Geto, the guy you’ve always kind of admired, is actually friends with this loser – the suggestion that there’s a redeeming quality to the frat guy is one that doesn’t suit you. 

Most times he’s easy to read; he wants fun and excitement and thrill. He does whatever’s convenient or interesting, a totally impulsive guy. But there are rare moments, emphasis on rare, where you think there might be something more going on in that huge head of his. Maybe there’s something deeper to him. A maturity and wisdom he’s yet to show. 

“Fuck, marry or kill,” he lifts three fingers, “Marx, Satre or Aristotle.”

Yeah, unlikely. 

“Gojo, seriously, go away,” you sigh, exasperated. Just five minutes with the guy and you’re already drained. And somehow, you’re expected to live a lifetime with the weirdo?

Satan strike you down. 

“Me personally, Satre’s cute but something about big, bushy beards really gets me going. So, it’ll have to be: kill Aristotle, no offence dude, fuck Satre, and marry Marx.”

Two girls in the row in front of you giggle. Your lips turn down in repulsion. 

“I’m not sure Marx would like either of us, Gojo,” you give him a pointed look. 

He laughs. It’s loud and sudden and he has to say sorry to the entire lecture when it echoes around the hall. Some people laugh at him, or with him, and the lecturer can only shake his head and carry on. This lecturer is strict and merciless when it comes to interruptions, but of course he doesn’t say a thing against the interloper. How could he when there’s a huge placard over the double doors of this building titled ‘From the Loving Hearts of The Gojo Charitable Foundation’?

A couple minutes pass in relative silence, just the tapping of fingers against keyboards and the droning of the professor filling the space, and you think maybe he’s fallen asleep or maybe he’s so bored that he’s actually thinking of leaving. 

Of course, neither of those things happen because the universe hates you. 

Gojo pokes your side with a pen. You writhe with a blush. 

“Oh, ticklish, are we? Very interesting.” He wiggles his brows like an idiot, and you fight the urge to land a punch there. “Our wedding night’s gonna be fun.”

“We’re not going to have one if you had it your way, remember?”

Leaning back in his seat, he taps the pen —where the hell did even get that? He wasn’t carrying a bag— against his chin, considering his words carefully. He shrugs again. “Well, seeing as everyone’s so set on it, I’ve decided to, you could say, open myself to the idea.”

You try to quell the spark of hope there, that maybe your family could be saved, that you’ll be saved. It’s not wise to let that spark fester into something more. 

Gojo’s impulsive. Fact. 

Gojo’s a thrill-seeker. Fact. 

Gojo is an unserious guy set in his bachelor ways. He cannot be relied upon. He cannot be trusted to keep his word.

All facts. 

It’s easy for him to be able to have the option to be ‘open’ to an idea, whereas it’s thrusted upon you without much say. He can wake up and make decisions solely based on his urges, but you have to be mindful of the family’s reputation, your father’s bad habits, your mother’s social conservative ways, and the fact that this is all your fault. 

“Gojo,” you turn, fixing him with a solemn expression, “don’t do that. Don’t lead me on. I may not want to marry you, but I do want to marry. I must. It’s important to me, so please don’t wave it around like it’s some pretty flag.”

There must be something in your eyes, a graveness or a sombre quality that makes his smile disappear. His brows furrow like he’s trying to understand, trying to piece things together but you’re turning away before he could see. 

Clearing his throat, he pokes you again. “Alright. How about this?”

You throw him a doubtful look, worried about what dumbassery is going to leave his mouth. 

“Go on a date with me.”

“No.”

“Hey! You said that way too quickly.”

Resuming your typing, you’re already trying to drown him out, focused on the history of pragmatic ethics instead of his humoured tone. He’s suggesting something ridiculous again. As if you’d go on a date with him. Him. The guy who’s been getting in the way, the one who’s been making your life difficult and family dinners awkward, and the one you certainly cannot trust to not set up some trap to humiliate you like in the movies. 

“I’m being serious. Let’s go on a date.” Seeing you open your mouth to argue back, he hurriedly adds, “This isn’t fair on me either, y’know? I’m supposed to marry a stranger, one who wears all black and looks like she’d haunt me — not a bad thing, I’m actually kinda into it, question mark? — but my point is, we don’t really know each other. So why don’t we go on a date? It’s a pretty brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you mull it over. Sure, it makes sense, it would be good to get to know the freak you’re marrying or supposed to marry. This is how it should have been in the first place. Plus, your mother would certainly approve; she’d think this is a golden opportunity to secure him, to make him fall for you or whatever Mrs. Bennet thing she’s thinking of. 

However, as good as that idea is, you can’t just eagerly agree; there’s no guarantee this isn’t a trap. 

“You’re thinking this is a trap, aren’t you?” Your eyes meet his. He’s grinning ear to ear like he’s proud he guessed correctly. “Why don’t you plan the date, then? Set the time and place, that way there’s no way I could have rigged the environment with explosives or something.”

“No pig blood?”

Gojo smiles even brighter, and you have to squint to prevent losing your vision permanently. 

“No pig blood.”

[drurrito]

Night Drive (18+)

Summary: You get a new car

AN: 18+ only y'all--we're gonna pretend that there are plenty of other self-driving cars that aren't t*sla...I hope this makes up for me not putting out another part of AYTO yet! All mistakes are mine.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: cursing; reader has a dick; dom//powerbottom!Natasha; sub//top!reader

----------------

You sink lower into your seat as you rev the engine of your new car with the widest grin Natasha can't see. Natasha looks hardly impressed from your view beyond the barely-legal tint of the windows.

You decide to roll down your window and plead your case.

"Hey baby."

Natasha rolls her eyes. You already screw yourself coming right out the gate with pleasantries, Natasha knows you're desperate to get on her good side when you do that.

"So...what do you think?" You vaguely gesture to the rest of the car and Natasha scoffs.

"I think you were a finance bro in your past life," she crosses her arms, and you relent, "probably," you sing as you round the car to lean against the hood. The gun metal gray still holds a shine in the moonlight. This wasn't an impulse purchase, you had been talking about buying a new car for a while now. You would go on little rants about the specs of certain cars whenever you saw them on the road or on TV. It's not like you were waiting when you had the money, being an avenger was a pretty-paying gig. You were just waiting for the right one, at the right time--a method you mastered by the time Natasha came around.

"Wanna go for a joyride?" You offer, already leaning off the hood and spinning the key in your hand.

Natasha wants to keep giving you a hard time, but you look so damn good in front of your sleek, expensive, new backdrop. Your muscles bulge under your fitted black shirt, and you have the cockiest smile on your face, like you knew you were winning this race.

"And if we get pulled over?"

"With SHIELD plates? I'm not worried about it," it almost comes out like it's scripted. You're not above rehearsing a speech for Natasha if it means getting your way. You're pulling out all the stops, but Natasha wants to remind you who's really behind the wheel. Her eyes rake over you slowly, intensely--the same way fresh lava travels over earth. You're standing at attention and you don't even know it.

"You gonna open the door for me or just stand there like you forgot your manners?" Natasha watches in amusement as you fumble for the door handle. She slides onto the cool leather while you make your way into the driver's seat yet again. You wait patiently for her to get comfortable and buckle in.

It's only when you rev the engine with a wink that Natasha muses this might have been a bad idea on her part. You punch the gas pedal and she's quickly acquainted with the back of the cherry red bucket seat.

----------------

Natasha decides that she doesn't like going fast unless the fate of the world depends on it. She also decides this is the one exception when she sees the freeway system of veins in your forearms as you grip the steering wheel. Natasha feels like she's flying when she watches your triceps flex while you turn the wheel or do something as mundane as turning on her seat heater.

Natasha slides her seatbelt off in a way that doesn't set off the sensor--she didn't want this moment to be ruined by a lecture on why it's important to buckle-up. You're too distracted by the beat of your night drive playlist to notice her crawling closer to you.

You feel her lips on the shell of your ear, "eyes on the road, got it?"

"Yes ma'am," you try to say cooly, you don't dare chance a look over at her. She hums with satisfaction and rewards you with a kiss on the skin behind your ear and a nibble on your lobe that tightens the coil in your belly.

Natasha sucks and licks at your neck while her deft fingers work to undo your belt and zipper. Her hand explores the border of your waistband before dipping under and finding what it was looking for. You let out a whisper of a gasp when Natasha admires your full length and girth. Your grip on the wheel tightens, Natasha chuckles when she hears the leather under your fingers groan.

Natasha begins to stroke you slowly, agonizingly so, but that doesn't keep your hips from bucking up into her hand.

"Tash," that only elicits a rumble against your neck. Natasha's other hand curls around your neck and gives a light squeeze that makes your vision blur for a second. Her stroking picks up speed, you have to work impossibly hard to keep your foot off the brakes.

"Natasha, please."

"I like the way you say please, baby," she mumbles with your skin between her teeth.

"What did I tell you?"

"Eyes on the road, ma'am," you say with a quickness that makes the corner of her lips curl up in satisfaction.

"So smart," she praises before you helplessly watch her head lower until you feel her lips greet your cock with a sloppy kiss. You throw your head back against your seat with a pathetic moan.

"So desperate," Natasha teases, and your mind feels like it's going a million miles an hour--multitasking is usually your strong suit, but it seems damn near impossible now.

Natasha's tongue travels the length of you, your hips feebly buck into her mouth when she finally grants you entrance. You slow your speed to safely take a hand off the wheel and hold her hair back. She thanks you with a gentle squeeze on your thigh and the prettiest sounds you could have only ever imagined.

Your playlist is already repeating itself by the time Natasha comes up for air. She can barely hear it over your panting anyway. You're rock hard and right where she wants you.

"The car can drive itself, you know," you breathe out. Natasha's brow quirks with curiosity.

"Show me," it's a gentle command, but your fingers rush to press the right sequence of buttons. You ease the seat back with haste, and Natasha just lets you sit there for a few beats to take you in and also leave you in suspense.

Your fingers dumbly flex against your legs while you wait for further instruction from Natasha. She doesn't even try to hide her smirk when your eyes begin to dart between the road and her.

"You're not gonna let us crash right, dove?" Natasha's finger traces a feather-light trail down your arm. It's a genuine question, even though she knows you probably did some sizable research on the safety features of the car before you even entertained buying it.

"No ma'am, you're precious cargo," you give an easy smile and that's Natasha's cue to move and straddle your lap. You help her with your hands on her hips, your hands quickly retreating to your sides when she's situated over you.

Natasha swears your eyes are sparkling as you watch her slide her panties to the side with one hand and take your length in the other.

"Eyes on me, baby, just for a second," she coos and you obey. Natasha can't help but admire the striations of your muscles working overtime to restrain yourself. You've always been intoxicatingly obedient, even when it's downright painful. Your eyes are locked on Natasha's, you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan when she finally eases down onto your cock. She's already working her hips in a way that has your entire body buzzing. You can count on one hand how many cars have passed you by this whole time, just like you expected.

Your fingers dig into the leather of your seat, your eyes periodically glancing at the road to make sure it hasn't veered off course for whatever reason. Natasha steals a few sloppy kisses when she leans into you to get a better angle and bounce on your cock at a speed that should be illegal.

"Tash, I'm gonna-," you choke out between labored breaths.

"What was that baby?" she leans back and oh god, you wish you had the kind of self-control your car has right now. You feel like you're going to pass out watching Natasha ride your cock, you're too blissed out to realize that she's spelling out 'm-i-n-e-' with her hips.

"I'm gonna come so fast."

"I know baby."

That seals your fate. Your arm reaches back to brace yourself against the seat. With a long and drawn-out "fuck," Natasha feels you push deeper into her, filling her up with every last drop of you. You both fall into a sweaty, moaning heap against the seat. Your body trembling with aftershocks as Natasha scratches at the skin on the back of your neck. You only get to drink this feeling in for a few seconds until you see red and blue flashing lights in your rearview mirror.

"Shit," you sit up and Natasha freezes when she sees what you see. You feverishly check your speedometer, you're not speeding. You start rifling through your brain to see if you forgot to do something, insurance? Plates? Registration?

Your questions are answered when you watch the cop car speed off into the night. Natasha lets out a heavy sigh of relief that makes your dick twitch, reminding you both that you're still inside of her.

"Told you," you try not to sound so exasperated. Natasha just rolls her eyes before kissing your temple. Night drives might just become a regular thing now.

[hoe4hotchner]

Temptation | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader CW: Sensual, reader is a little slutty, it's implied that Hotch is horny, lap dance, strip tease, physical touch, mentions of alcohol. WC: 0.7k

I'm not even gonna hide the fact that I was listening to Christmas music while writing this.

           Hotch’s arrival home was marked by the heavy clunk of his briefcase hitting the floor and the tired sigh that followed. The day had been brutal, the latest case tearing the team down psychologically. As he trudged into the living room, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his heavy thoughts.

           You noticed his weariness immediately, your heart aching at the sight of his tired form. Without a word, you moved swiftly, guiding him to his favorite armchair with a gentle but firm hand. “Just sit here,” you said softly, urging him to relax.

           Hotch sank into the chair gratefully, his eyes closing as he leaned back. You didn’t need to ask him how his day was; it was written all over his face. You quickly moved to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of whiskey. As you carried the drink back to him, you could see him trying to shake off the day's stress.

           “Here,” you said, handing him the glass. “Drink this. I’ll be right back.”

           Without waiting for a response, you retreated to the bedroom. In the privacy of the room, you selected a set of matching lingerie - his favorite, in a deep, luscious black. But you didn’t want it to be obvious just yet. You threw on a robe over the lingerie and took a moment to apply a light touch of makeup, making sure you looked effortlessly alluring. Your idea of the outfit was designed to tease, and you wanted to make sure it had exactly that effect on him.

           Once you were satisfied with your appearance, you moved to the living room where Hotch was still seated, sipping his drink. You approached him with a confidence you felt bubbling inside and set a soft and sensual playlist on the speaker. The gentle tunes of music began to fill the room, setting a perfect backdrop for what you had planned.

           Hotch looked up, his tired eyes lighting up with curiosity as he heard the music. You gave him a playful smile and began to slowly remove your robe, letting it fall gracefully to the floor. The matching black lingerie underneath shimmered slightly in the low light, accentuating the curves of your body.

           You moved with purpose, allowing the music to guide your steps. Each motion was deliberate, a blend of grace and sensuality. You started with a slow, teasing dance, your movements carefully calculated to attract and captivate. The rhythm of the music matched your heartbeat, and you let yourself get lost in the rhythm, your eyes locked onto Hotch’s.

           Hotch’s gaze was intense, a mix of admiration and desire that only deepened as you continued. He shifted in his chair, loosening the knot of his tie with one hand while the other held the glass of whiskey, his knuckles turning white with the sheer force. His eyes traced your every movement, appreciating the way you moved, the way you seemed to embody the melody.

           You could see the strain in his shoulders beginning to ease, replaced by a growing sense of arousal. As you inched closer, you let your movements become more intimate, brushing lightly against him, teasing him with the promise of more. The room was filled with the soft rustle of fabric and the deep, rhythmic beat of the music.

           When you felt the moment was right, you decided to move your dance even closer. You guided him to put his drink down on the side table next to his chair, ensuring he was fully focused on you. With a slow, seductive smile, you positioned yourself directly in front of him, allowing him to feel the heat of your body against his.

           The music took on a more intense rhythm as you began to perform, grinding down on him, your movements purposeful. You moved effortlessly, your hips swaying in time with the beat, brushing against his thighs. The closeness made your breath hitch, the tension between you becoming more noticeable.

           Hotch’s hands were soon tracing the curves of your hips, his touch both gentle and possessive. He guided you subtly, urging you to move in ways that accentuated your body in irresistible ways. His breath was hot against your skin, and you could feel the raw intensity of his desire as you danced for him.

           As you completed your dance, Hotch’s hands lingered on your hips, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled you closer, his voice a low growl as he spoke directly into your ear. “You drive me crazy, woman, you know that?” His words were a promise of the desire that simmered beneath his surface.

[sayoneee]

☆ POISON

“miss her, kiss her, love her, wrong move you’re dead, that girl is poison” - bell biv devoe (2.2k)

contains: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite! reader. acquaintances to friends to secretish lovers. silena + drew mentions. during tlt.

kashaf’s note: u cant tell me a group of teenagers lived together at summer camp and no one had secret parties. dont @ me for the 90s music references (+ i imagine avantika vandanapu as silena, and momona tamada as drew)

i. and if there was a problem / yo, i'll solve it

“CASTELLAN?” YOU APPROACHED him slowly, tone cautious as if you were speaking to a wounded animal, although in this case, maybe you were, as you reached for his bruised knuckles, remaining persistent, even as he tried to withdraw his hands out of your grasp. “why’d you do that?”

“did i need a reason?” there is a forced jocularity to his words, a well-practiced mask he is never seen without, and you cringe slightly, your gaze catching the grimace that twists his lips. his attempt at a ‘roguish’ grin falls flat, the expression a discordant note against the backdrop of his injuries. luke’s already busted lip splits open, a thin line of crimson carving a river down his chin. he moves to wipe it off the back of his arm, but you’ve already pulled off the bandana tying up your hair (a birthday present from a half-sibling) and begun rubbing at his face.

luke’s eyes widened at the gesture.

despite being tentative acquaintances since your arrival, you’re still annoyed that luke castellan continues to underestimate just how much of his heart he wears on his sleeve — or rather, just how well you manage to see past his facade. his blatant lie hangs in the air, unacknowledged. instead, you deliberately shift your gaze to the purples and blacks that mar his knuckles, setting about wrapping them with your bandana, obscuring the damage.

“i could’ve done that myself,” luke says, amused, his words lightly appreciative. still, at your answering glare, he tosses his hands in the air in surrender as ‘ice ice baby’ continues in the background, uninterrupted, “but thank you, though.”

“i’m no apollo kid, but it’ll do,” you shrug instead of accepting the gratitude, tugging him to his feet, ensuring to grab his uninjured hand, and hauling him outside. 

“you’re no apollo kid, and you decide to take the injured man away from where the apollo kids are actually gathered,” luke muses, once again entertained with himself (was there any other emotion this boy could experience besides amusement?), once the lights of the apollo cabin are so far behind you, neither of you could fully see each other.

“you’ll live,” you say, scowling at him through the darkness, forgetting he couldn’t actually see you.

“and you’re moody for a daughter of aphrodite,” he says, still holding onto your hand as he trails after you.

you stop in your tracks, pinch the bridge of your nose, count to three, and finally turn to luke, who still has his stupidly pleased-with-himself expression on his face. “luke castellan, if you don’t end up dying of some tragic fate or the other i will hunt you down myself.”

“duly noted.”

“holy hera, do you even want to know where i’m taking you?”

“nah, i think the mystery really adds some suspense.”

“that’s it, i give up,” you say, before beginning to drag him back to the apollo cabin, when he plants his feet in the dirt ground firmly, grinning crookedly at you as the moonlight finally shines through the clouds, suddenly bathing him in a luminescent glow.

“nah, c’mon, let’s go to your spot.”

you glare at him, watching how his stupid grin only seems to grow in size, an annoyingly endearing trait. with a sigh, you continued to drag him along, scowling each time he tried to make a quip.

“what if we get to your spot, and i find out this was all just a ploy to murder me?” luke muses out loud, looking thoughtful for once.

“do you seriously believe that if i was gonna murder you, i wouldn’t have done it by now?” you say, pausing when he shrugged in agreement, “we’re here though, whiney baby.” 

luke’s eyebrows rose as he took in the secluded area near the dunes, finally meeting your gaze again. “aw, i can’t believe you just planned out our first date.”

“i seriously don’t know what any of my half-siblings see in you.”

“so you’ve discussed me then.”

“shut up, i dragged you all the way here, because even though i know you like attention, i don’t think you wanted the attention you were getting from punching that poor hephaestus kid in the jaw,” you say shockingly sincerely, startling both yourself and luke.

luke doesn’t say anything, letting what seems like a confession hang in the air, instead, sits down near the water, and rubs a hand across his jaw, watching you as you follow suit, sitting next to him. 

after spending what seems like minutes in silence, watching the waves lap at the shore, luke finally speaks, staring out at the horizon, his tone slightly hollow, and devoid of all things you have come to label as luke castellan, looking eerily similar to the night he had returned from his infamous quest, “heroes aren’t meant to be happy.”

you drew your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your head. “i know — achilles, orpheus, theseus…” you trail off.

“and hercules,” luke adds, almost melancholy. 

“i think i’ve pretty much accepted i’ll die young,” you say, your words coming out in nothing but a whisper despite the two of you being alone.

luke nods in solidarity, lost in thought. “it shouldn’t have to be like this,” he finally says, voice hardening.

ii. talking sweet and looking fine / i get kinda hectic inside

“okay, for this technique, i’ll need a partner,” luke says, looking straight at you. “can you come up here?”

deciding to oblige him, you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, smiling as you joined him in front of the other campers, who had begun whispering when he called out to you. in the crowd, just past your half-siblings looks of shock, you can see the stolls passing around a wad of cash. 

luke addresses the crowd once more, “i need everyone to be paying close attention here, we’ll be demonstrating how to parry, or counterblock for the newcomers.”

as both of you get into position, luke smiles, “don’t forget to go easy on me.”

you laughed, “don’t bet on it, castellan.”

your demonstration ends up feeling like eons, as the two of you continue to dance around each other, parrying and jabbing, and lunging, and striking, and parrying. both of you are panting, your faces flushed as you continue, and just when it seems like you have the upper hand, luke side steps, and easily parries your finishing blow, disarming you in the process.

you laugh as you yield, loving the exhilaration from the fight, but when the two of you face the campers once more, more than half of the crowd is slack-jawed. 

luke, ever the showman, can’t resist a grin, “not only was that your lesson to not underestimate aphrodite cabin, but also to show you the level we’re trying to get you guys to. now, partner up and spread out.”

before you can turn back to address luke again, drew is suddenly at your side. 

“what the fuck was that?” drew hisses, grasping your elbow and leading you away from the training session in full swing, pulling you into your cabin, where silena sits on your bed (still in her armor), clearly awaiting this impromptu confrontation.

“what was what?” you choose to feign innocence, examining your nails before glancing up to see the twin expressions of horror on both silena and drew’s faces. 

“do not act dumb,” drew eyes you coolly, “it’s so beneath you.”

“i’m not acting dumb,” you rolled your eyes at the both of them.

“yes you —”

“you and castellan,” silena interjects, “we want details, now.”

“what details even are there to give?”

silena grabs drew’s arm, pulling her back from apparently nearly pouncing on you. 

drew rolls her eyes at the hand on her arm, and then focuses on you, “you’re literally our next head counselor and you and castellan had never so much looked at each other until this week and now he’s asking you to help demonstrate training techniques, like hello?”

silena snapped her fingers in agreement, “c’mon, you can’t deny that something didn’t happen.”

“nothing did,” you crossed your arms across your chest.

“you know what,” drew says, “if you wanna be like this fine. come find me when you finally decide to — i don’t know — talk to your sisters?” she storms out of the cabin, leaving you alone with silena, who sighs, gives you an apologetic look and goes after drew. 

“well, that was a shit show.”

you whirl around to see your head counselor standing at the entry of the cabin, poised as ever, not a hair out of place as she stood, examining her manicure, looking bored, as usual. 

“couldn’t agree more,” you sigh, sitting on your bed, head in your hands. 

your head counselor takes a seat beside you, “look, i don’t care for whatever petty drama just unfolded, you’ll get over it, daughters of aphrodite and all,” she waves a hand in the air, “— but for now, we have more pressing issues. i’m gonna leave for college soon, and the entire cabin knows you’re my successor.”

you nod as she paused, meeting your gaze, and you can’t help but examine the perfect shape of her eyeliner, scanning her entire picture-perfect face in an attempt to discern her mood.

“i don’t care whatever it is you have going on with castellan, but you need to complete the rite of passage, before you become head counselor.”

“the rite of passage?” you asked, having only heard the phrase in hushed conversations around camp, the knot in your stomach tightening as she continued.

“no child of aphrodite is a true child of aphrodite without having broken their first love’s heart,” is all she offers as an explanation, completely straight-faced. “castellan is perfect for your rite of passage.”

your eyebrows furrow as you consider her words, and with a final nod, and gentle squeeze of your arm, she leaves you with both her legacy and your mother’s legacy in your hands. 

“oh, and before i forget, whoever doesn’t do it always ends up cursed.”

iii. now let me pray to keep you from / the perils that will surely come

luke’s shoulder brushing against yours has turned out to be extremely distracting, and now you can understand why your cabin is more notorious for breaking hearts, rather than falling in love. you can’t seem to focus on anything except how close his hand is to yours, even the golden hue of the fire or the sing-alongs can’t divert your attention. 

the distance between the two of you grows imperceptibly smaller when luke suddenly clears his throat, on the verge of saying something, when a twig snaps behind the two of you, causing you to jump apart and look at the intruder. 

annabeth is standing behind the two of you, looking faintly apologetic, but also terrified. “sorry if i interrupted you guys,” she offers, rubbing her arm.

you share a glance with luke, nodding at him. “you weren’t — luke can always talk to me later,” you say, offering her your trademark smile.

annabeth nodded, “thank you,” as luke gently squeezed your hand before getting up to comfort her.

“don’t thank me, sweetheart.”

you’re at your usual spot when luke rejoins you, running a hand through his curls. “sorry,” he says, “someone left a spider in athena cabin, and no one could kill it.”

you chuckled, “if it wasn’t a total accident, i’d bet money it was travis and connor.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up at the mention of his siblings, “i think you’re spending too much time around them to pick up on their habits.”

“or maybe, i’m spending too much time around you,” you offer, smirking at him, trying to ignore the funny feeling in your chest as he smiles genuinely at you.

“i like to say i’m an acquired taste,” luke shrugs, sneaking a glance at you as you laugh at him. 

“i think i’ve acquired that taste,” you say, without thinking, before realizing how phenomenally stupid that sounded.

luke smiled widely, “y’know, if you weren’t a daughter of aphrodite, i would’ve told you how corny that was —” you shoved him here, “— ow, let me finish, but i actually am really glad to hear that.”

“no wonder,” you smirked, “i can practically hear your heart beating out of your chest.”

“okay, look who’s confident all of a sudden.”

you shut him up with a soft kiss that has him seeing stars. 

iv. i know what’s weighing on your mind / you can be sure i know my part

“again, what the hell is going on with you and castellan?” silena asks one early morning before breakfast, birds chirping as she’s lining her eyes with kajal, glancing at the mirror in her hand as she sits at the top of her bed.

“nothing.”

“i literally saw you guys making out and had to scrub my eyes out with soap,” drew adds, looking extremely disgusted at the thought of relieving that experience, as she paints a fresh coat of nail polish. 

“fine, you’re right,” you concede, curling your eyelashes. 

“don’t you have to do the rite of passage, though?” drew asks, pausing to look up at you.

“i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you say slowly, setting the eyelash curler down on the vanity.

“excuse me?” your head counselor has her hands on her hips, the annoyed expression on her face marring her perfect features, towering over you as she stands in front of your bed.

“i said, i’m not doing the rite of passage,” you enunciate, looking up at her, maintaining eye contact.

the temperature of the cabin seemed to drop ten degrees, and for a minute or so, your stare remained unbroken until she shrugged. “your decision... but don’t say i didn’t warn you,” before dramatically whirling around and heading to the pavilion.

silena gave you a look as drew arched her brow, and you simply shrugged in response.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[harryssyndrome]

The Rain Girl | h.s

based on this request! Thx anon for sending your request [mwah mwah!] This is my all time favorite fairytale idea.

Posted on: December 9th, 2024 (IST). by the way I cried sm, can’t believe The Eras Tour is over😭 I need my swifties rn for comfort, fr. Omg I just noticed I’m posting after 13 DAYS, oh my swiftie heart rn. Like, comment and reblog are appreciated! I was so stuck with a long request that I exhausted my creative cells but I’m back now! and will complete all the small requests first 😌 DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, TRANSLATE OR PUBLISH TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM.

Tag-list: @wheredidmyeyesgo @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 @cherryloveshs @harryyloverrr | Tag-list is OPEN || Request are OPEN

word count: 1.9k || Masterlistt☔️

summery: Harry meets a carefree girl in a London rain and then in that moment he knows those romcom feelings.

The rain had always been Harry’s companion, a quiet backdrop to the chaos of his life. He loved the way it muted the world, the way its steady rhythm provided a semblance of order amidst his own disarray. But today, the rain had taken him by surprise. He’d barely managed to duck under the awning of a small bookstore when the sky opened up, releasing a torrent that drenched the cobblestone streets in seconds.

Leaning against the wall, Harry adjusted his jacket, flicking water off the lapels and running a hand through his damp curls. The exhaustion from a long day at the studio weighed heavily on him. His debut album was supposed to be a labor of love, but lately, it felt more like a battle against his own insecurities. Each note, each lyric, each chord had to be perfect, and the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations was relentless.

He pulled out his phone to check if it had survived the sudden downpour, his mind already on the warm haven of his apartment. He could picture it now—dim lighting, a soft blanket, and the vinyl player spinning one of his favorite records. But then he heard it.

A laugh.

Not just any laugh, but a sound so pure and unrestrained that it sliced through the rain like a melody. It wasn’t the kind of laugh that came from a joke or a conversation. It was a laugh born of joy, spontaneous and infectious.

His head turned toward the sound, his brows furrowing in curiosity. A few steps away, illuminated by the warm glow of a streetlamp, was a girl. No, not just a girl—a force of nature.

She was dancing in the rain.

Her arms were outstretched, her head thrown back as the rain cascaded over her. She spun in circles, her navy-blue skirt flaring around her legs, her white shirt plastered to her skin and revealing the faint outline of a black bra underneath. Long strands of hair clung to her back and face, but she didn’t seem to care. She stomped in puddles with bare feet, her movements wild and uncoordinated, and yet, there was a grace to her, a rhythm that made it impossible to look away.

Harry felt rooted to the spot, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. It wasn’t just her appearance that caught his attention—though she was undoubtedly striking—it was the way she seemed to exist outside of time. In a city that never stopped moving, she had created a world of her own, a pocket of joy amidst the gray monotony.

He leaned against the wall, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. She was oblivious to him, too consumed by the moment to notice the figure standing in the shadows. For a fleeting second, Harry felt envious. When was the last time he had let go like that? When was the last time he’d allowed himself to simply be?

Then, as if sensing his gaze, she stopped. Her laughter faded, and she turned to look at him. Their eyes met, and Harry felt a strange jolt in his chest.

“Enjoying the show?” she called out, her voice warm and teasing, carrying easily over the sound of the rain.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. He pushed himself off the wall, shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “Hard not to,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

She tilted her head, studying him. “And why are you just standing there? Afraid of a little rain?”

He chuckled, glancing down at his soaked boots. “Not exactly dressed for it,” he said, motioning to his leather boots and jacket.

“Boots can be replaced. Moments like this?” She spread her arms again, gesturing to the rain-soaked street. “Rare.”

Her words hung in the air, challenging him. Harry hesitated, torn between the logical part of his mind that told him to stay dry and the inexplicable urge to join her. “I’d ruin my boots,” he countered, though his tone lacked conviction.

She laughed again, the sound light and carefree. “Ruin them, then. It’s worth it.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but then an idea struck him. He glanced toward the small café just a few doors down, its warm lights spilling onto the street. Without a word, he darted toward it, ignoring the rain soaking through his jacket as he crossed the short distance.

Inside, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries greeted him. He approached the counter and ordered two takeaway cups of tea, the warmth seeping into his hands as he carried them back outside.

When he returned, she had stopped dancing, standing under the streetlamp with her head tilted back, letting the rain kiss her face. Her eyes flicked toward him as he approached, her curiosity evident.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, holding out one of the cups.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled as she accepted it. “Tea in the rain? How very British of you.”

He shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Call it a peace offering. Or maybe an excuse to stand here and talk to you.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smile turning mischievous. “You didn’t need to buy me tea for that.”

Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his own tea. “Maybe not, but I thought it might earn me a few points.”

Her laughter returned, softer this time. She wrapped her hands around the cup, letting the steam rise toward her face. “Well, you’re off to a good start,” she admitted.

They stood in silence for a moment, the rain continuing to fall around them. Harry felt an unexpected sense of calm, the kind that had eluded him for weeks. She was magnetic in a way that wasn’t forced or deliberate.

“So,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “Do you always dance in the rain, or was I just lucky enough to catch a rare performance?”

She laughed, glancing down at her feet. “It’s not a regular thing,” she admitted. “But sometimes, you just… feel it, you know? Like the world is giving you permission to forget everything and just exist.”

Harry nodded slowly, her words resonating with him. “I think I needed to see that,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Her expression softened, her gaze lingering on him. “Tough day?”

“Something like that,” he replied. He hesitated, unsure how much to share. “Long hours in the studio. Trying to get everything perfect.”

She tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “You’re a musician?”

He smiled faintly. “Something like that.”

“Well,” she said, her voice thoughtful, “perfection is overrated. Look at me—spinning around like a lunatic, completely soaked, and probably scaring off anyone sane enough to be walking these streets. But I feel perfect right now.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “You make a convincing argument.”

Her gaze lingered on him, her eyes warm and inviting. “You should try it,” she said suddenly, setting her tea cup down on the railing of a nearby staircase.

“Try what?”

“Dancing,” she said simply. “You’ve got the boots for it.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, come on,” she urged, stepping closer. “You’re already wet. What’s the harm?”

Before he could protest, she grabbed his hand, her fingers warm despite the rain. She pulled him into the middle of the street, her laughter spilling over as he stumbled slightly, caught off guard.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Ridiculous is underrated,” she countered, spinning him in a clumsy circle.

Harry let out a genuine laugh, the sound surprising even himself. He let go of his inhibitions, stomping in puddles and spinning her around as the rain continued to pour. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines or expectations. He was just… living.

When they finally stopped, both breathless and soaked to the bone, she looked at him with a grin that was equal parts teasing and genuine. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

He shook his head, his curls plastered to his forehead. “Not bad at all.”

As the rain began to ease, she picked up her tea and took another sip, her eyes flicking toward the horizon. “Well, Harry Styles,” she said, her tone playful, “thanks for the tea and the company. I think you just made my day.”

He blinked, surprised. “You know who I am?”

She smirked, her gaze mischievous. “Who doesn’t?”

As she turned to leave, Harry couldn’t help but call out after her. “Hey! Rain girl!”

She paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder with an amused smile. “Rain girl?”

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Well, I don’t know your name, and it fits. You did kind of make an impression tonight.”

Her smile widened, and she took a step closer, tilting her head. “Does that mean I’ll have to keep dancing in the rain just so you’ll remember me?”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve already made yourself pretty unforgettable,” he said, his voice softer, more sincere. “But… how do I find you again? Do I have to wait for the next downpour and hope you’ll be out here?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully, her expression teasing. “Well, I do love dancing in the rain. Maybe you’ll just have to keep an eye out.”

Harry groaned dramatically, though his grin never faltered. “That’s a bit risky, don’t you think? What if the rain doesn’t come for weeks?”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Then you’ll learn some patience.”

“Or,” he countered, pulling his phone from his pocket and holding it out to her, “you could just give me your number and save me the suspense.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his persistence. After a moment, she took the phone from his hand, her fingers brushing against his as she typed. Harry watched her with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, and when she handed the phone back, he glanced at the screen.

The number was there, but instead of a name, she had saved it under the nickname he’d given her earlier: Rain Girl.

He chuckled, his eyes flicking back to her. “Seriously? No name? Just Rain Girl?”

She shrugged, her smile playful. “I like the nickname. Besides, it’ll make sure you remember me.”

Harry smiled, his heart feeling inexplicably lighter. “I don’t think I could forget you even if I tried,” he admitted, his tone sincere. “And now I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight.”

Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, and she dipped into a playful bow, holding the edges of her skirt like it was a ballroom gown. “In that case, let me properly introduce myself. This Rain Girl’s name is YN.”

Harry’s grin widened as he repeated her name softly, as though testing how it felt on his tongue. “YN.”

She straightened, her smile bright despite the rain-soaked strands of hair clinging to her face. “Now you’ve got a name to go with the number,” she said.

“Perfect,” Harry said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “But I still think Rain Girl suits you better.”

YN laughed, a sound that seemed to linger in the air even as she turned and began walking away. Harry watched her go, a strange warmth settling in his chest.

As the rain tapered off, leaving the streets glistening under the dim streetlights, Harry couldn’t stop smiling. He hadn’t just found shelter from the storm—he’d found something unexpected, something he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

And he knew one thing for sure: the next time it rained, he’d be looking for her.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Another Ending - 1 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , -

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The weight of the assassin's body presses down on you, pinning you to the ground as his sword hovers dangerously close to your throat. Every muscle in your arms strains as you hold your gun up, barely keeping the blade away from your neck.

The cold metal of the sword gleams under the dim light, a stark reminder of how close you are to death. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, are unreadable, but you can feel the murderous intent radiating from him.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the dirt and blood on your face as you grit your teeth. With every ounce of strength, you manage to growl, "You're dead to me."

For a split second, you see it—hesitation. The assassin’s grip falters, his focus wavering. That’s all you need. With a desperate shove, you push him off, the sword sliding away from your neck as you scramble to your feet. Your heart pounds in your chest as adrenaline takes over, and you start running, not daring to look back.

The echoes of your past, the regrets, and the pain are left behind as you sprint away. You know that you’ve bought yourself only a few precious seconds, but at this moment, it’s enough. You leave the assassin behind, along with everything that once bound you.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The lodge is warm and inviting, nestled comfortably by the edge of a tranquil lake. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, casting a golden glow across the rustic wooden floors. The living room is cozy, with a soft, earth-toned sofa positioned near a stone fireplace. You push the sofa slightly, adjusting its angle to better face the window, where the view of the lake creates a peaceful backdrop.

As you finish, the sound of the doorbell rings through the house. You straighten up, smoothing a hand over your clothes before heading to the door. When you open it, a smile crosses your face.

Standing there is Lori Grant, your niece. She’s dressed in a green shirt and black pants, her short hair with bangs framing her face beneath thick glasses. A pink backpack is slung over one shoulder, and she’s dragging a suitcase that looks far too big for her small frame.

“Hello, Aunty,” Lori greets you, her voice bright with excitement.

“Where’s your mom?” you ask, glancing past her.

“She just left,” Lori replies, stepping inside and immediately struggling with the weight of her suitcase. She lets out a frustrated “Ugh” as it catches on the doorstep.

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “Let me help you with that.” Gripping the handle, you lift the suitcase easily, though you wonder why a 13-year-old needs so much luggage.

As you bring the suitcase inside, you ask, “Are you hungry? I bought some tofu for you.” Your older sister’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of the strict health-conscious diet she keeps Lori on. She’s made a name for herself online with her healthy recipes, and now she’s on a book tour promoting her new cookbook.

Lori looks up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and hope. “Aunty, I’m so excited to be here. I can finally get away from the food my mom makes.”

You laugh, a warm, understanding sound. “Oh, thank goodness. How about fried chicken or lasagna?”

Lori’s face lights up, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. “Why not both?” Her eyes shimmer with anticipation, almost teary at the thought of indulging in something she’s missed.

“Yes!” you reply with a grin, already planning the feast.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The two of you cook together, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken and lasagna. The sizzle of the food and the warmth of the stove creates a cozy atmosphere, and before long, you’re both sitting at the table, enjoying the meal.

Lori, barely looking up from her book, eats with a hearty appetite, tearing into the fried chicken and savoring the lasagna.

You glance at her, amused by how engrossed she is in her book. It’s refreshing to see someone her age so absorbed in reading rather than staring at a screen. She’s been glued to that book ever since she arrived.

“Is it a good book?” you ask, taking a sip of your water.

“Yes. The best,” she replies without lifting her eyes from the pages.

You smile and ask, “What’s the book about?”

At that, Lori snaps the novel shut and looks at you with excitement blazing in her eyes, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. “Oh, Aunty, this is the best book! It’s full of adrenaline, mystery, and romance.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod slowly, recognizing the same spark in her that your older sister often has. “Let me guess, a royal romance?”

Lori shakes her head enthusiastically. “No. It’s set in modern day. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story where both are spies from different sides. They have to decide between love and their duty.”

You nod again, your expression thoughtful. “That’s impossible in the real world.”

Lori huffs, rolling her eyes playfully. “That’s why it’s fantasy, Aunty. Geez, you sound just like my mom.” She returns to her book, burying herself in the story again.

You chuckle softly, setting your glass down as you gather your plate and stand up. “Well, usually betrayal happens in those stories.”

Lori looks up, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. “That’s right! There’s a part where the male character betrays the female character.”

Your hand slips, the plate clattering into the sink, but thankfully it doesn’t break.

“Aunty, are you okay?” Lori asks, concern in her voice.

“I’m fine. My hand just slipped,” you say, brushing it off with a smile.

Lori gets up, carrying her plate to the sink. “I’m already done. I’ll help you with the dishes.”

“Thank you,” you reply, appreciating her help.

As you both wash the dishes, you ask her about life at school. Lori tells you all about her friends, her classes, and the things that make her happy.

“Do you have a crush at school?” you ask, a teasing note in your voice.

Lori hesitates, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Well… there is one boy. His hair and smile remind me of the male character from the spy book.”

You nearly drop the spatula but manage to catch it just in time. What’s gotten into you today?

“What about you, Aunty?” Lori asks, her tone curious.

“Me?” you respond, a bit caught off guard.

“While living in this lodge, have you ever met a farmer with a six-pack, a cute café owner, or a cool police officer?” Lori asks, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You gasp, her question catching you by surprise. “Your mom mentioned you’ve become quite the chatterbox.”

“Aunty, your life is a dream. You have it all—except a boyfriend,” Lori says matter-of-factly. She doesn’t fully understand what you do for a living, but she knows from her mom and grandparents that you’ve traveled the world and are now enjoying the fruits of your hard work.

You place your hands on your hips, eyeing her with a mock sternness. “How long have you been staying with Grandma?”

“Three weeks,” Lori answers, wiping a plate dry with a clean cloth.

“That explains it,” you say with a chuckle, ruffling her hair playfully. Your mother has a habit of prying into your love life, and you’ve overheard her sighing over the phone, saying, ‘I’m afraid she’ll die single.’

“But seriously, Aunty, why are you still single?” Lori asks, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity.

You look at her, a sigh escaping your lips. “When you’re older, you’ll understand that life is complicated. There’s no guarantee of a happy ending.”

“Seems like you don’t believe in romance anymore,” she says, her voice soft but probing.

“Lori…” you begin, but her words strike a chord in you. Kids have a way of getting straight to your feelings. You head to the living room, trying to shake off the conversation and turn on the TV. With a sigh, you throw yourself onto the couch.

Lori follows you, still determined to rekindle your belief in romance. But then, something catches her eye. “Aunty, what’s on the second floor?”

“Just a storage room. Full of dust and spiders,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively.

“Can I go up there?” she asks, her enthusiasm barely contained.

“Go ahead,” you say, smiling at her eagerness.

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you hear her running feet thudding up the stairs. You shake your head, chuckling to yourself. What happened to the little girl who was afraid of spiders? Maybe the influence of that action-packed novel, the fantasy world, pulled her in.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Lori’s eyes lit up with excitement as she explored the second floor, her steps quickening with each new discovery. It felt like a treasure hunt to her, the dusty corners and forgotten items fueling her curiosity.

She opened old boxes, sifted through forgotten knick-knacks, and rummaged through piles of clutter. Her heart raced with the thrill of the search, every creak of the floorboards adding to the sense of adventure.

Then, tucked away near the Christmas decorations, she spotted a plain, unassuming box. It didn’t look like much, but something about it caught her attention. With a soft gasp of anticipation, she opened it and found an old, bulky laptop inside. The device was covered in dust, its once sleek surface now dull and scratched.

“Wow,” Lori whispered, her eyes widening in awe. She lifted the laptop carefully and opened it, running her fingers over the keys. “Clicky, clicky. Love this keyboard,” she said, delighting in the tactile response of the keys beneath her fingers.

Unable to contain her excitement, Lori ran downstairs to find you, clutching the laptop in her arms like a prized possession. “Aunty, look what I found! This is so old, and I love the sound it makes!”

You glanced up and your eyes widened in surprise. “Where did you get that?” you asked, a mix of surprise and concern in your voice.

“Near the Christmas decorations. Can I turn it on?” she asked, her eyes shining with eagerness.

You shook your head, a hint of hesitation creeping into your tone. “It’s been a long time since I turned it on,” you admitted, memories flickering at the edge of your mind. You had pretended the laptop didn’t exist for so long that it had slipped from your thoughts entirely.

“I’ll throw it away,” you said, reaching out to take the laptop from her.

But Lori quickly pulled it back, guarding the laptop protectively. “Even if it’s broken, I could use this for throwback videos,” she argued, her determination evident.

You sighed, seeing the pleading look in her eyes. “Fine. You can have it,” you relented.

“Thank you!” Lori beamed, her smile so bright that any irritation you felt melted away. She hugged the laptop close and dashed off to the guest room, eager to play with her new toy.

Inside her room, Lori’s excitement was palpable. She carefully plugged the charger into the old laptop and pressed the power button, holding her breath in anticipation. But the screen remained dark, the laptop unresponsive.

Her enthusiasm waned slightly, but she didn’t give up. Determined, she searched online for ways to fix old laptops, flipping the device upside down to look for a serial number or brand name. But the markings were too faded to read.

Her hope began to crumble as she realized the laptop might never work again. With a sigh, she set it aside and opened her suitcase, revealing stacks of novels inside. This was the real reason she had wanted to stay with you—to immerse herself in her books without anyone bothering her.

As the night wore on, the clock crept closer to 10 p.m. You yawned, feeling the weight of the day settle in, and turned off the TV. Before heading to bed, you decided to check on Lori. When you peeked into her room, you found her already fast asleep, curled up with a new book clutched in her hands.

You smiled softly, understanding now what was in her suitcase. With a gentle chuckle, you carefully adjusted her sleeping posture and tucked her in, whispering, “Good night.”

As you left, you saw the old black laptop still plugged in, silently charging in the corner. It had been nearly seven years since you last thought about it. You shook your head, a mix of relief and resignation washing over you. It was better if that thing stayed dead, buried in the past where it belonged.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, Lori woke up feeling cozy under the blankets. She glanced around, realizing she must have fallen asleep while reading her book again. The comforting silence in the room was a welcome change from the usual yelling of her mother.

This is why staying with you was such a great idea. She turned her attention to the old laptop, remembering she had left it charging all night.

With renewed hope, she quickly jumped out of bed and moved to the laptop. She pressed the power button, but the screen remained stubbornly black. Disappointment settled over her like a heavy fog.

Then, she heard it—the faint hum of the laptop’s fan. Her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips. She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Yes!”

Just then, you called from the kitchen, your voice carrying cheerfully through the house. “Lori! You’ve woken up? I’ve made breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry yet,” Lori replied, her focus still on the laptop, waiting for the screen to light up.

“It’s bacon and eggs,” you added, a hint of a smile in your voice.

The mention of bacon and eggs immediately captured Lori’s attention. It had been ages since she’d had a breakfast like that. “I’m coming!” she called out, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

Without another thought, Lori dashed out of her room, leaving the old laptop to continue its quiet struggle to turn on. Her excitement for breakfast had completely overshadowed her frustration with the laptop, and she hurried to the kitchen, eager for the delicious meal you had prepared.

After breakfast, Lori returned to her room, and her excitement about the old laptop reignited. As she entered, she was stunned to see that the laptop had finally powered up completely.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the outdated app icons, which looked dull and unappealing. Despite their lack of charm, something else caught her eye: the email application.

Curiosity piqued, Lori navigated to the email app and discovered a list of old emails. She wondered if the laptop could connect to Wi-Fi. To her delight, it could. She connected it and noticed a new notification. Her heart raced as she clicked on it, only to find a single new email dated five years ago.

“This is like something out of a novel,” Lori whispered to herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the email.

Her gasp was audible when she realized it wasn’t spam or a work email—it was a love letter. She read the email with growing excitement:

Subject: An Apology and a Request

Hi,

I hope this message finds you well. I’ve been carrying a heavy heart and wanted to reach out, even though it’s been a while. I left the organization and have started a new life, but I’ve realized that it won’t feel complete without you.

I’m deeply sorry for everything that happened and for the pain I caused you. I know that I have no right to ask for anything, but if there’s any chance for us to meet and talk, I’d really like that. I’m not expecting anything, but I hope we can find some closure.

Yours,

B.B

Lori’s eyes sparkled with excitement. This was even better than the romance novels she had read. She couldn’t believe her aunt had an ex who had been missing her all this time and had finally reached out after five years.

Feeling a burst of inspiration, Lori unplugged the laptop and raced downstairs to find you. “Aunt! Look! Look! Someone sent you an apology letter!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

You were busy preparing to head out to your bee farm, dressed in your suit. The sight of the old laptop suddenly turning on and Lori’s enthusiasm about the email caught you off guard. You knew exactly who had sent it, and it brought a wave of mixed emotions.

With a sigh, you closed the laptop, noticing Lori’s disappointed look. You knelt to her level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Lori, sometimes it’s best to leave the past where it is.”

“But…” she started, her voice trailing off.

You stood up, adjusting your head protection for the farm. “Just enjoy your time here,” you said gently, then headed out of the house.

Lori sighed, her heart heavy with the sadness in your voice. She could sense the pain behind your words and felt that maybe this person was someone special to you. A sudden idea struck her, and she rushed back to her room, placed the old laptop on the table, and began typing a reply.

With her knowledge of romance novels, she crafted a short but heartfelt response:

Subject: Re: An Apology and a Request

Hi B.B,

Thank you for your message. It was a surprise to read your letter after all these years. I appreciate your honesty and the courage it took to reach out. I’m still processing everything, but I’m grateful for your apology.

Maybe one day we can talk, but for now, I hope you find the closure you’re seeking.

Take care,

Y/N

Satisfied with her words, Lori clicked “Send,” feeling accomplished. She hoped her reply would bring peace to her aunt and the sender.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

A few days passed, and Lori grew increasingly nervous. She kept checking the email, but no new notifications appeared, only that eerie computer-generated voice. You noticed her restlessness; she fidgeted with her fingers and paced around the room.

“What’s wrong? Feeling bored?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood. “We could go out for a while, get some fresh air.”

“Eww… no,” Lori replied, wrinkling her nose at the thought of the hot sun and heavy gear. She enjoyed the freedom of staying with you, but she wasn’t enthusiastic about adventures.

“I’d rather stay here, curled up with my book—” Lori was cut off by the familiar, unsettling notification sound.

You flinched at the sound too, a chill creeping down your spine. Lori quickly ran to the laptop, her heart racing with excitement as she saw the red dot notification. She opened the email and skimmed the reply: "I received your message. We need to meet. I’ll find you soon."

“Aunty, look! This person wants to see you. Isn’t it romantic?” Lori said, her excitement palpable.

Romantic my ass, you thought, feeling a cold shiver as you read the email. You abruptly shut the laptop and started packing Lori’s things. Your sudden, frantic movements startled her.

“Change your clothes. Wear something practical and put on running shoes,” you instructed, your voice taut with urgency.

Lori’s eyes widened with concern. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Forget the books. We have fifteen minutes, Lori. Now!” You dashed to your room, grabbing essentials with swift, practiced motions.

Lori, bewildered but obedient, quickly followed your orders. Fifteen minutes later, both of you were ready and in the car. You sped away, your face set in grim determination.

In the passenger seat, Lori clutched the seatbelt tightly, her voice trembling. “Aunt…”

“Lori, did you not hear me? Some things are better left in the past,” you said, your tone cold and firm.

She nodded slowly, her anxiety mounting. “But why?”

Before she could ask more, a deafening explosion rocked the car. “BOOM!” The blast made Lori flinch as she turned to see your house engulfed in flames. Her face pressed against the car window, eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my God. Is that your house?” Lori’s voice was barely a whisper.

You kept your gaze fixed on the road, your face pale and determined. “This is the reality of espionage. The hardest part is when someone tries to kill you.”

Lori gasped, realization dawning on her. “You’re a real spy!”

You didn’t answer, but the silence was deafening—a resounding confirmation.

“And the person who sent the email is another spy!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah. But unlike the novels, we’re not looking to fall in love. We’re trying to kill each other.” Your words sent a shiver down her spine, the gravity of the situation settling in with chilling clarity.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

At the gas station, you and Lori were picking up essential supplies. Your disguise—a dark hat, sunglasses, and a coat pulled tight—wasn't exactly subtle. But Lori's eyes sparkled with excitement.

“This is so cool!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with admiration.

“It’s not,” you muttered, your voice strained as you tried to mask your growing unease. The thrill of the moment had been replaced by a harsh reality. “I’m taking you to your mom.”

Lori’s enthusiasm faltered as she noticed the tension in your body. “But Aunt… why are you running away if this person wants to see you?”

You sighed heavily. “Because—”

Your words trailed off as a shiver ran down your spine. You felt eyes on you and slowly turned to face the source of your unease. There he was, striding towards you with a purpose.

The man stood tall and lean, his dark hair tousled and his leather jacket catching the dim light of the gas station. His face was striking—handsome in a rugged, intense way. His presence radiated strength and determination.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bucky didn’t break stride or acknowledge you. His pace quickened, and your instincts kicked in. You reached for your gun, but before you could draw it, a loud BANG! shattered the tense silence.

“Kyaaa!!!” The sound of the gunshot set off a wave of screams from everyone inside the store, including Lori. The chaos erupted around you, but you and Bucky remained focused.

You threw yourself in front of Lori, protecting her with your body. Bucky did the same, his gaze locked on the threats.

“You—” you started, trying to catch your breath.

“We don’t have much time,” Bucky cut you off, his voice a low growl. He grabbed your arm, pulling you up, and snatched his own gun. Without another word, he started firing, taking out the shooters one by one.

You joined him in the fray, your movements sharp and efficient. Bullets flew and bodies hit the floor. Bucky’s sharp eyes and quick reflexes contrasted with your precise, practiced shots.

“Your aim’s getting rusty,” Bucky grunted as he took down another opponent.

“Shut up,” you retorted, focusing on the task at hand.

In no time, the immediate threat was neutralized. You both made a break for your car, adrenaline surging. Bucky took the driver’s seat, his expression grim and focused.

“Wait…” you began, but Bucky cut you off.

“Just put on your seatbelt first,” he said tersely, glancing at you with an intensity that brooked no argument.

You complied, snapping the seatbelt into place as Bucky threw the car into gear. The ride was tense, an awkward silence hanging between you and Bucky. Lori, however, was brimming with curiosity.

She tugged at Bucky’s leather jacket, causing him to glance at her. The way she looked at him, her eyes wide with awe, reminded you of how she had always romanticized the world.

“Are you the one who sent that email to my aunt?” Lori asked, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and expectation.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t respond, turning his attention back to the road.

Lori turned to you, her eyes glowing with revelation. “I get it. Both of you were spies! But you couldn’t be together because of your jobs! A forbidden love! This is so romantic!”

"!!!!!"

Your jaw dropped, and Bucky’s expression shifted to one of utter disbelief. The two of you exchanged a stunned look, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed by Lori’s innocent but surprisingly accurate guess.

The air in the car seemed to crackle with the weight of her words, as the reality of your intertwined past and present hung in the balance.

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[shybluebirdninja]

On a Cliff

Summary: You and Logan are having passionate sex on a breathtaking cliff, completely lost in the moment and the stunning view around you.

Pairings          : Logan Howlett x Gf!Reader Note                : smut

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting vibrant hues of orange and pink across the sky.

You stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind tousling your hair and sending shivers down your spine, but the breathtaking view was worth every chill.

The ocean roared below, waves crashing violently against the rocks, and a part of you felt like you were standing at the edge of the world.

Logan had insisted on this trip, the two of you escaping the chaos of the city to find solace in nature. He stood a few feet behind you, a rugged silhouette against the vibrant backdrop, and as you glanced back at him, his smirk sent a thrill through you.

Dressed in his typical casual style—faded jeans and a tight-fitting black shirt that accentuated his muscular frame—he looked every bit the part of a wild man, untamed and fierce.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you said, turning your attention back to the ocean.

“Yeah, but not as beautiful as you,” Logan replied, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver of desire through you.

You felt heat creeping up your neck as you smiled at him, feeling bold under his intense gaze. “You always know what to say.”

He took a few steps closer, the ground crunching beneath his boots. “Maybe I should show you how much I appreciate you,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Your heart raced at the suggestion. The cliff was secluded enough that no one else was around, but the idea of being so exposed—so vulnerable—made your pulse quicken. “Here?” you asked, glancing at the steep drop behind you.

“Why not? No one’s here, and I’ve always wanted to make the most of the great outdoors,” he said with a smirk, stepping closer. “Besides, I’d catch you if you fell.”

You laughed nervously, your stomach fluttering with anticipation. “I don’t know…”

Logan closed the distance between you, his body radiating warmth as he pressed against your back. His hands found your waist, his rough palms grounding you against the wildness of the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “I promise it’ll be unforgettable.”

His breath tickled your ear, igniting a spark of courage within you. “Okay,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

With that, Logan turned you around, his hands still firmly on your waist as he captured your lips with his. The kiss was hot and demanding, igniting a fire deep within you.

You melted against him, losing yourself in the moment as his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. You complied, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the edge of the cliff, the world falling away beneath you.

Logan leaned against the rocky wall, his body pressing you against the rough surface. The thrill of being so close to the edge heightened your senses, your heart racing as he ground against you. “You okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze.

“Yeah, just… a little nervous,” you admitted, biting your lip.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, his voice low and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

With that, he kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a sense of urgency. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against your soft skin. Every brush of his fingertips sent jolts of electricity through your body, igniting every nerve ending.

You could feel the excitement building within you, the thrill of being outdoors adding to the heat between you. Logan’s hands moved with intention, peeling away your clothing piece by piece.

The cool breeze kissed your skin as you found yourself completely exposed before him, but the vulnerability only added to the intensity of the moment.

“God, you’re stunning,” he breathed, his eyes darkening with desire.

You felt a rush of pride at his words, your body responding eagerly to his praise. As his lips traveled down your neck, the sensation sent shivers coursing through you. “Baby,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him on.

“Yeah?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, craving more of his touch, more of his heat.

With a growl, he took control, lifting you higher against the rocky surface as he pressed his body closer to yours. Your back arched instinctively, craving the delicious friction of skin against skin. He was rough yet tender, a perfect blend of dominance and desire that made your head spin.

Logan’s hands explored every inch of you, tracing the curves of your body with a possessive grip. As his lips moved lower, trailing fiery kisses down your chest, you gasped, your body arching towards him in response.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, taking a moment to appreciate you before his mouth found its way back to yours. The kiss deepened, growing more frantic as the heat of the moment consumed you both.

He gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you slightly higher, and you could feel the rough rock pressing against your back, but it only added to the thrill. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with a mix of intensity and desire.

“More than ready,” you breathed, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he positioned himself at your entrance.

With one swift motion, he filled you completely, a low groan escaping his lips as he buried his dick deep inside you. The sensation was electrifying, the thrill of being so exposed combined with the sheer intensity of your connection leaving you breathless.

“Damn, you feel incredible,” he grunted, his breath hitching as he began to move. Each thrust was powerful and deliberate, the rhythm matching the crashing waves below. You felt alive, every nerve ending tingling as you lost yourself in the moment, the world around you fading into oblivion.

“Baby,” you gasped, your body arching against him, urging him on. “Just like that.”

He responded with a low growl, picking up the pace, the urgency building between you. The thrill of being so close to the edge—both literally and figuratively—heightened every sensation. You could feel the heat pooling deep within you, building with each thrust, each moan escaping your lips.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice thick with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With those words, you surrendered completely, allowing yourself to be swept away in the intensity of the moment. The world around you blurred, the only thing that mattered was him and the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the last rays of light painted the horizon in vibrant colors, you felt the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Your body tightened around hin, pulling him deeper as you cried out his name, the sound mingling with the roar of the ocean below.

Logan’s grip on you tightened as he followed you over the edge, the two of you spiraling into bliss together. The moment felt infinite, a collision of passion and nature that would forever be etched in your memory.

As the last light of day faded, the world fell silent, leaving only the sound of your breath mingling with the crashing waves. You clung to him, your heart racing as the reality of what you had just shared began to sink in.

“I think we should do this more often,” Logan said with a teasing grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Definitely,” you agreed, still feeling the aftershocks of your shared moment.

The cliff stood tall and silent around you, but in that moment, it felt like a sacred space where you had truly found each other, lost in the wildness of the world.

[rapturously]

kickstart my heart.

REQUEST SUBMITTED BY @darklylucid

“Paul’s always been flirty, and you’ve never really taken it seriously. After a minor incident on the boardwalk, Paul decides that he’ll make you take him seriously, one way or another.”

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 6.8K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, jealous!paul, paul is really flirty/touchy, oral sex (f!receiving), spit as lube, choking (m!receiving), hair-pulling, paul is definitely a mess, dirty talk, pet names (baby, girl, sweet girl), cowgirl, vaginal sex, scratching, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breastplay (paul loves your tits), fingering, clothes ripping, groping, nasty sex, manhandling, paul isn’t gentle

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | i’m back and literally going insane for the lost boys ,,, thank you to @darklylucid for requesting this !!! first time writing Paul and it was so, so much fun! dwayne is up next, so prepare yourselves for that! also working on a poly!lost boys x reader series ,,, so yeah!

A cloudless dusk fell over Santa Carla, sky littered with millions of stars that hung above, providing a rather attractive backdrop to a less-than-savory town. The boardwalk was more alive than ever — it transformed with nightfall, becoming a den of depravity and mystique, coupled with the liveliness of families and the carnival atmosphere.

You were situated atop a blanket, feet partially buried within the cool sand as you sat on the beach. A concert took place many feet away as you watched people clamor from the staircase to the growing crowd. The rancor of music reverberated throughout the air, accompanied by the cheering and applause from onlookers.

Saltwater lapped at the gray shoreline, moon hanging overhead to light the way. You always came to the boardwalk at night — you made plenty of friends, but you happened to have a peculiar bond with a pack of vampires. It wasn’t intentional — you never meant to befriend them like you had, but you didn’t regret a thing.

The familiar roar of motorbikes resonated in the near-distance, splitting past swarms of carnival-goers as they descended the steps. It never took very long for them to find you, bearing down upon you like a pack of hyenas.

Marko’s laughter filled the air as he and Dwayne pulled up along the terrace above you, parking their bikes next to the length of black grating. David and Paul followed suit, hauling Star and Laddie in-tow. You were more focused on the gleam of the moonlight hitting the water and the seashell you’d been turning over within your palm.

A thump resonated from your left side, and you nearly shrieked, jumping from your own flesh as Paul landed atop the blanket. He scooped a finger against your chin, plump lips pulled back to reveal his pearlescent smirk. A faint aroma of stale cologne and hints of marijuana clung to him, but that was commonplace.

“Hey baby,” Paul crooned, kicking one leg up against his chest as the rest of the boys lingered around the balcony, save for Marko. He descended from above like a cat leaping toward perch, landing in the sand with grace. His presence was intentional, solely to agitate Paul. “Where’ve you been?”

Paul’s constant flirtation was something that you were used to — painfully so. You always wrote it off as something casual, a facet deeply ingrained into his wild and spontaneous personality. Paul often flirted with anyone that had a pulse and smelled appeasing, and that included you. It was fun to watch, but sometimes you wished that he meant it.

With a huff, you attempted to swat his hand away, but he was swift, arm resting atop his propped knee as he idly bounced his head to the music. “I’ve been here,” You mused, offering a kind greeting to Marko. “Where else am I supposed to be?” You inquired, tracing the pad of your thumb over the seashell’s ridges.

Paul’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I can think of a few places,” He mused, plucking at the top of your blouse. “You gonna come down tonight?” He asked, referring to you joining them in the cave. You normally went there with the group if they were satiated and fed. You were still human, after all — being in a nest full of vampires probably wasn’t the safest or smartest idea.

“Maybe,” You shrugged, feeling Paul perch his chin atop your shoulder. The physical aspect of his flirting always made your heart race, thrumming just underneath your collarbone. Your gaze flickered toward him, brows furrowing together. “What?”

“Please?” Paul insisted, lips twitching into a Cheshire smirk, teeth and all. “Wanna hang out with you.” Of all the pack, you were closest to Paul, but sometimes, you didn’t want to be. His constant touching and lascivious nature often left you wistful and confused, aching for something that he couldn’t give you.

“Don’t listen to him,” Marko interjected, busy ogling a wandering group of beachgoers — a gaggle of younger women hanging off of the arms of burly men. It smelled like potential dinner for him. “He found a guitar.” That was all you needed to know.

A giggle escaped you as Paul threw a handful of sand toward Marko, which happened to land against his patchwork jacket and golden curls. His visage contorted into a sour expression, glaring daggers at Paul before he stood up, shaking all of it out in the process.

“You found a guitar?” You asked, watching as Paul pushed your legs flat against the blanket, allowing him to rest his head within your lap. Admittedly, your heartbeat betrayed you — you wanted to be annoyed by the gesture, but instead, you let it go.

To Paul, you smelled outrageously wonderful — better than anything he’d had before. It was an amalgamation of softer, floral perfumes coupled with whatever wash you used. He detected peach and vanilla, sweeter aromas that clung to you like a pleasant haze.

His hair was akin to that of a lion’s mane, viciously unruly as it flew around him like a halo. “Yeah,” Paul replied, somewhat distracted by your scent. “Y’know, I didn’t find it. I stole it from these amateurs up by the empty lot.” Yoo assumed that these ‘amateurs’ were no longer alive, either.

“Aren’t you considered an amateur too, Paul?” You mused, reclining back upon your hands, letting yourself sink into the soft, white sand. As you glanced down toward your lap, Paul was staring at you for what felt like an eternity, and you couldn’t discern if it was out of offense or something else.

“You’re gorgeous,” Paul mumbled, tracing one of his ring-adorned digits over the expanse of your clothed stomach. “Lookin’ good enough to eat.” He mused, and while you would’ve initially brushed off that comment, he said it with a peculiar warmth.

Goosebumps erupted along the column of your spine, causing you to shift slightly. His finger didn’t stop moving, flicking around the ruffled cotton. He wished that it was your flesh — warm and soft, waiting to invite him in. You never took any of his flirtation to heart — in truth, it might’ve been his fault, but he wanted to make you see.

You belonged to him.

With a soft exhale, you attempted to mask your shudder of delight, absentmindedly nibbling along your lower lip. “Very original,” You uttered, twisting away from his touch as if it would incinerate you. It was all meaningless — mindless sweet nothings spoken from a very precocious individual. “You’re a genius.” You teased, voice becoming slightly sardonic.

“You are,” He insisted, comfortable within your plush lap. Your scent did little to ease his feelings, overwhelming him like a thick haze. “Baby, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages. Where’ve you been all my life?” Paul sighed, and he didn’t attempt to touch you again out of respect.

“Right,” You uttered, masking your growing agitation. Paul could have anyone he wanted — and he always did. Girls at the boardwalk swooned over him, they were always easy prey, and he indulged himself plenty of times. You were nothing more than a friend, you weren’t desirable, nor would he ever want you. “You’ve told me that before.”

Paul visibly deflated, withering away like a shriveling flower — you really weren’t convinced.

Unfortunately for Paul, you were blissfully oblivious to any of his advances, but then again, he could understand why you were skeptical. Flirtation was a natural instinct for him. While he kept his head in your lap, he shamelessly opted to rove through your thoughts. It was cheating, sure, but he was itching to know.

“Paul,” Dwayne’s voice cut through his state of contemplation, rousing the sandy-haired blonde from his stupor. Paul’s head lifted off of your lap, hastily sitting upright as he glanced up at the terrace. “We’re going for a ride.” He briefly nodded towards you as a form of greeting, swinging Laddie up onto his bike.

“You’re coming, right?” Paul asked, voice invigorated with a sense of giddiness and excitement. He got a little wild around you sometimes, but it wasn’t anything that you weren’t accustomed to by now. “Do I have to beg you or something?” He groaned, trapping you between his arms.

“You’re pathetic!” Marko snickered, jumping down to snatch you up. Even though he was the smallest of the pack, his strength was often unrivaled, save for Dwayne. You let out a startled gasp as Marko hoisted you up over his shoulder, heckling Paul in the process.

Paul bristled with anger — typically, he could excuse Marko’s antics, but not this time. A white-hot rage blistered through him, crawling across his flesh as he attempted to shake that gold away from his eyes. A snarl escaped him, and he made sure to grab your stuff as a courtesy, leaping up over the bannister.

By the time Paul had landed on the rickety wood of the boardwalk, Marko had placed you on solid ground, unable to bite back the impish smirk on his features. He was deliberately getting under Paul’s skin, and he knew it — knew all about his feelings for you, too. Perhaps that’s what made it all the more enjoyable.

Like a bat out of hell, Paul swarmed the curly-headed blonde with a vengeance, countenance contorted into a look of sheer irritation and borderline rage. “You’re dead, Marko!” He growled, lip curled in disdain.

“Sorry, Paul. You made it too easy,” Marko mused, narrowly missing a rather unsavory blow from Paul, who yanked at his jacket instead. “Jesus! Easy, I was only messing around!” He snapped, with the two bickering and locked in what was supposedly a heated argument.

“Paul,” You gently tugged on his coat, attempting to steer him away from potential violence. “It’s okay, he was just playing around.” A soft sigh escaped you as you played mediator for two vampires, brows knitting together as Paul stepped back with a huff of irritation.

“Enough.” David barked, glaring daggers as he glanced between Paul and Marko. The last thing that he wanted was for them to expose themselves on the boardwalk — it was bound to happen if they didn’t stop the horseplay. With a visible frown, he revved his motorbike, signaling for the others to fall in line.

Jealousy was an ugly thing — unpleasant, often festering inside of oneself until it rotted away at their very core. It didn’t suit Paul whatsoever. He suffered from a bout of such a potent disease, despising the way Marko had touched you, held you over his shoulder. He was usually open about sharing with his brothers, but not you — you were completely off-limits.

Wordlessly, Paul sulked towards his motorbike, sitting down with a begrudging huff. You felt inclined to follow, standing beside him with an empathetic expression. “Are you going to let me on? We’re still hanging out, remember?” You asked, voice softening an octave.

Paul felt a little better — but not completely. His ego was momentarily maimed by Marko’s antics, but it was a wound that would dissipate with time. Fortunately, you were a worthy cure as he moved forward, letting you on the back of his bike. “Saved your stuff, too.” He mused, feeling you squeeze your arms around his midsection.

“You’re my hero,” You chuckled, trying to make him feel less agitated. “Thanks.” With Paul recovering from the scuffle, David motioned for the rest of the conclave to follow, whipping his bike around onto the stretch of the boardwalk that led out onto the shoreline.

You remembered the first time Paul took you for a ride — and you very nearly had a heart attack. He drove as if it’d be his last day on earth, but you’d gotten so used to it that you stopped being a backseat driver and let him do whatever he wanted.

He was talkative and boisterous by-nature, which is why you became so concerned when he didn’t talk to you very much on the ride to the cave. Paul was normally extremely egregious and outgoing, something that you loved about him, but his bout of silence was making you nervous. You wondered if Marko had wounded his pride that badly.

As you pulled up to the cave, the boys hopped off of their motorbikes, and even Paul didn’t really wait up for you this time — something was wrong. Marko noticed, lingering at the fringes of the cavern as he glanced at you, promptly disappearing down the rocky incline. You were left to make your way inside alone, no Paul at your side or helping you down.

Once inside, you felt awkward, more than usual. Being the lone human in a nest full of vampires would always bring a little tension, but without Paul around, you felt hollow and unnerved. David regarded you with his typical stare — cynical and somewhat indifferent, and Dwayne was always solemn, much warmer than the other.

“Where did Paul go?” You asked, and it was Laddie who pointed you in the right direction, pointing toward one of the rocky tunnels that led off into their ‘rooms’, of sorts. You often referred to them as the metaphorical coffins, but Star found it to be in poor taste.

With a shaky exhale, you nodded. “Thanks.” You’d been in Paul’s ‘room’ plenty of times before, but he rarely disappeared and left you to fend for yourself. With the coordination of a baby deer who’d just learned how to take their first steps, you clamored up the uneven terrain, holding onto the rope to guide yourself up.

When you found Paul, he was lazily strumming on a guitar — the one he’d ‘found’. He had one leg kicked up, propped against the rock, the other tucked towards his chest as he played a few chords. The lack of acknowledgement sent off several red flags as you swept aside the makeshift ‘door’ — an old, velvet curtain repurposed from the hotel wreckage.

“Thanks for waiting on me,” You uttered, tone dripping with sarcasm, which captured his attention. He smelled you long before you’d entered, prompting him to turn his head, lion’s mane of hair disheveled and tousled from being pressed against a pillow. “You know, if I knew you were going to sulk around this whole time, I would’ve gone to the comic store instead.”

Paul scoffed, countenance twisting into a look of agitation, which was so unlike him. It shocked you to see him behave with such indifference, something that went against the grain of his character. “Maybe Marko can go with you.” He uttered, playing another melancholy chord on the guitar.

That’s what this was about?

“You’re not serious,” You quipped, folding your arms across your chest. “Is this about what happened at the beach? Paul, I’m not a mind-reader — I didn’t know Marko was going to do that.” He was beginning to really piss you off, which hadn’t happened yet.

For all of the meaningless flirting he’d done, the constant teasing and toying, you were vigilant. You’d tried to keep your chin up through it all. You couldn’t fathom why he was so upset about Marko’s harmless stunt — it was all playful. It was something Paul would’ve done, truth be told. Paul kept quiet, reading your mind as he surveyed your rageful inner monologue.

Instead, you were met with a wall of silence, and that made you frustrated. If Paul was going to behave like a child, you’d treat him like one. With a huff of annoyance, you waved your hand in dismissal. Your night was mostly ruined, but you figured you’d go home and try to get some sleep.

You gave him another chance to talk — it was quiet. “Fine. I’m going home, Paul.” You sighed, turning around as you prepared to make the climb back down. With a shrug of your shoulders, you barely passed through the curtain before something rustled behind you.

Just as you grabbed the rope, Paul was in front of you with inhuman speed, and he immediately snatched at your hips, dragging you away. You were protesting, interrogating him about what exactly was going on, but he persisted, locking you in his arms as he pushed you up against the wall.

“I don’t want Marko touching you,” He murmured, brows knitting together. “I want you all to myself.” You couldn’t tell if this was playful Paul trying to flirt with you again — his tone sounded so different. “You’re mine, baby.” Paul clicked his tongue, brazenly groping at your waist.

“Wh— What?” Disbelief seeped into your voice as you shook your head back and forth. “Are you fucking with me again?” Before you could get in another word, his mouth was devouring yours, vigorous and completely needy. Jesus, he tasted good — without pause, your hands flew to grab his hair in fistfuls.

A desperate whimper erupted from your mouth, buried and lost within his ravenous kiss. You needed to know what had gotten into him — why now? You began to yank on his hair in an attempt to get him to cease, and when he did, you appeared more agitated than happy. Paul normally didn’t get this reaction when he kissed someone.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” You huffed, gaze practically pleading with him as he held you close, inhaling another gust of your saccharine scent. “First you’re flirting, then you’re mad, and now this. What’s gotten into you?” With a pointed stare, Paul relented, but he didn’t move away from you.

“You don’t take my flirting seriously,” He countered, brows furrowing together. “You don’t want to? Fine, but I’m gonna make you see how bad I want you.” Paul murmured, voice husky and alluring enough to make your knees wobble. He licked his lower lip, one hand beginning to drift underneath your blouse.

This didn’t feel real — whenever you desperately tried to search for even an ounce of playfulness, there wasn’t any. Paul was completely serious about this, and it made you weak, warmth beginning to pool between your thighs as you nodded several times over. “Okay,” You breathed, itching for more. “Then don’t stop.”

“M’gonna fuck you,” Paul smirked, eyes unnaturally bright as they glistened in the dimly-lit alcove. “You mind if I eat you out, too?” He asked, matter-of-factly. His unruly tangle of dusty-blonde tresses were stiff with age-old product, making it somewhat coarse whenever you went to grab and pull on it.

Did you mind? Laughter bubbled within your chest as your lips parted, expression incredulous as you nodded several times over. “Whatever you want,” He was gorgeous — in that crazed and unhinged sort of way. Paul stared at you as if you were both a delicious slab of meat and the most beautiful thing he’d seen. “I want you.” You exhaled.

That was all it took for Paul to claw at your clothing as if it were nothing, fingers excitedly ruffling your blouse as he yanked it up, causing you to squeak. He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t care whatsoever. Those veined, dexterous hands ripped your blouse off of you, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

He was pushing you towards his bed, which was only really used for salacious activities, and nothing more. It was a colossal mess, the scent stale and reminded you of damp rock as he got you on your back, crawling on top of you with a devilish grin.

“Fuck, baby,” Paul sighed, slicing your brassiere off with a simple stroke of his fingers, flinging the tattered remains elsewhere. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body.” He murmured, lips sloppily trailing over your neck and collarbone as he rucked your skirt up towards your hips. Your mewls and whimpers were like music to his ears.

“Paul,” You groaned, hips rocking forward as you ground yourself against him, meeting his groin. His jean-clad erection pressed into your thigh, completely and utterly shameless. He kissed wherever he pleased, stopping to admire your breasts as they rose and fell with your excitable gasps.

Trapping a nipple within his mouth, he greedily sucked and nibbled at your swollen mound, intermingling such ministrations with eager strokes of his tongue. “Pretty tits, too.” He guffawed, playfully biting at your breast as you clutched onto his hair. “S’all mine.” Paul huffed, kneading into your pliant chest with his other hand.

A pang of arousal coursed throughout your body, striking right between your thighs. Warmth coalesced between your legs, manifesting as a stickiness that oozed from your cunt. Paul nearly growled at the smell, which was calling to him like a siren’s song. He was tempted to rip away and go right to the source, but he loved your chest just as much.

Suckling on your breast, Paul promptly provided such attention to the other, greedily biting at the soft, pliant flesh. The way you bucked and squirmed underneath him was all the more enticing, cerulean hues fluttering toward your blissed-out countenance. You tugged on his hair, causing him to let out a satisfied hiss.

“Could stay here forever,” Paul mused, pressing messy kisses atop your perky tits, and he seemed to get a little ahead of himself in the moment. Kisses soon devolved into love-bites and sucking as he found a patch of skin between your breasts. He left a string of hickeys there, beyond content with his handiwork. “Perfect.”

“Jesus,” You groaned, a mess of moans and desperate, pathetic whimpers as you wrangled with his lion-like mane of hair. “You’re bad.” With a soft hiccup, you felt his hands knead into your hips, prepared to go elsewhere if you let him.

“I can be worse, baby.” Paul prompted, eyes swarming with that familiar golden glow, ringed with a red halo around the edge of his irises. He growled, capturing your mouth with his as he kissed you, ravenous and swift as he began to make out with you. He was between your legs, arms locked on either side of you.

With a wanton moan, your hands clamored from his tresses toward his coat, wanting him to shed a few layers, too. It was only fair. Paul complied, whipping his dark coat off with an excitable haste, peeling away the mesh shirt he wore underneath. Your palms splayed out across his broad shoulders, warm flesh melding with his icy temperature.

He was well-muscled, poised — he reminded you of a coiled jungle cat, prepared to pounce. You reveled in the smattering of hair peppered across his chiseled chest, leading toward the sandy-hued happy trail that slipped underneath his tattered white jeans. His teeth brazenly bit at your lower lip, blood oozing onto his tongue.

Between the clash of lips, tongue, and teeth, Paul shuddered, lapping up any pearl of crimson that he could, hands tearing your skirt asunder. The unfortunate remains of fabric were yanked away as he let it fall to the floor, groping and kneading into you, wherever his hands took him.

You’d never been kissed like this — as if he threatened to steal every wisp of air from your lungs, hungering for you in every imaginable way. Your heart hammered against your collarbone, thrumming erratically as you hitched a leg around his hips, drawing him closer as he kept you locked in a barrage of kisses.

“Fuck,” Paul groaned, licking at your lower lip. “You smell so good, baby. I wanna taste,” He insisted, ring-adorned digits curling into the waistband of your panties. He wrestled them down until they were hitched around your knees, but he simply tore at them like the rest of your clothes. “Spread your legs for me.”

It was your turn to go sheepish on him, deliberately parting your legs at a sluggish pace. You weren’t sure as to why you’d become shy, but Paul didn’t seem to care, swiping at a tendril of drool that pooled at the corner of his mouth. Without missing a beat, his hand slipped between your legs, two digits swiping up along your wet cunt.

He gathered your slick, placing his fingers into his mouth with a satisfactory groan. The sight of him sucking your arousal away nearly made you melt. “Almost as good as your blood, sweet girl.” Paul chuckled, absentmindedly licking his lower lip as he settled onto the mattress, pressed flat atop the surface as he gathered your legs into each of his hands.

Paul slathered several kisses against your inner thighs, but he kept it short and sweet — he was here for one thing. You expected him to give you some sort of warning beforehand. “Paul, are you — O-Oh. Jesus Christ!” You squeaked, a strangled gasp escaping you as your back arched off of the mattress.

There was no pause or waiting — Paul’s impulsivity got the best of him. He was on you like a starving animal, desperate for anything he could get. His tongue pushed past your slick folds, silkily lapping over the length of your slit, savoring your taste. It was hot — you felt as if everything were set ablaze as a pleasant heat crawled across you, from head to toe.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching cunt, body electrified by his touch. Paul’s fingers greedily dug into your pliant thighs, tossing either of your legs over his freckled shoulders as he lapped at your sweet core. His actions were swift and fueled by lust, driven by instinct as he jerked you forward.

Your stomach churned with anticipation, bleeding heat from between your legs as your thighs squeezed at his head. You felt that immense mane of hair tickle your soft flesh, goosebumps erupting along your body. Paul grunted, face buried deep within your cunt as he ate you out, messy and sloppy as could be.

“M’not Jesus,” Paul slurred, grinning like a shark as he nipped at your leg. “You taste so good, baby.” He huffed, the words spoken through the husked voice of a ravenous vampire as he returned to lapping at your poor, needy slit. Each drop of nectar that you provided to him served to momentarily dull the ache within his throat.

You kept writhing and squirming, shamelessly bucking your hips forward. He pinned you down with one hand, head spinning as your scent wafted around him like an inescapable haze. “Paul!” You mewled, practically quivering like a leaf as your cunt pathetically clenched around nothing at all.

Paul was a good sport, able to flow with the constant jolting of your hips into his mouth. Though, it only served to fuel the fire as he continued to hastily drag his tongue along your cunt, slavering for your taste. You moaned, tapering off into a myriad of sweet whimpers as your hands relocated, reaching for his hair.

The cool metal of his rings left imprints behind atop your thighs, various patterns pressed into your flesh. You were aching, body feeling feverishly hot as you bucked into his face again, feeling him clamp down on you as he held you still. His mouth was divine — it was sloppy and full of an unrestrained need.

As your digits twined into his hair, you began to pull and tug, using his unruly tresses as an anchor. Paul didn’t care in the slightest — he found it unbelievably hot as you jerked and tugged, back arched into his ministrations. He only stopped to spit a wad of saliva onto your swollen slit, body shaking with sly laughter when you gasped.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready for me.” Paul teased, but it was under false pretenses — he just wanted to spit on your cunt. He didn’t hesitate, diving back in for more, assaulting your clit with a barrage of kitten-licks and gentle suckling, enough for you to sputter.

With every movement you made, Paul would simply coax you back onto his tongue with inhuman strength, lips pursing around your clit as he began to suck and toy with the sensitive bud. Your hand grappled with his coarse tresses, the other digging into his shoulder. Your nails sank into his flesh, and Paul didn’t care whatsoever.

Arousal pooled between your legs, leaving behind a sticky mess that he was all too eager to clean up. It was only when he began to use that tiny edge of teeth that you were soaring, choking on a whimper as it bubbled within the back of your throat.

Your body was screaming for release, orgasm beginning to mount and build as white-hot tension flew through you, consuming you like a tidal wave. Paul could sense it, burying himself in your pretty cunt as if it would be the last meal he’d ever have.

He switched between the eager, broad lapping of his tongue with sucking on your clit, making you claw at his shoulder blade. One hand repositioned itself, splayed out across your pelvis as his thumb slipped to the hood of your cunt, playing with your clit as the rest of his mouth lapped elsewhere.

“Paul, Paul,” Paul. It was the only word that rolled from your tongue, doing very little to mask the sound of your pleasure. With a wanton moan, you felt that hot coil of tension within your stomach begin to unfurl as you steadily reached your climax. You were suffocating him between your legs — conveniently, he didn’t need to breathe. “Fuck, Paul! M’close!”

“Cum for me,” His encouragement was all that you needed, that little push forward as he backed off, peppering kisses against your clit as you came. It was blinding, and you swore you saw stars. “That’s it,” Paul crooned, moving to clean you up. “Atta girl, baby.” He did very little to mask his eagerness in lapping up the remnants of your orgasm.

He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, kissing his way up your body until his mouth connected with yours. You could taste yourself and the somewhat bitter twang of copper within his saliva as you let your tongue slip into his mouth. Paul groaned, grabbing at your haunches as he moved to lay beside you.

“Are you tired?” You mused, your own chest heaving with exhilarated sighs as Paul effortlessly wrangled you closer, eyes glittering with desire. You were wrong to ask that question as he raised his eyebrows.

“What kinda question is that, baby? You’re getting on top,” Paul smirked, gesturing toward his lap. His erection was practically itching for release, straining against the front of his white jeans. “You’re going for a ride.” He purred, snatching at your hips as he hoisted you on top of his lap, letting you get comfortable.

Paul lounged against the mountain of pillows beneath him, hands splayed out atop your waist. You savored the sensation of his rings biting into your flesh, and you immediately scrambled to unzip his pants, wrestling with his belt as you freed his cock. His hardened length fell against your stomach, tip oozing with a bead of precum.

You shivered, gazing down at your vampiric paramour, who stared at you with those vibrant, cerulean hues — as clear as a summer’s day. Paul tilted forward, lips reaching for yours as he planted a rather lazy, messy kiss against your mouth. “M’ready.” You murmured, feeling him lift you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

With bated breath, you felt your insides turn to mush, reigniting the spark of lust as Paul let you sink onto his cock. A fire burned bright within your belly, demanding to be extinguished as Paul’s head fell back slightly, letting out a series of groans and softer grunts. “Fuck,” He growled, feeling your palms rest against his abdomen. “You’re so fucking tight, babe.”

Liquid heat festered within the pit of your stomach as you gasped, cunt clenching around his cock as you adjusted yourself. “Paul!” You moaned, attempting to stifle the many noises you made with the back of your palm, but he quickly swatted your hand away. He was bigger than you thought he’d be — a pleasant surprise.

“Wanna hear you scream my name.” Paul huffed, rubbing circles into your hips as he began to move you. Superhuman strength and stamina certainly had roles to play in this as he guided you up and down in short, rhythmic movements. You liked that he manhandled you a little bit, one hand on your waist as the other grabbed at your chest.

A simpering moan left you as he guided you up his cock, stopping halfway before easing you back down again. Lewd noises reverberated throughout the alcove, accompanied by your sweet whimpers and his grunts and groans. You were barely given time to get used to his pattern before he was bucking up into you with the indomitable strength of a god.

There was no opportunity for you to catch your breath, watching as Paul snatched your wrists, redirecting them towards his pretty neck. That surprised you, but you didn’t protest, feeling the taut muscle tense underneath your palms, jugular bobbing as you began to squeeze.

He moaned.

Unable to bite back the smile that stretched across your features, you held onto his neck, digits flexing and tensing as you continued to apply pressure. Paul’s head fell backwards just a little bit, steadying you with one hand as he fucked into you at an erratic pace. Flesh clashed against flesh, causing you to whimper as you rolled up and down along his cock.

“You like that?” You whispered through a string of blissful whines, gaze bright with desire as he nodded several times over. “Your cock feels so good, Paul.” You huffed, teeth snagging across your lower lip as you began to let your thumbs trace along his perfect jawline. His weeks-old stubble scratched at your silken flesh.

“Little harder, girl,” Paul encouraged, wanting you to really wrangle his throat. He didn’t need to breathe anyway — that made it all the more enjoyable. He savored your hesitation — his sweet little human, afraid of harming the big, bad vampire. He smirked, lifting his eyebrows. “C’mon baby, squeeze.”

Fuck — he was going to be the death of you. Your cunt clenched and throbbed around his cock, with Paul continuing to jackhammer into you like a wild animal. Grunts and excitable groans left him in droves, rippling through his chest as you squeezed at his throat. The muscles were thick and tense underneath your small palms, slick with perspiration.

Your flesh felt dewy, especially within the oppressive heat of the cave. Paul was unstoppable, a force of nature as his hips continued to buck up, cock slamming into your poor, tight cunt. He wasn’t gentle, and he showed no signs of stopping. Delivering a sharp smack to your ass, he fillee you to the brim with his length, causing you to really grip his throat.

With a needy whimper, your eyes fluttered shut, lips parted in a state of ecstasy. “Paul,” You moaned, feeling his hand greedily knead into your chest, twisting your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The stimulation was intensified tenfold, making your brain go fuzzy as he fucked you into a stupor. “Holy shit!”

The alcove smelled of sex — sloppy rutting that was steadily devolving into a complete mess. Paul’s precum was slathered across your inner thighs, coupled with the slick remnants of your first orgasm and current state of arousal. He stopped his erratic thrusting, sitting up a little more with one hand on your hips.

Without warning, his mouth went straight to your chest again, lips attaching themselves around one of your swollen nipples. He was sucking, grabbing a handful of your ass as he led you up and down along his cock. The warmth of your flesh intermingled with his cool, icy skin, only serving to make you sweat.

“Touch me,” You whimpered, palms still clinging to either side of his throat, nails digging in toward the nape of his neck. The sex was incredible — you’d never been fucked like this before, but he had you chasing after every sensation. “Paul, please.” Heat crawled across your flesh, leaving you drunk with desire.

Paul playfully scraped his teeth across your breast, teasing your nipple. “M’touching you already, baby.” He mumbled, propping himself up with his other hand. A simpering groan escaped you as you rocked forward, taking one hand off of his throat to play with your clit.

An impish snarl left his mouth as he snatched at your wrist, and in one erratic movement, had you pinned down on your back. His cock throbbed inside of you, desperate for a release just as much as you were. Paul cackled, lips twitching into a sneer as he began to fuck you, enough for the foundation of the mattress to rattle underneath.

“That was bad,” Paul purred, fucking you down into the plush surface, nearly pulling his cock out of your slick cunt before slamming right back in, repeating the movement over and over again. Fortunately, he was feeling generous, slipping one hand between your bodies as he found the cleft between your thighs. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” He groaned.

You clutched onto him for dear life, body responding vehemently to Paul’s erratic thrusts and uneven, primal tempo. With a loud, wanton cry, your mouth clamored to find his lips, meeting in a rather noisy clash of teeth and tongue. He circled your clit with his thumb, rutting into you with a fervor.

“Paul!” You whined, locking a leg around his hips as your nails sank into his shoulders, leaving behind angry-red impressions, embedded within his flesh. Paul encouraged your scratching, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. A white-hot ecstasy consumed you whole, causing you to shudder and spasm.

“Can’t hear you, baby.” Paul teased, biting at your lower lip as he peppered kisses wherever he could — greedy, wet kisses that ended up being vibrantly-colored hickeys. Your flesh was his canvas as he marked you up wherever he pleased, hyperfocused on your chest again. “You close?” He huffed, fingers tearing into the sheets.

It was exhilarating — you swore you saw stars, perhaps more as he fucked you within an inch of your life. You didn’t want him to be careful. You didn’t want him to treat you like glass — you wanted to belong to him. “M’close,” Another string of sweet, noisy moans escaped you as Paul brazenly bit at your left breast, leaving behind a crescent-shaped mark. “Close.”

Rivulets of crimson trickled across your skin, prompting Paul to lick it all away, irises shifting from cerulean to a burnished gold. It made the sex more intense as he pounded away at your poor cunt, which had certainly been pushed to the limit. He was becoming a little squirrelly, panting and growling into your ear.

Paul kissed you to distract himself from the temptation of feeding, lost within the saccharine bliss of your mouth as he felt you cum around his cock. “Yeah, baby. Go ‘head and cum for me, just like that.” He mumbled against your mouth, tongue lazily sweeping across your lower lip as he tensed and thrust forward.

He came right afterwards, reveling in the sight of you trembling and quivering, juices coating his length as he pulled out halfway through. It was messy and rather disgusting, but you didn’t care. Ropes of hot, white seed painted your stomach and breasts, which was some sort of fantasy for him.

You sighed, barely able to string a sentence together as you fell back against the mattress, coated in perspiration and his cum. “Jesus.” You uttered, pressing a palm over your face as Paul rolled over to lay next to you. Your legs twitched and spasmed as you came down from your climax, feeling something soft fall across your abdomen.

It was a rather unappealing-looking towel that seemed much too ancient, and you wondered how many times this had been used to clean up his mess. With a huff of laughter, you cleaned yourself up, feeling his arms tangle around you, urging you to come back to him.

“Makes you wish you’d taken me seriously sooner, huh?” Paul mumbled, nibbling along the shell of your ear. You couldn’t help but feel smitten afterwards, twisting over until you faced your vampiric paramour, who had the expression of the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mused, holding his face between your palms. “You’re gorgeous, too.” A peculiar softness crept into your voice, prompting Paul to shower you in a cascade of needy kisses. He liked to be close, which you didn’t necessarily mind, despite the newfound scent of post-sex that permeated the alcove.

“I’m all yours, baby.” Paul smirked, shamelessly staring at your breasts without an ounce of subtlety. You couldn’t read his thoughts, but you suspected that he had something particular in-mind. “You’re in for a long night.” He purred, and before you could open your mouth to speak, he was crawling on top of you.

You would have to thank Marko later.

[lewmagoo]

i love that man like nobody can | rhett abbott

part of the million dollar man universe. i strongly encourage you to read the two previous parts before reading this one

description: in which a silver haired cowboy is forced to face ghosts from his past, but learns he doesn’t have to face them alone

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

w/c: 17,242

warnings: 18+ only, set during christmastime but not really holiday centric, age gap (reader 20s, rhett 40s), mentions of cheating and toxic past relationships, encounters with a certain ex-wife, smut, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, squirting, unprotected p in v sex, dom/sub themes, daddy kink, overstimulation, subspace, creampie

notes: i meant to have this up before christmas, but life got in the way. i'm very proud of how this turned out, though! don't be thrown off by the description. this fic has some drama but its main focus is the first time darlin' calls rhett daddy

It was finally December, and winter had officially wrapped Wyoming’s sprawling plains in its frosty embrace. 

The sky was clear for the first time since the significant snowfall that had taken place earlier that week. The moon and stars twinkled against a backdrop of black velvet up above, casting their light upon the blanket of white that covered the earth. 

It looked like diamonds.

Surrounded by the sparkling earth was a spacious, yet cozy, cabin, set upon a sprawling plot of land. And inside that cabin, one silver haired cowboy stood by the window, admiring the picturesque landscape that encompassed his home.

He couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. In just three short years, his life had changed so much. Now, here he was, engulfed in the warmth of his home, admiring the Currier and Ives-esque view from his window, his heart filled with joy. 

That joy had been brought into his life in the form of one very special person. The one he lovingly referred to as his little darlin’. 

“I’m ready!”

Speak of the angel. 

Rhett turned from the bedroom window, hand idly fiddling with the small steer skull cuff links on his black dress shirt. When he saw you, his eyes seemed to sparkle like the snow he’d just been admiring. 

He could hardly find the breath to speak. “Oh, darlin’. You look incredible.” He was surprised he was able to get the words out. 

Shyly, you ducked your head. “Thank you.” 

He crossed the room, reaching you in two long strides. “I mean it.” Then he reached for your hand and lifted it above your head. “C’mon, twirl for me. Wan’ see everythin’.”

Giggling softly, you allowed him to spin you, and he let out a hum of delight. “Just look atcha. How’d I get so lucky?”

As he slowed you to a stop, you brought your hands up to rest upon his chest. Solid, rising and falling beneath your touch. His heart was beating fast, thrumming against his rib cage. Though his expression bore no sign of it, you knew how nervous he was for tonight. 

A night in which he would receive a very special honor. But Rhett loathed being the center of attention, and he felt undeserving of this honor. He’d much rather enjoy a quiet night in with you than go to an event, and certainly not one that put all eyes on him. 

“Hey,” you spoke, tone gentle. “Don’t get into your head about it. You deserve this award.” 

He sighed softly, lashes fluttering. “I dunno know about that.” 

“You do.” Your hands cupped his freshly shaven cheeks. “It’s a testament to all the hard work you’ve put in.” 

He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against yours. “At least I’ll have you there with me. Makes me feel a little better knowin’ I ain’t alone.”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. “You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He pulled you back in, initiating another kiss, this one deeper. You found yourself melting into him, warm and safe and secure. He was your safe haven. He made all the noise in your head go quiet. 

Mouth against yours, he spoke, “I love you, darlin’.” Breathless. Chest heaving slightly. 

“I love you more.”

He leaned back slightly, bottom lip caught between his teeth,. His gaze flickered behind you momentarily before he slowly turned you, so that you were facing the full length mirror on the wall. 

“Look at m’beautiful, smart gal. Always know just what to say to make me feel better.” His face bore a look of glowing adoration. 

You could melt at his feet just from that look alone. “I mean every word. You’re a good man, Rhett Abbott.”

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, but I ain’t a good man.” Voice low. Rumbly. One large hand came to rest upon your clavicle, warm against your skin. 

How quickly things could change at the flip of a coin. His hand dropped lower, resting upon your chest, while his other arm snaked around your waist. He ran his nose along the side of your neck, breathing you in, and you shuddered. 

“Hope y’know the only thing gettin’ me through this night is knowin’ I get to take you home with me afterward and do whatever I want to ya.”

That made your knees go weak. 

He kissed the juncture where your neck met your shoulder, and then turned your chin so he could kiss your mouth. Just from that alone, you were dizzy. What an effect he had on you. 

“W-we should go,” you breathed, though you made no move to slip out of his embrace.

“Uh-huh.” His kisses trailed lower, down past your jaw and once again to your neck. He breathed you in, your scent intoxicating to him. God, if he could skip this event and take you to bed, he would. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as goosebumps prickled along your skin. “Rhett.”

“I know.” He turned you in his arms, hooking his fingers beneath your chin and tilting your head up so he could kiss once more, deeply, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Unable to resist, you parted your mouth and let him in, tasting mint on his tongue. 

Finally, he pulled away, pupils blown, breath rushed. “Now we can go.”

Dizzy, you watched him cross the room to grab his best hat off of one of the pegs on the closet door. As he placed the hat on his head, his look was complete. Black dress shirt, black trousers, black cowboy boots, the ones he only wore for special occasions. 

His tie was black too, but had understated gold embroidery along the edges. Complete with a tailored black suit jacket, he looked like a million dollar man. And he was all yours. 

He was wildly uncomfortable in his stiff, fancy outfit. Dressing up was his least favorite thing. He would much rather wear a pair of Wranglers and a button down flannel. However, he had to admit, your reaction to him all dressed up did make the discomfort worth it. 

“Look so handsome,” you gushed. “Now let’s get outta here before we end up being late.” Before I drop to my knees right here and suck your dick.

Together, you made your way out of the bedroom and down the hallway, with Rhett announcing he was going to go out and start the truck so it could warm up. He wouldn’t let you sit on a freezing leather seat if he could help it. Your comfort was always his priority, and that was something you loved so much about him. He took such good care of you in ways big and small. 

“Make sure y’ bundle up, windchill’s in the single digits,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled his own coat on.

“Yes, sir,” you replied.

He glanced at you as he stepped toward the door, brow raised. “Good girl.”

Oh.

Then he was stepping out of the house, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, head spinning slightly. You’d been with him for three years, married for one of those, and he still had that effect on you.

God, how were you going to survive tonight, watching him walk around dressed like that, the most important man at the event?

Rhett had been presented the honor of receiving Rancher of the Year by the Wyoming Stock Growers Association. He would be presented with a plaque and a gift from the association, and his name would be displayed in the great hall in the Cheyenne Chamber of Commerce. 

You couldn’t be more proud of him. He had been through so much, and had worked so hard. This ranch had been built from the ground up by his own hands, and his blood and sweat was imbrued into its soil.

When you met him, he was already successful and well-established. But there had once been a time when he had nothing, and found himself at rock bottom. His marriage had fallen apart, his wife had betrayed him in the most heinous of ways, and he was on a destructive path that would lead to his own demise if he didn’t pick himself up off the pavement soon enough.

Over a period of several months, he had been careless, throwing himself into bull riding, and because he was so distracted, he had suffered a plethora of injuries. It almost seemed as if he had a death with. But after one too many blows to the head, dislocated shoulders, and broken ribs, it was either walk away from bull riding, or end up getting himself killed.

So he made the decision to lay his riding career to rest, and instead, turned to working with his hands, the one thing he felt that he was truly good at. He worked on a few local ranches, putting in the hours, stowing away as much money as he could. 

After a while, he was able to purchase the land you both lived on now. He started from scratch, and it took him quite a few years to get established. It wasn’t without its fair share of trials and frustrations, but Rhett appreciated the distraction, because if he wasn’t working, there was nothing to take his mind off the fact that he was well and truly alone. 

He tried so hard not to let it bother him. But he was deeply wounded from what he had been through, and although time soothed the ache, he was still filled with a sense of longing. He wanted to share his life with someone. This big, beautiful cabin felt so empty without someone to share it with.

After success came to him, he became one of the most well known ranchers in the state. It was certainly an adjustment after he had grown up on a ranch that his family barely scraped by on, but the financial security was a welcome change.

During this time, he considered putting himself out there and trying to find a romantic partner. There were plenty of women (and men) who were interested in him. He could take his pick of anyone he wanted, but after going on only a few dates, he realized that most of them were more interested in his money rather than him.

So he stopped looking. And the older he got, the more he grew convinced that he would never find anyone to spend the rest of his life with. And then he met you.

He had been enamored from the moment he walked into the diner you were working at. Something about you made his chest ache. Especially when he saw the way you were treated by your boss, and the patrons that came to the diner.

He was simply passing through your town. He had no intention of staying more than a few hours. Yet after he met you, he found himself unable to shake you from his mind. You were so beautiful. Not just your physicality, but your entire demeanor. 

After spending that night talking to you, he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again. So he got a motel room in the area, and proceeded to come into your diner for the next few nights. He saw how poorly you were treated by your boss and the other patrons. 

And as he got to know you over the next few days, he knew in his heart of hearts that he was meant to take you away from all of it. It was the most spontaneous decision he’d ever made, and perhaps it was slightly foolish to invite a woman he’d only just met to come live with him.

But he couldn’t live with himself knowing he could have done something, and didn’t. So he offered to give you a better life. To whisk you away from all the pain and mistreatment, . And to his surprise, you agreed.

He had no idea that you would soon become the love of his life. The missing piece to his puzzle. The best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Rhett changed your life. He treated you with kindness and understanding, provided anything and everything you could ever need, and made you feel safe. For the first time in your life, it seemed, your body was no longer in a constant state of fight or flight. You could finally rest.

Now, three years later, you were his wife, and you had never been more at peace. 

You were overjoyed that you could be part of Rhett’s life. He felt the same about you. Gone was the feeling of all consuming loneliness, replaced with a feeling of warmth and security. He had a purpose, and that purpose was you. After all the hardship he had endured, he welcomed this more relaxed time of his life. For his suffering, he had been rewarded with a tender hearted soul who loved him deeply. He wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

Now here you both were, all dressed up and ready for a night that was all about Rhett and his accomplishments. 

“Y’ready, darlin’?” His voice drew you out of the reverie you hadn’t realized you’d slipped into. Thankfully you’d had the sense to shove your feet into your snow boots and tug your coat on while you were reminiscing. 

“Yep!” You held your dress shoes in one hand, intending to change into them once you got to your destination. You weren’t about to trudge through ice and snow in your nicest shoes. 

“C’mere.” Rhett stopped you as you came to the door. He reached out, taking the time to button your coat for you. It brought a smile to your face, and warmth to your heart. 

Then he leaned in to kiss your nose. “There, that’s better.” He guided you out onto the porch, and closed the door behind you both. He’d already put ice melt down so the front steps and the walkway weren’t slippery, but just in case, he led you to the truck anyway, prepared to catch you if you slipped on a patch of ice he might’ve missed. 

Once you were safely seated in the warm cab, he came around to his side and climbed into the seat, letting out a sharp breath as he shivered. “It’s s’damn cold. My old, achin’ bones ain’t made for this weather.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re so ancient,” you teased, settling back once you had your seatbelt fastened.

“Baby, I’m pushin’ fifty. I damn near feel ancient,” came his grumble as he threw the gear into drive and began the trek down the long driveway.

“You don’t look a day over forty-eight.” His actual age.

“Ha-ha.” An exaggerated fake laugh, but you could tell by the twinkle in his eyes that he truly was amused.

You leaned across the console to kiss his cheek, and he smiled, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. 

As comfortable silence settled between you both, you took it upon yourself to turn the radio on, fiddling with the dial until it landed on a holiday music station.

Christmas was only a few short weeks away, and you were in a very festive spirit. It was your second Christmas as a married couple, and you were so eager to spend the holiday with him, and continue the traditions you had started the year before. 

You had restored Rhett’s love for the holiday season. What used to be a difficult time for him had turned into something magical, all because of you. 

His favorite thing was cozying up by the fire with you after a long day, with the Christmas tree lights twinkling in the background. It was heaven on earth. 

And now you were singing along softly to carols on the radio, and he couldn’t help but smile, reaching over to place his hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. You brought so much wonder to his life. 

Although he was anxious about receiving the award that night, he also felt a sense of calmness, brought in by your presence. You were always his saving grace. 

And as he embarked on the hour-long drive into Cheyenne, you traded easy conversation, taking the time to get his mind off his nerves for a little while. 

But all too soon, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Cheyenne Chamber of Commerce, and his heart quickened a little in his chest, muscles tensing. 

Why was he so damn nervous? It wasn’t that big of a deal. All he had to do was go up and accept the award, and say a few words of thanks. He’d done many more stressful things than that in his lifetime. 

“Hey.” Your voice drew him from his imminent spiral. He turned his head to look at you, and you offered a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine. I love you.” You kissed him sweetly. 

“Luh you too,” he hummed against your mouth. Then he killed the engine and moved to climb out of the truck. 

Breath puffing in clouds around his head, he quickly rounded the front of the vehicle and came to your door, which he opened and reached his hand out to guide you down to the parking lot. 

Hands intertwined, you walked toward the building, shoes crunching on stray pieces of melting salt. Even through your coat, the frigid wind managed to bite at you, sending shivers down your spine and pushing you to snuggle into Rhett’s side. 

He held you close until you got to the doors, which he stopped to open for you. You rushed inside, quick to wipe your boots on the entryway mat before you glanced around for a place to hang your coat. 

To your left was a small coat hallway, where you shrugged out of your outer layers and placed your boots neatly beneath the rack, stepping into your nicer shoes. 

When you turned back toward Rhett, he reached out, fingers wiggling, silently asking for physical contact. You slipped your hand into his palm, and he managed to give you a smile before you both walked out into the main lobby area. 

The place was decorated quite elegantly for christmas, with a large christmas tree in the middle of the room, and lighted garland framing all the windows. Soft music played over the speakers; classical versions of well-known Christmas carols. 

A good amount of people had already arrived. Other members of the Stockmen’s Association. Presidents, vice presidents, and representatives alike.

“There he is, the man of the hour!” A voice called out, and you both turned to see Leo Riesen, vice president of the Amelia county branch, approaching. He smiled widely and shook hands with Rhett, nodding his head toward you in greeting. 

“Hey there, Leo. Merry Christmas,” Rhett answered.

“How you feelin’ about the award?” The man asked, mirth lighting up his sharp green eyes.

“I’ve gotta be honest, I feel undeservin’ of it.”

Leo simply shook his head, scoffing good-naturedly. “Oh, quit bein’ humble. You of all people deserve it! Ain’t that right, Mrs. Abbott?” He turned to you, and you nodded without hesitation. 

“Oh yes! I might be a little biased, but if anyone deserves it, it’s him!” Came your eager reply as you reached over to squeeze Rhett’s bicep lovingly. 

“See?” Leo swiveled toward your husband again, flashing another thousand watt smile. “Your wife knows what she’s talkin’ about.”

And thus began a night of socializing. Rhett was not a fan of small talk, or social situations in general. He felt very out of his element, especially with so much attention focused on him. But you being by his side made it more bearable. 

Although he wasn’t the most comfortable in this environment, you certainly couldn’t tell. He was practically glowing, it seemed. Smile bright, eyes glimmering. He was approached by so many people, mostly members of the Stockmen’s Association, and he handled himself with grace and humility, though his cheeks were slightly pink from all the attention. 

You marveled even at yourself, because you remembered when you’d first begun attending events with Rhett. Your relationship was still so new, and you were not yet confident in who you were. 

You had faced scrutiny from some of the other ranchers’ wives. Luke Tillerson’s wife in particular has singled you out and claimed that you were merely a phase for Rhett. A way to soothe his loneliness. She insisted he was only interested in you because you were young, and he would soon grow tired of you. 

Back then, you had been so hurt by her words. You hadn’t possessed the guts to stand up to her and defend yourself and the man you loved. 

You’d come so far since then. Now, you were secure in yourself, and in your relationship with Rhett. After all, you were the one who made him believe in love again, after fifteen years of thinking he’d never experience it. 

You had the confidence to stand up for yourself, and for him, if need be. 

But you had no idea that you would, in fact, need to do so that night. 

Unsuspecting, you made the rounds, staying close to Rhett’s side, and putting your two cents into each conversation when necessary. Little by little, the room began to fill with guests. Other members of the association and their spouses, friends of Rhett, but most importantly, his mother.

When he saw her, his face lit up. “Hey, Momma. You made it!”

“Well of course I made it! Wouldn’t miss seein’ my boy get his award!” She exclaimed as she lovingly squeezed his hand. Cecilia was well into her seventies, but still just as spry (and stubborn) as ever. Rhett had purposely told her not to make the trip if she felt that the weather was too cold for her to go out in, but she had insisted she would be in attendance, weather be damned.

“Hi there, honey,” she turned to you, her smile wide, as she reached out to pull you in for a hug. “It’s good to see ya.”

“You too,” came your reply, returning her embrace. You were grateful to have a mother-in-law like her. Over the time you’d known her, you’d grown quite fond of her. She had told you many times that she was so glad that her Rhett had found love again. It meant so much to her that you made him so happy.

“Well, I s’pose I’ll take my seat. Talk to you both afterward,” Cecilia continued, excusing herself to the seating area, lined neatly with folding chairs.

“I’m so glad your mom could make it,” you told Rhett, smile playing at your lips. “She’s so proud of you.”

You were met with silence when he didn’t reply, and you turned, speaking his name. However, you noticed that he’d gone tense beside you, shoulders drawn toward his ears. 

His gaze was fixed on something, or someone, across the room.

It was the shock of long, dark hair that caught his attention. From where she stood, her back turned, he couldn’t see her face, but even so, he knew who it was.

After all these years.

Your voice drew him back to himself. “Rhett, honey, what’s the matter?” Gentle hand on his back. Grounding him. 

He took a breath, eyes still focused across the room. “I…” Before he could even offer an explanation, she turned, confirming what he already knew. 

The woman who’d betrayed him so long ago, forsaking the marriage vows she had made to him. Maria. 

She hadn’t seen him yet, it appeared, as she was still in the middle of the conversation. But surely, she knew he’d be here. What was she doing here at all? He had been to many events for the Association, and had never seen her at any of them. 

Beside Rhett, you followed his gaze, which landed upon a woman. Pretty, with dark hair cascading down her back. She appeared to be close to Rhett’s age. When you looked back at him, his face was stricken, as if he’d seen a ghost.

You’d never seen a picture of Maria. But judging by your husband’s reaction, you knew that this had to be her. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that’s her, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Rhett managed, mouth dry. 

Beside her stood Jackson Riggs, first vice president of the Stockmen’s Association. He looked up, and saw Rhett. A smile crossed Jackson’s face as he pointed to Rhett, and Maria’s attention shifted to him. She had an excellent poker face, but for a split second the discomfort in her eyes was clear.

Rhett had gone rigid as a board, watching as the pair approached. His chest was tight, and an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. He hadn’t spoken to her since their divorce had been finalized. That was sixteen years ago. He should have been over it by now. Seeing her again should not have this much of an effect on him.

Yet as she approached, his heart rate quickened. Unsure of what to do, you reached for Rhett’s arm, placing your hand against his bicep. A silent show of support. You were going to follow his lead, because you didn’t trust yourself not to go off on this woman.

It was jarring to see her for the first time. After all Rhett had told you about her, you had developed a deep disdain for the woman. You didn’t like to use the word hate, but that was exactly how you felt about her. 

He had given you the full story. Laid it out one night, early on in your relationship, as he sat on the living room floor with you. Told you how he’d come home after an out-of-town rodeo to find his wife in his bed with another man. And not just any man, but his own brother.

It had utterly destroyed him. Not only had that moment marked the end of his marriage, but it had irreparably damaged his relationship with his brother. You had seen the pain in his eyes when he recalled that incident. Even so many years later, it was still raw and real. 

Hearing that story had filled you with an all-encompassing anger. You didn’t understand how someone could be so cruel as to go behind the back of the person they loved. And with their sibling, no less. 

Seeing the cause of your husband’s pain sent pinpricks of rage through you. But you remained poised at his side, waiting to see how he’d react, and how the conversation would go. 

“Rhett Abbott!” Jackson spoke out, voice carrying. “Good to see you!”

Rhett cleared his throat, trying not to appear shaken. His lashes fluttered, and he cleared his throat, trying not to stare at Maria. “J-Jack. Uh, good t’see you too,” he managed to answer. Your grip on his bicep tightened slightly, letting him know you had him.

“Mrs. Abbott,” Jackson greeted, nodding toward you. Beside him, Maria’s eyes widened, but she quickly hid her surprise. Jackson stepped back slightly, motioning to the woman. “This here’s my wife, Maria.”

It took everything in you not to react.

Rhett tried to appear calm and collected, though he tugged slightly at his collar, as if to loosen it. How the hell was he supposed to react to the information he’d just been told? 

“Nice to meet you, Rhett,” Maria interjected, but the tightness in her smile showed no friendliness. 

You could no longer force your own smile. In fact, you were certain you were staring daggers at the woman now. Who did she think she was, acting as if she didn’t know Rhett? It was clear her husband had no idea about her connection to him. She hadn’t told him the truth.

A bitter taste filled your mouth. You realized you were biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood.

“You…you as well,” you heard Rhett say, but his voice echoed through your head, as if he was far away.

If Jackson noticed anything amiss, he didn’t acknowledge it. He simply continued talking, congratulating Rhett on his award. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at Maria. You could not believe her audacity. 

She seemed nervous under your intense gaze. As if she was afraid you’d say something. You wanted to so badly. But you also didn’t want to make a scene and add to Rhett’s stress, merely five minutes before he had to stand in front of everyone. 

So you held your tongue and made nice, for his sake. 

“Well, guess we’d better get to our seats. Nice seein’ ya,” Jackson finally said, ending the very brief conversation. He’d been droning on about something that you had not listened to a single word of. 

Maria seemed relieved to get out of the situation. 

At your side, Rhett let out an unsteady breath. For a moment, he was transported back to that night, when it all fell apart. How was it possible that it felt like it had happened only yesterday, but also like one hundred lifetimes had passed since then?

“Are you okay?” Your voice brought him from the precipice of a spiral. 

“I…I’m fine,” he answered. 

The ceremony was about to start. You could not discuss the situation the way you wanted to. That would come later. Instead, you reached up and gently turned his face toward you. “Hey.”

His eyes met yours, and he let out a soft breath. “I’m alright, darlin’. Promise. Just didn’t expect to see her here. I didn’t even know she was married to Riggs. I mean, what are the fuckin’ odds?” He was in disbelief, and he felt so out of sorts. Entirely unprepared to stand before everyone. At the same time, he hated that this had thrown him off so badly. He should have been able to shake it off. But he couldn’t.

There was so much more you wanted to say. But everyone was making their way to their seats, and the room was beginning to quiet down. Whatever you said would be heard, and once again, you didn’t want to cause a scene.

So, instead, you ducked forward to kiss him softly, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “She doesn’t get to ruin your night. You’ve worked too damn hard to let that happen. Go up and accept that award and show her that what she did to you didn’t stop you from becoming one of the most successful men in this state.”

He managed a grateful smile, nuzzling his nose against yours. There was no time to say anything else, as it was time to move to your seats. You intertwined your fingers with Rhett’s and the two of you made your way to the front row of chairs. Coincidentally, that placed him directly next to Maria, who was seated beside her husband.

How you were going to remain composed this entire time, you weren’t sure. You forced yourself to keep your gaze fixed forward and focused on what was happening on the small stage in front of you.

The night began with Winston Haynes, the president of the Stockmen’s Association, stepping up to the podium. He went through the preliminary introductions and recapped how the year had gone for the association. 

Your interest was piqued only when he spoke your husband’s name. “As you all know, every year, we honor a local rancher who is part of the association. This rancher is someone who shows great respect to the land. Someone who has an admirable work ethic, and loves his community.”

He paused, glancing out at the modest crowd, before continuing, reading off of his prepared notes. “Rhett Abbott was born and raised in Wabang, Wyoming. He grew up as a ranch kid, but didn’t establish his own ranch until a little later in life. Since then, he has built a very lucrative business, known as Abbott Ranch. Not only is he an excellent cattleman, but he’s also very involved in giving back to the community.”

Listening to him list Rhett’s achievements helped take your mind off of the woman currently sitting in your row. Instead, you found yourself welling with pride, and you gripped his hand again, allowing yourself to revel in the joy you felt for him.

“Tonight, we want to honor Rhett with the title of Rancher of the Year.”

Applause erupted across the room, with you clapping the loudest, beaming from ear to ear. Rhett ducked his head, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention, but he stood anyway, reaching the podium in a few easy strides.

Winston turned to him, wide smile on his face. In his hands was a plaque, etched with Rhett’s name. “Congratulations, Rhett. You, of all people, most definitely deserve this award.”

Rhett graciously accepted the plaque, shaking Winston’s hand. A photographer for the local newspaper instructed them to pose, just before Rhett stepped forward to speak into the microphone. 

“I can’t begin to say what an honor this is. Thank you for choosin’ me, I don’t feel worthy of it, but I’m thankful. Thanks to everyone who’s been in my corner since day one. Don’t think I would’ve started this ranchin’ business if it weren’t for everyone who came alongside me and helped make it happen.” Then his gaze shifted to you, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Most importantly, thank you to my wife, for believin’ in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

You pressed your hand to your heart, nodding at him, tears welling in your own eyes. “I love you,” you mouthed.

Once again, the room erupted into applause, and a moment later, Rhett stepped off the stage and made his way back to you. His shoulders fell slightly as he sat down, relieved that moment was finally done. But the stress was far from over, as you would soon find out.

Winston continued on his spiel, and then Jackson, the vice president, walked up to say a few words. Following him, a few other members of the association spoke, launching into agriculture jargon that you didn’t necessarily find interesting.

The program was actually quite brief, and it wasn’t long at all before it was time to move on to the second half of the night, which was a time of socializing, along with hors d’oeuvres and various assortments of Christmas desserts. 

As everyone stood from their seats, the room filled with the low murmur of voices. Snippets of conversations carried across the room as people made small talk. 

You found yourself tucked against Rhett’s side, ignoring the fact that Maria was still nearby, hoping that Jackson wouldn’t try to start another conversation with Rhett and involve his wife again. If you had to watch her continue to pretend she didn’t even know Rhett, you were certain you would go off on her.

Rhett’s mother came to bid him goodbye and express how proud she was of him. Several others who were members of the association stopped to congratulate him. And for a little while, it seemed that perhaps there would not be another encounter with Maria. You would be perfectly content if you didn’t have to put on a front and pretend to be nice to her for the rest of the night.

The anger you felt was an odd sort of feeling. You were not one for overt, public displays of emotion like that. But you had come a long way from the timid girl you used to be. In the beginning, Rhett had gone to bat for you. He’d defended you when you were mistreated in your workplace, after only knowing you for a few days. He came to your aid when Luke Tillerson’s wife had upset you. He’d stood up for you through it all. 

But now, you had come into your own. And while you still had a long way to go, you were nowhere near as insecure and frightened as you once had been. Rhett had built you up and helped you learn how to be sure of yourself. 

It was a wonder what being in a healthy, loving relationship could do for one’s self-esteem.

Your love for him ran deep. You were so grateful for all he’d done, and how he’d changed your life. In some ways it translated into this protectiveness toward him. After learning of all the pain he had endured, you would do everything in your power to ensure he did not suffer through it again. 

So when Jackson Riggs and his wife Maria approached Rhett once again that night, you raised your hackles. 

“Congratulations on the award,” Jackson praised your husband. “You’ve done a lot for the community. Y’should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks,” Rhett answered. He was less jarred than he’d been when he first saw Maria, but it was still surreal. 

You remained at his side, eyeing the woman, and you noticed something. She wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes kept flickering this way and that, focusing on everything else but Rhett. 

Something about that sent fire through you. And it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Why won’t you look at him?” 

An unfamiliar boldness washed over you. The edge to your tone surprised even yourself. 

Maria startled slightly, dark eyes widening. “E-excuse me?”

“Rhett. Why won’t you look at Rhett?”

She offered a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Darlin’, it’s okay,” Rhett eased. 

“No. It’s not okay.” You felt compelled to say your piece. “Look at him, Maria. Stop acting like you’ve never met him before.”

Beside her, Jackson looked confused as could be. “I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at here, Mrs. Abbott. My wife’s never met your husband before.” 

“With all due respect, she has.”

Maria blanched. “No, I-”

“Don’t. You don’t get to do that, not after what you did.”

Rhett made no move to stop you. In fact, he was very interested in what you had to say. 

“Please, let’s not do this here,” she tried to reason. She looked wildly uncomfortable. It only served to piss you off more. 

“You should have thought of that before you walked in here and acted like you’ve never met this man. You have a lot of nerve, you know that? Coming here tonight, knowing he was getting this award.”

“I didn’t know,” she defended. “Really, I didn’t. Not until a few days ago. Jack and I just got married last month and this is the first time I’ve been involved in one of these events.”

Jackson turned to his wife, eyes narrowed. “Will someone explain to me what the hell’s goin’ on?”

Maria clamped her mouth shut, as if unsure of what to say. 

You folded your arms across your chest. “Go ahead. Tell him how you betrayed Rhett.”

“I…” Her eyes grew tearful, and she shook her head. “That was so long ago. It shouldn’t matter.”

Shocked, you stared at her for a moment. 

“No, you don’t get to do that. Rhett might’ve moved on from what you did, but I didn’t. He told me everything. How you went behind his back. How you broke your vows and cheated on him with his fucking brother. And you want to come here and act like you don’t know him? Like he just simply forgot what you did to him?! No, that’s not gonna fly with me.” 

Jackson’s face was slack with shock. “Maria…is that true?”

You noticed she still refused to look at Rhett. She nodded her head, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks and ruin her makeup. “It’s true,” she whispered. “I-I know I should’ve told you. I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t tell him you’re sorry. He’s not the one you cheated on. Tell Rhett.” You stepped forward slightly. “Look at him, Maria. Look my husband in the eye and tell him you’re sorry for cheating on him with his brother.” You were so fucking angry. You wanted her to pay penance for what she’d done. For breaking Rhett’s heart and spirit. 

“I don’t—”

“You never did apologize.” Rhett spoke for the first time. Maria finally managed to look at him. “After everythin’. I never got so much as a “I’m sorry” outta your mouth. You blamed everyone else. First it was fuckin’ Perry’s fault. Then it was my fault, because, what, I wasn’t home enough? I was always off at the rodeo? As if that gave you the green light to fuck another man in our bed.”

“Jesus Christ, Mar.” Jackson was not handling the news well. 

“No matter how many times I was away from you, I never looked at other women. Not once. Because I knew you were waitin’ for me at home, and I’d never go behind your back like that.”

Maria was floundering. “That was fifteen years ago, Rhett.”

“Sixteen,” you corrected, tone sharp. “Coming up on seventeen, actually. You owe him an apology for everything you did. So give it to him, Maria. Apologize.”

Bottom lip quivering, she forced herself to speak again, knowing she could not talk her way out of this situation. “Fine,” she managed, regret clear on her face, “I’m sorry, Rhett. I-I was so wrong to do what I did. I’ve regretted it every day of my life since then.” 

The air between you went still. Quiet. 

Rhett’s shoulders sagged. 

You lifted your hand to rest it reassuringly against his back. Waiting for him to speak. To decide if he would accept her apology. It was his choice, not yours. 

“Thank you,” was all he managed, voice gravelly, full of unspoken emotion. There was no I forgive you. 

Jackson sighed, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation. “I should apologize, too. I promise you, I had no idea about any of this. I think I’ve been played for a fool,” It was clear he had much to discuss with his new bride. 

“I’d say you have,” you agreed. Then you looked at Maria again. “But maybe I should thank you, in a way. Because if he hadn’t left you, I never would have met him. I love this man the way he deserves. And I’ll defend him ‘til the day I die.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. In fact, you wondered if she was even truly sorry at all, or if she was simply sorry she got called out. Either way, she was speechless. 

“Again, I’m sorry. We’ve got a lot of things to discuss,” Jackson was the one who broke the tense silence, glancing ruefully at his wife. “I wish I would’ve known about this sooner. Could have saved us all a lot of embarrassment.”

“You didn’t know,” Rhett stated, “simple as that. But it’s over an’ done with now. If you’ll excuse us, m’ wife and I are gonna head home. Good luck figuring all your shit out. It ain’t my problem any longer.”

With that, he gently took hold of your arm, and guided you away from the dismayed couple. The small shock of adrenaline and boldness you’d felt when you went off on Maria was beginning to fade, and now you felt just a little embarrassed. But you did not regret sticking up for Rhett, not one bit. 

“I-I’m sorry, maybe I-” 

“We’ll talk about it outside,” Rhett told you as led you to the coatroom. 

You didn’t say anything more, focusing on getting your coat on and changing into your boots. You couldn’t read your husband’s expression. Was he upset with you for confronting his ex-wife? Had you embarrassed him? 

These thoughts plagued you as you sauntered out into the frigid night, and you worried that maybe you’d overstepped. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted you to say anything. Maybe he’d been content to just pretend he didn’t know Maria, as she’d done to him, and carry on as if everything was fine. 

As you walked to the truck, the silence drove you to speak again, because you simply could not take it any longer. 

“Rhett, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have— oh!”

In an instant, he grabbed you, swinging you around and pushing you (carefully) against the door of the truck, his hand at the back of your head to keep it from bumping the window. You gasped in shock, and barely had time to register what was happening before his mouth was on yours in a searing kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. 

Heat gathered in your belly, traveling through your extremities, down to your fingers and toes. Almost instantly, you relaxed, tension melting from your body in waves. 

When you parted, your breathing was labored, and your head was spinning. 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Rhett breathed, chest heaving slightly. His eyes were narrowed, lips parted. 

Still trying to gain your bearings, you said, “it wasn’t too much?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, darlin’. Maria needed to hear all that comin’ from someone who wasn’t me, and you were the best person for that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried that maybe I overstepped. I don’t ever want to embarrass you. Least of all tonight, of all nights.”

He leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Y’didn’t embarrass me one bit. I’m glad you said somethin’. I felt like a goddamn idiot, just starin’ at her. Kinda didn’t know what to say. You’d think, after all these years, I would’ve thought about what I might say to her if I saw her again. But then you took all the words right outta my mouth.”

“Well I just couldn’t get past the audacity of pretending she was meeting you for the first time. That made me so mad, I couldn’t hold my tongue anymore. After what she did, I wasn’t about to let her act like nothing even happened.” 

Rhett kissed you again before he spoke. “I’m so fuckin’ proud of you. Watchin’ you stand up for me…” he trailed off, his face only inches from yours, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Honey, you have no idea how sexy that was. I was watchin’ you the whole time, just amazed. You’re hot when you’re pissed.” He finished his words with a grin, though there was a huskiness to his voice.

Your heart fluttered within your chest, mouth going dry suddenly. “O-oh,” was all you managed, breathless. 

His expression grew desirous, and he ducked in nice and close, hands against the truck, bracketing either side of your head, caging you in. “You looked like one of them hissy, spittin’ little kittens.” Another kiss, this one deeper, more salacious. 

When his tongue swiped against your bottom lip, you opened your mouth, allowing him access. Your knees went weak, and you whimpered into the kiss. 

Reluctantly, he broke away, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Here’s what’s gon’ happen, darlin’,” he drawled. You had to process his words for a moment, your head fuzzy. “I’m gonna take you home. Then I’m gonna get you outta this pretty little outfit and make love to your cute body all night long. You deserve a reward for bein’ so good to me.”

You whined softly, nodding your head. It was as if your ability to speak had left you completely. That was the effect Rhett had on you. It was a wonder how you could go from angrily telling off Maria, to melting under your husband’s touch no more than ten minutes later. 

“Let’s go home.” He guided you into the truck, and once you were safely inside, he came around to his own side, and within seconds, he’d started the truck. Hurriedly, he turned on the heat, letting the interior warm up a bit before he pulled out of the parking lot, relieved to be leaving this stuffy event. 

As he turned onto the main road, you leaned over the console, head resting upon his shoulder. If you were being truthful, that whole altercation with Maria had zapped your energy. Funny how something like that could affect you so much. 

You’d been harboring that anger toward her for a while. And when you saw her, it boiled over like a kettle left on the stove for too long. 

But you did not regret the confrontation. Not one bit.

And now, you were the one that got to go home with Rhett, not her. You were going to end up naked in his bed that night. Not her. He was all yours. And always would be.

Perhaps, along with your anger, a fiery sense of possessiveness had washed over you. And maybe, just maybe, you had wanted to flaunt the fact that he was your man, and you loved him like no one else could. 

And as you reflected on that, you found yourself nuzzling closer to Rhett, mouthing at his neck, breathing in his scent. Spicy and earthy and slightly sweet, from both the cologne and the aftershave he wore. But then there was that underlying scent that he naturally possessed. An almost musky, manly scent that could only be described as Rhett. You swore you could get drunk off that scent.

He pervaded all your senses. All you could see, smell, hear, taste, feel, was him. And god, it drove you wild.

“Whoa there, darlin’. Be patient now, ya hear? We’ve still got a while before we’re home,” Rhett reasoned with you. You hadn’t realized you’d started trailing your hand along the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his cock, hidden by his well fitting trousers. 

He was certainly not opposed to messing around while driving, however, he wanted to get you home so he could truly take his time with you. He didn’t want a rushed hand job in the car, he wanted to worship you. 

But you whined softly, sucking on his neck, tongue soothing over the heated skin. “I wan’ you,” you mumbled, rather pitifully.

“I know. An’ you can have me. After we get home.” 

But you kept suckling at his pulse point, and your hand kept traveling higher, and you made the prettiest little sounds, your neediness driving you. You were testing him. Seeing if he’d stop you. 

He gasped softly when you gently grasped his dick through his pants, hips shifting slightly. But the hand that wasn’t on the wheel came to rest heavily upon your own, and in a quiet, stern voice, he said, “I told you to wait.”

There was something so commanding in the way he said it. It made you draw your hand away from him instantly. “Sorry.”

He lovingly squeezed your thigh to show you he wasn’t upset. “Just you wait ‘til I get you home, honey. Gonna lay you out and fuck you nice an’ proper, the way you deserve.”

You knew he would fulfill that promise. Your belly filled with butterflies as you pictured what was to come. As of late, you had been exploring some new things. Delving into kinks you had not tried before, yet found yourself interested in. 

Rhett was very good about taking things at a slow pace. He knew what he liked, and had already experimented with a lot of things over the years. For you, however, it was different. You had been much less experienced than he was when you met him. You had been with a few people, but had never truly been satisfied. 

No one had cared enough to take the time to learn every inch of your body, so they could bring you the most pleasure imaginable. No, Rhett was the only one who had done that. He was the only one who cherished your sexuality and submission. Who saw you as a person, rather than an object for his own pleasure.

And when he’d first brought you home to the ranch, his intent had not been to get you into his bed. In fact, he resisted sleeping with you at all for the first six months of living together, because he did not want to make you feel pressured, after all the negative experiences you had been through.

In fact, you were the one who had initiated sex in the beginning, because you wanted him so badly, and yearned to experience that intimate connection with him.

And oh, how much you had learned since then. You had been expanding your sexual escapades and trying new things. You let Rhett introduce you to the different desires and kinks he had, and you had become rather comfortable expressing your own needs and wants to him. He had worked with you on that. He knew how important communication was, and he was adamant that you were open with each other.

As of late, you had begun to delve into the realm of dominant and submissive roles. Naturally, Rhett was the dominant one when it came to sex. It was how you preferred it, and he assumed that role with ease. But you had only just begun to partake in more intense and involved scenes.

You had never known what true release could feel like until he guided you through one of those more drawn out scenes. It was the first time you had ever entered into that floaty, euphoric state known as subspace. There was something so raw and beautiful about that experience. 

And tonight, he planned to bring you there again.

When he finally pulled into the long driveway that led up to the house, you were squirming in anticipation. You knew that once you crossed over the threshold into your home, that you could turn your brain off, and give him full and complete control. No more worrying about stuffy rancher’s events or conniving ex-wives.

All you had to focus on was being his obedient little girl.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.” Rhett shut the truck off and then quickly climbed out into the chilly night, coming around to open your own door for you, large hand grasping your own to guide you down from the truck.

Together, you hurried up the porch steps, and Rhett swiftly unlocked the door, stepping aside for you to head into the inviting warmth of the house, with him following suit seconds later. He shut the door behind him, blindly reaching for the light switch beside the door, which soon bathed the entryway in soft light. 

Normally, the first thing you did after coming inside and getting settled, was head into the living room to turn the Christmas tree lights on. But right now, you were rather distracted. 

You could already feel yourself slipping into that more submissive headspace. Something that was a bit new for you, with your recent and more involved exploration of the dynamic. But you welcomed it like you might welcome a warm hug. 

It was new for Rhett, too, as he was just beginning to grow accustomed to your tells. He noticed that your eyes would go a little unfocused. Your posture would change. You would become more clingy. Not that he minded, of course. He loved watching that shift in your demeanor. It filled his chest with warm, protective vibes.

You had discussed these things extensively before you even started participating in this dynamic. Rhett made sure every base was covered, because he wanted this to be a good experience for you. He wanted you to feel safe and comfortable. And you, in turn, wanted that for him. 

It was all built on trust. You trusted each other implicitly. And there were safeguards in place, for both of you. 

You were still learning as you went. All your likes, dislikes, things you wanted to try, so on and so forth. The possibilities were endless, it felt like. But there was one thing you were still uncertain of. And that was how to address him.

Oftentimes, you found yourself calling him Sir during these scenes. Yet it didn’t feel quite right. It didn’t roll off the tongue. Didn’t suit him. In your mind, you knew of the perfect title. The name that encapsulated everything he was. A title that was not only rooted in kink, but also in trust and reverence. 

But you hadn’t spoken the name yet. Despite all you had done together up to this point. How deep into subspace he’d coaxed you. That title? Daddy. 

Perhaps it was partly because there was a little part of you that was embarrassed. Shy. Despite the fact that you had no reason to be. But you had not discussed the title with him yet. You hadn’t found the right time to bring it up. And yet, it was always on the tip of your tongue when participating in kink settings. One day, you would slip up and say it, you were sure of it. 

How would he react? Would he tell you not to use the name? Or would he revel in it, and encourage you to use it again and again? 

You would soon find out. 

“C’mere.” His voice, velvety and deep, was suddenly in your ear. You were brought back to the present as he knelt down before you, gaze earnest. “Up.” He lifted your leg, carefully tugging your boot off your foot. Then, he did the same for the other one, leaving you standing in your stocking clad feet, staring down at him.

That quiet act of dominance made your brain go a bit haywire.

Then he rose to his full height and eased your coat from your body, taking the time to hang it in the hall closet before he turned back to you. At some point, he’d already removed his own boots and coat. Huh. You must’ve been daydreaming when he did that, as you had no recollection of it happening. 

Then he was crowding your space, solid and steady against you, hands moving to rest upon your hips. “Look at me.”

Your gaze flickered to him. 

“I wan’ take care of you tonight. Show you how proud I am, how much I love ya.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Be a good girl and go up and get ready for me. Clothes off. Make sure you’re on your knees.”

You replied affirmatively. Or rather, you tried to, but your mouth was loose around the word, and your head felt as if it was filled with cotton. Somehow, you managed to verbalize your answer in the end. “Yes sir.”

You turned, and on unsteady legs, you made your way to the staircase. Rhett watched you ascend the steps, and while you went up to ready yourself for him, he took a moment to get into the right headspace.

He took his role very seriously. Your submission was precious to him. A sacred, priceless gift that he deeply cherished. Seeing you embrace that part of yourself was one of the most beautiful things he had ever had the privilege of witnessing. 

He had to enter into the proper headspace to be able to handle that gift in the way that you deserved.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. He pictured you, so obediently doing what he’d instructed. Removing your clothes. Lowering yourself to your knees, ready and waiting for him. So perfect. All his. 

He rolled his neck, releasing the tension in his shoulders. Letting the day’s stressors melt away. Pushing it all aside. Now, it was time to focus on you. 

He let a few moments pass, giving you adequate time to prepare. Then, he climbed the stairs, passing through the hallway until he reached the end, where your shared bedroom was. As he crossed the threshold, he was pleased to find you waiting for him, kneeling at the foot of the bed. 

The sight took his breath away. 

You lifted your head as he walked in, eyes following his movements. Silent, waiting for him to take the lead. You watched him as he crossed the room. He took his time, shrugging out of his jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling up the sleeves. 

All the while, you remained on the floor, naked.

He stepped toward you, appraising you. His hand came down to cup your cheek, and you immediately melted into his touch, body going lax, eyes fluttering shut. Giving yourself to him. 

“Look at you. M’ perfect little darlin’.”

Your heart sang at his praise. 

Hand still against your cheek, his thumb traced over your bottom lip. Wordlessly, you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around the digit, holding eye contact with him as you did so. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Oh, how eager you were. 

“What do you say if you want me to stop?” He asked. 

You pulled off of his thumb to answer with your safeword. “Appaloosa.” 

He hummed, satisfied with your answer, fingers lovingly stroking your cheek. Here, you were level with his crotch, and you found yourself reaching up, pawing at him through the fabric of his pants. 

For a moment, he watched you, enamored. His breath caught in his chest when you leaned forward, rubbing your cheek against him. 

“Can I play with it?” You so sweetly asked. 

It took him a moment to find his words. “‘Course you can.” He made quick work of unbuckling his belt, followed by the button and zipper of the pants. He pushed the fabric, along with his underwear, aside, before he freed his hardening cock. 

“This what you want? Hm?” Gripping the base in his large hand. 

Your mouth watered at the sight. He was so deliciously thick. 

Eagerly, you leaned forward, gently taking hold of him, feeling it grow harder in your palm. You offered a tentative lick to the very tip before you wrapped your lips around it, humming in delight. 

Rhett gazed down at you, in awe of your reverence. Your mouth felt so good around him, and the sounds you made as you took him further, little gums of delight, made him shiver. 

“Fuck, honey. Y’got no idea how good that wet li’l mouth feels on me,” he murmured as you inched your way down. You pulled back to swirl your tongue up and down his shaft, and he grunted, hips jolting slightly. “Yeah, fuckin’ worship it, show me how much you love it.”

"I love it,” you gasped, mouthing at him, hand still stroking. “So big, makes me so…” You trailed off as you drooled all over him, in a world of delight. 

"I know it. Makes you soakin’ wet, don’t it? If I let y’keep this up, that cunt of yours is gonna start dribblin’ all over the damn floor, ain’t that right?” He was well aware how needy you got when sucking him off. 

“Mhm.” You took him in your mouth again, inching down, down, down. He was fully hard now, and you had to widen your jaw further to accommodate him. 

He placed his hand on the back of your head, not pushing, but gently guiding. You were determined to take all of him, and he wasn’t going to stop you, but he was going to monitor you to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself to take more than you were ready for. 

He always liked to ease you into it, no matter how many times you’d done this, because he was hyper aware of your comfort, and would never push you further than you could handle. 

But you wanted all of it, and moments later, you found yourself with your nose pressed against his pubic bone, against the gathering of coarse, neatly kept hair. You swallowed around him, and he hissed, head falling back and eyes fluttering shut. 

“Christ.”

You wished you could stay that way longer, just from his reaction alone. Oh, how you loved to pleasure him. But you had your limits, and you soon had to pull back to breathe. 

As you did so, however, you brought your hand up to wrap around him, stroking his spit slick shaft, kissing along the side, humming at the taste of him.

“I love your cock,” you confessed, sounding entirely drunk already. What an effect he had on you. 

Rhett grunted softly, reaching out to run his knuckles over your cheek. You were so good for him. So willing to please.

You took him down your throat once again, relishing in the way your mouth stretched around him, how it was almost difficult to take him, but not so much so that it was painful. You felt like such a cock drunk whore, but how could you resist him when he made the most salacious sounds as your throat constricted around him?

It filled you with pride to know you were the one who elicited those sounds from him. The heat of possessiveness bloomed in your chest, and as you pulled off him to catch your breath again, you vocalized it. “Mine,” you murmured against him, kissing along the underside of his shaft. 

You heard him hum deep within his chest. “Oh, honey. You feelin’ possessive, huh?” He cooed. 

“Uh-huh. Mine, all mine.”

“Y’got that right. S’all yours.” It came out as a growl, and it made you whine softly, vibrating with need.

You were so fucking turned on, shivers ran through your body. You shifted, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief. You could feel your own arousal, slick between your legs. Rhett watched you, and the way you were rutting your hips against the air, and he groaned lowly. He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to take you right then and there.

“C’mere.” He hauled you up, gently shushing your whine of protest. “I ain’t finishing down your throat, as much as I want to. When I come, it’s gonna be inside this pretty pussy.” His hand trailed down the front of your body until his fingers met the place where you needed him most.

His mouth curved into a delighted smile, the blue of his eyes darkening with desire. “Darlin’, you’re soaked.” He teased you with a featherlight touch, gathering your slick on his middle and ring fingers. Your knees almost buckled as he brushed over your sensitive little bundle.

Then he was lifting his hand and examining the sticky sheen of your arousal on his fingertips. “All this just from suckin’ my dick for a few minutes, huh?” 

You simply nodded in agreement, unable to speak. You burned with need for him, to the point where it clouded your brain, and you could not find it in yourself to be even a little embarrassed at your desperation. He loved that you didn’t try to hold back. He had always encouraged you to be confident in your desires, and he was so pleased that you were.

“Get on the bed for me.”

You complied, turning to climb onto the plush king-size bed. As you settled, you watched him unbutton his shirt, shrugging out of it and carelessly dropping it on the floor. His pants and underwear were pulled the rest of the way down his legs, and soon, he was just as bare as you were, cock bobbing heavily as he stepped toward you.

He was breathtaking. Naked as the day he was born, body decorated with both tattoos and scars from his youth. Markings that each held a special origin story. All of which he’d told you during the countless nights you lay in bed with him, tracing the scars and ink.

You were still riddled with disbelief over the fact that he was yours. This strong, determined, loving, gentle, beautiful man had pledged himself to you, ‘til death did you part. Oh, how lucky you were. 

“Look at me.” His voice, low and smooth as velvet, swirled around you like the heady smoke from the hand carved pipe he liked to puff on every evening. 

Your eyes flickered up to his. A gaze so intense you feared you might disintegrate beneath it. He climbed onto the bed, maneuvering his body over your own, straddling you, cock brushing against your abdomen as he moved. 

He was so big above you. You might even say imposing, if you didn’t feel so safe and protected with him. He was broad. Deceptive strength hiding within the sinew of his being, from years of intense physical labor.

God, you wanted him to consume your every sense. Wanted him inside you, surrounding you, body warm and steady against yours, scent filling your nose, moans filling your ears. You wanted it so badly that you were growing impatient.

You looked down, and whimpered pathetically, wanting to be filled. Almost frantically, you began rutting your hips, trying to coax him to slip inside you. But he had other plans.

“Hey now,” Rhett drawled, “slow down there, little darlin’. Ain’t gotta rush.”

“But I–”

“You’ll get it, I promise. But let me take my time with y’ first, wanna enjoy my baby.”

He wanted to worship you the way you deserved. So he began his descent, kissing you languidly on the mouth, tongue delving past your lips, tasting you, relishing in the whine you let out. When he pulled back, your mouth was spit slick and your eyes had gone a little unfocused. 

With a delighted smile, he continued on down, kissing your chin, then trailing down the column of your throat, teeth lightly scraping at the skin, soothing over it with his tongue. God, he was addicted to the taste of you. 

“Could just eat you up,” he murmured against you. 

Your hands found their way to his hair as he went lower, kissing along your chest, down your abdomen, down, down, down until he reached your thighs. There, he settled, large hands gripping each of them as he kissed the delicate skin along the inside. 

He peppered little love bites there, and the sound of your breathy little gasps and moans was music to his ears. He loved your body. He loved making you feel good. And he always felt a swell of pride, knowing he was the only man who had this privilege.

There had been a few others before him, but you had confessed that they had no idea how to pleasure you. They hadn’t brought you to the heights of bliss that he had. They had been poor lovers, unconcerned with your own desires. Careless. 

He had shown you how good it could be. And now that you’d gotten a taste, you couldn’t get enough. Neither could he. Even though time had passed, he was still just as enamored with you, if not more so. 

“Gonna make you feel so good, honey,” he lulled, as his fingers carefully parted your glistening folds. “S’what you deserve.”

He gazed up at you through hooded eyes, gauging your reaction as he offered a tentative lick, tasting you, teasing you. You were breathtaking above him, body undulating in anticipation of what was to come, chest heaving. Even as you hands remained in his hair, fingers threaded through the silver locks, you showed no instinct to steer him, to force him to hurry, despite the fact that you did want instant gratification. He’d told you not to rush, and you would obey, just as you always did.

Murmuring soft praises, he lowered his eager mouth slowly into the honeyed warmth between your thighs. And oh, how messy you were, dripping down his chin as he licked into you, savoring in the heady taste. His hands held fast at your thighs, forcing them wider apart.

Let me in, pretty thing. My sweet baby.

Jus’ relax, yeah? Lemme eat this pussy for a while.

You obeyed his commands, which were muffled against your cunt, letting him devour you as he saw fit. You let out the sweetest little squeak of delight, and he couldn’t help but smile against you, wanting to draw more of those sounds out of you. So unashamed of your pleasure, wanting him to know how good he was making you feel. 

He buried his face even further between your legs, mouth lapping at your wet folds, intoxicated with the taste of you, uncaring if he came away with his mouth soaked. That was what he wanted, after all. The messier, the better.

You shivered, squeezing your eyes shut as you lost yourself to the feeling of his mouth against you. He noisily slurped at you, humming in satisfaction. As always, he got just as much pleasure out of this as you did.

When you lifted your head to gaze down at him, he locked eyes with you, and finally wrapped his lips around your neglected bud, sucking firmly, listening to you cry out his name, growling when your fingers tugged at his hair.

Your back arched off the bed, body engulfed in the throes of warm bliss, fizzing through your bloodstream. 

Eager to hear you call his name again, he flattened his tongue against your clit, his eyes fixed on the way your head rolled back, chest jutting out, heaving in time with your labored breaths. 

Yes, right there, don’t stop.

He sucked on your clit until your legs began to tremble around his head, muscles involuntarily twitching as you lost control of some of your motor functions, brain clouded with desire, experiencing a sensation that was out of body, not of this world. 

If he kept going, you knew you’d quickly fall apart. But as you began to grind against his face, he pulled back away, burying his nose against the apex of your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, a sharp contrast to the pleasure you had just been feeling.

The way you sobbed into the open air made him shiver, driving him to continue, determined to draw that beautiful sound from you again. 

He soon brought his fingers into the mix, teasing you with them, dipping them inside you, groaning softly at the feeling of your velvety walls, which would soon be clasped around his cock. 

But first, he had a different idea. 

You deserved as many orgasms as you could handle, after what you’d done tonight. And he was determined to give them to you. Starting with one on his tongue. 

So he dove back in, fingers still inside you as he began to swirl his pink tongue around you. You kept one hand in his hair, but the other flew out to the side, gripping at the quilt beneath you.

You were losing yourself, he could tell. Gone was your restraint, replaced with unabashed moans and whimpers, growing all the more desperate for release as time went on. He loved when your reservations went out the window. When you let yourself succumb to that sexual energy thrumming through your body. 

As you trembled above him, he hastened his ministrations, free hand pressing against your lower abdomen, anchoring you, palm warm and familiar against your skin. 

“Give it to me, honey,” he pleaded against you, curling his fingers within you, coming in contact with that spongy little surface deep inside you that made you see stars. “C’mon, wan’ this pussy to squirt all over my face.”

You knew it would happen, too. Before Rhett, you had been convinced that you couldn’t experience such a thing. But he had quickly proved you wrong. Now, neither of you could get enough. He loved drawing it out of you. Watching your release soak the sheets.

“Sh-shou–should g-get a towel,” you managed to stammer, barely able to find your voice, searching for the words in your brain, as if you’d suddenly gone dumb. But you were still aware that you were going to make a mess.

Rhett didn’t care. “I’ll clean it up,” he promised, gasping against your dripping cunt, so eager to taste you, to be soaked by you, molten gold, shimmering against his skin, the evidence of the affect he had on you.

Your tight little hole fluttered with the need to be filled, swallowing his fingers in, yet in need of something more, something bigger, to be joined as one with his body and his soul.

So he upped the intensity, tongue lapping at you, mouth sucking on your poor, thrumming clit, urging you on, silently begging you to let go. Come for me, fuckin’ soak me. 

And you were there, cresting that peak, climbing higher, higher, higher, until, “Oh! I-I’m–” But the words died in your throat as your body went taut, moments before deep tremors wracked you, overwhelming you as you unraveled like a spool of thread in his skilled hands.

Instinctively, he buried his face deeper, lapping your release from you, his rounded nose pressed against your oversensitive little bundle. Addicted to your taste. Pleading for more, encouraging you to give it all to him.

“There ya go. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

God, he was still going. Fingers and tongue keeping speed, not giving you any reprieve. Even as you came down from the intensity, vibrating, shaking, gasping. You had to push his head away as the pleasure became too much, like a fire left unattended, consuming its surroundings. 

He relented, pressing a delicate kiss to your still twitching clit before lifting himself, biceps flexing as he brought his body to hover over you, dragging his wet mouth up your belly, over your heaving breast. 

When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. And when he parted from you, he smiled at your fucked out gaze, big hand coming up to brush over your forehead, stroking your warm cheek, as he cooed at you.

“Such a good girl f’me. Think you can give me another one?”

You nodded.

“Uh-uh. Words, baby. Talk t’me.”

“Y-yes.” God, you could barely speak. Why did your head feel as if it was filled with cotton, your brain as useless as a stuffed Build-A-Bear’s? All you knew was that you wanted more of Rhett. More of his touch. More of bliss he could provide you with. More, more, more.

He smiled. “Yeah?” His hand skimmed down your tummy, fingers exploring, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I wanna make y’feel good. Make this pussy come as many times as she can handle. How’s that sound?” His voice caressed you like black silk.

Could you truly handle such a thing? You were no stranger to overstimulation, but somehow, something felt different about tonight. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. But you felt much more…vulnerable, in a way. And now, as your husband lingered over you, so broad and solid and strong, you felt so small, so…what? Fragile? Perhaps.

Yet you found yourself saying, “o-okay.”

He hummed, thumb brushing over your cheek, then your parted lips. “That’s m’girl. You tell me if it gets to be too much, alright?”

“Yes sir.”

Then he was pulling away, and suddenly, the lack of contact had you whining in protest as you were robbed of his warmth, of his contact.

“Hold your horses, darlin’. I’m just gettin’ situated.” He moved so that his back was against the headboard, and then he patted the space beside him, which you eagerly occupied. He tugged you close, so that you were pressed against his side, once again consumed with his warmth. It brought you such comfort.

He arranged you exactly how he wanted you, with your head resting on his shoulder, your thighs parted, offering him a clear view of your glistening apex, swollen from your previous orgasm.

As he brought his hand down to rest there, you realized he intended to use his fingers to bring you to your end a second time. Yet you glanced over to find his cock achingly hard, resting against his hip, and you made a forlorn sound of longing.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry,” he assured you, “remember, I wanna take my time with you.”

You thought you might die if you didn’t get him inside you soon, but at the same time, you wanted to be in the moment and thoroughly enjoy the reverence he wished to bestow upon you.

So you let your head loll against him, watching through hooded eyes as his thick, yet somehow still elegant, fingers began to swirl over you. Teasing, running along the outer edges of your pussy before delving in further, smearing your arousal over the delicate skin there.

He was delighted at how wet you were. All for him. All because of him. “Who made y’this wet?”

“You.” A whisper. Barely audible.

“Louder.”

“Y-you.” Your voice cracked. 

His fingers brushed over that bundle again, and you hissed softly. “Still can’t hear you.” Teasing. Knowing full well what you had said, but wanting you to repeat it nonetheless.

“You did!” A cry that echoed throughout the bedroom. 

He turned your face with his free hand and kissed you languidly, just as his fingers dipped inside you again. The broken moan that was ripped from your throat was swallowed by his eager mouth.

He wasn’t rough, because he knew you were still sensitive after coming on his tongue. But he was deliberate, knowing also that you needed a little more to bring you over the edge a second time. This one didn’t come as easily. He would have to work for it. But that was the beauty of it, because after this one, your body would let its guard down, and your sensitivity would allow him to draw orgasmic bliss from you much more easily.

His fingers worked you over, having mapped out your body long ago. Sometimes it felt as if he’d memorized you down to the marrow of your bones. As if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

It was why he knew you could handle this. Why he soothed you as you cried out against his mouth, assuring you that you could give him more, that you were his good girl and good girls always do what they’re told.

Yes, you could be good for him. You wanted to be. You were desperate to be. “I can be good! I-I-I promise!” You heard yourself gasping into the air, but your voice sounded so far away, so disembodied, as if you were speaking from somewhere far away and not from Rhett’s king-size bed.

“I know you can, I know it,” he assured you, his heart rate quickening in his chest as he watched you. Your eyes were unfocused again. You were practically drooling. And the way you were clenching around his fingers had his cock twitching. 

“Please, please, please.” You had no idea what you were pleading for. He was already giving it all to you. But you were suddenly so overwhelmed, body hot all over, tears pricking at your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks as you convulsed in his arms, breath coming out in short bursts.

You were clutching his arm, fingers digging into his flesh, sure to leave indents, though you were hardly aware of it. Too focused on that building flicker of pleasure, so much more intense than the first, almost unbearable. Too much and just right and not enough, all at once. How was that even possible?

Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop. Right there. 

You weren’t sure if you were saying the words, or merely thinking them. But then his voice was in your ear. “I can feel you squeezin’ my fingers. You’re close, ain’t ya baby?” But you couldn’t utter a vocal confirmation. You could barely even nod your head. 

“Give it to me.”

Almost there.

“That’s it, just let go.”

So close. You could reach out and grasp it if you tried, like a delectable fruit ready to be plucked from a tree. Yet it wouldn’t descend upon you. Not yet. And with each passing moment, as his fingers carried you toward the crest and your body became a live wire, you were beginning to spiral.

The tears that had been gathering in your eyes poured down your cheeks. Hot against your skin. It wasn’t merely a state of pleasure he was bringing you to. This was ethereal. Otherworldly. 

And then he was there, in your line of sight, mouth curled in determination, eyes hard-set. “Come.”

And you did. Mouth falling open in a silent scream, gaze locked with his, you tensed, as if your body was preparing for the onslaught it was about to experience. And then you were free-falling, tumbling down, down, down, ears ringing, heart hammering, crying out incoherent half-sentences as you were consumed.

You had no recollection of blacking out, but when you opened your eyes, you were cradled in Rhett’s arms as he gently rocked you back and forth. “I’m here. I’ve got ya. Did so good for me. Fuck, honey, you’re perfect. My best girl. My perfect darlin’.”

God, you were crying. Tears continuously streaming down your cheeks. And oh, how you shivered as you curled into him, burying your face against his chest, seeking out his warmth, his solace.

His fingers skimmed along your spine. Grounding you. Bringing you back to him. Back to your Rhett. He was not shocked at your tears. He was used to them, as they fell during most intense scenes.

But now, it felt different. You clung to him more desperately, body melting into his, as if you wished to become one with his flesh. One body, one spirit. And in your hazy state, you did not want to part from him. The thought of doing so was devastating. Unfathomable. 

“I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Had you pleaded with him to stay? Maybe you had, in your delicate state. Don’t leave me. I’ll be good.

He’d never leave you. And certainly not when you were like this, bottom lip quivering, wide eyes looking up at him as if he’d hung the very sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

He held you close, lips against your forehead, fingers drawing patterns against your skin. You had no idea how long you remained that way. It could have been five minutes. It could have been fifty minutes. All you knew was that when you looked at him, he was gazing down at you with eyes so full of love.

“Hey there. Y’alright?”

“Uh-huh.” Your tongue felt like lead. 

He smoothed his knuckles along your cheek. “That was a lot. I dunno if you’re ready for more,” he admitted, unwilling to push you too far. It was never, ever his goal to push you to the point of safewording. 

But your eyes suddenly grew wide with alarm, and you gripped his arm. “N-no! Still need to make you feel good.”

“I’m alright,” he assured you. He could take care of it himself, if need be.

But your face crumpled, and you shook your head. “No, please, I can take it, I want…I need…” You couldn’t form the words. All you knew was that you were desperate to be filled by him, and the thought of going to bed empty was more than you could bear in your fragile state.

“Hey now,” he spoke, low and slow, as if speaking to a skittish horse. “Don’t cry, sweet thing. If you want more, I’ll give it to you. But we’re gonna take it slow, alright?” He kissed your nose. 

“A-alright.”

This time, he kissed your lips. And then, gently, he guided you until your head was resting against the soft pillows. He made sure to provide constant physical contact, knowing you needed it.

As he laid you out, he looked down at you with sparkling eyes, admiring you, and your willingness to do whatever he asked of you. 

Eagerly, you parted your legs, pulling at his shoulders, urging him toward you. But his movements were not hurried. “Easy,” he gently warned. His hands glided down your thighs, squeezing lightly. 

Wanting to make sure you were as comfortable as possible, he leaned over, haphazardly reaching into the nightstand drawer to retrieve a small bottle of lube. As overstimulated as you were, he had no desire to bring any discomfort into the mix. He would use the whole damn bottle of lubricant if he needed. 

He warmed it against his palm before he slicked it over his shaft, and you whimpered pathetically as you watched him, yearning for it to be inside you. 

How were you so desperate? As if you hadn’t just experienced two earth shattering orgasms. Yet here you were, near tears, pushing your hips up, seeking him out. Why wouldn’t he give it to you? Couldn’t he see you were aching for it? 

You were losing yourself. “Please. Why won’t you…why can’t I have it?” Still tearful. If you hadn’t been in such a delicate headspace, you would have responded much differently to his hesitance. But here and now, you took it as denial. That he didn’t want you. That he was going to withhold it from you because he thought you couldn’t take it. 

And the thought of that made you crumble. 

You heard him, the low rumble of his voice, soothing you. And you felt him. Cock heavy against you. Sliding over you, aided by the extra lubricant. But it was not inside you. You still remained empty. And you simply couldn’t stand it. 

You didn’t mean to say it. If you’d been more lucid, if you’d had more decorum about you, you would have been so embarrassed. But it tumbled off your lips so naturally, you didn’t register it until it was too late. And even then, you were vaguely aware of what you were saying. 

“P-please, Daddy. Wan’…wan’ your cock.” 

Rhett stilled above you, breath hitching in his throat. You were pawing at his chest, seemingly unaware that you’d even said the word. You’d never called him that before. Though, admittedly, he was fairly certain he’d heard the beginnings of it times before, when you were in the throes of pleasure. D-da— sir!

This was not something you had discussed. However, hearing you say it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The name settled into him, and it did not feel foreign. In fact, it felt familiar. Comfortable. A role he was always meant to take on. 

So he did not balk when you whined it into his mouth, asking so sweetly to be filled by him. He knew reacting would be very jarring for you, and would take you out of the moment. So he simply went with it, trying the name out, testing how it felt rolling off his own tongue. 

“Yeah? Poor baby. Need it so bad. Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna give it to you.” It felt natural. As if he’d spoken his own given name. 

He continued to use it for the rest of the scene. 

As he began to inch his hips forward, he kissed you sweetly, humming into your mouth as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. 

And then you could feel the pressure of the blunt head of his cock pressing into you, and you squeaked softly, eyes fluttering shut. Finally. Your fluttering cunt gave no resistance as he inched into you, but the stretch was still there, and it stole the breath from your lungs.

Rhett watched your anatomy accommodate him, never one to grow tired of the sight. “Poor little pussy can barely take me,” he murmured in mock concern.

“Y-yes I can. Don’t take it away. Please, Daddy.” There it was again. That sacred title.

Oh, you sounded so pitiful, it made his heart clench in his chest. He ducked forward, mouth brushing over yours. “Hey now, I’m not gonna take it away, I promise.” Then his hand was resting against your clavicle. “Deep breath for me.”

You obeyed, taking in a slow breath before releasing it. He was bringing you back to yourself. Back to him. Keeping you from spiraling.

“What’s your color, baby?” He asked. During moments like this, he preferred to use a color system, so he could gauge where your headspace was at.

You had to search for the word in your head. It almost felt as if you were sifting through a dream, trying to return to consciousness. You heard yourself reply with, “g-green.”

He smiled, lovingly trailing the pad of his index finger over the slope of your nose. “Good girl.” Then he was kissing you again, tongue delving into your mouth, swallowing your sweet little moan as he continued to nudge his hips forward. 

It was always the initial stretch that got you. Almost too much, yet somehow just enough. He was always careful. Always calculated. Never intending to hurt you by going too fast before you were ready.

But it was not always easy to hold back. Especially now, when your body was so responsive to him, so ready to take every last inch as deep as you could.

The warm, wet slide of your cunt along the length of his hard cock sent him forward, face buried against the side of your neck, mouthing at the delicate skin over your pulse point. 

“Oh, Daddy.”

Good lord, you would be the death of him if you kept addressing him like that. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d like it. Hadn’t even thought about it until now. But you said it so sweetly, so reverently, and he knew it was going to stick from here on out.

“There y’go,” he spoke lowly as his body became flush with yours, every inch of him seated within you, still, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion.

And the way you looked up at him? He swore, he’d die. Wide eyes, furrowed brow, quivering mouth. “I-I did it. I took all of it. I’m good. I’m good for you.”

His heart clenched in his chest. “Yes you are, sweet thing. So good for Daddy. M’best girl.” With the shock of pleasure that was already creeping along the expanse of his spine, he knew he wouldn’t last long. Not when you were so sweet and good and perfect for him. A precious gift bestowed upon him from heaven above.

He bent low over you, arms braced against the bed, as he began to move. Drawing back slowly, carefully. Easy there, little gal, easy. 

As he thrust forward, a sob tore from your throat, but he drank it down eagerly, mouth over yours, swallowing you up. As he built a rhythm, your hands began to wander, eager to feel him, muscles rippling beneath your touch.

Rhett hissed sharply as fingernails scraped down his spine, over his broad shoulders, sure to leave the evidence of your tryst in the form of pink stripes. Markings he would wear proudly once he was finished with you. 

But your hands soon climbed higher, fingers raking through graying locks. If you hadn’t been in such a hazy state, you might have marveled at how it looked like a silver halo around the crown of his head. 

Instead, you were distracted by the fact that you were close once again, warmth blossoming in your lower abdomen as your cunt pulsed around your husband’s cock. He moaned deep within his chest, driving forward again, deeper still. Knocking the breath from your very lungs with how full he had you feeling.

“You’re already close, ain’t ya baby?” He spoke, voice strained, barely contained. 

You nodded, eyes wide and glimmering with tears once again. You looked so innocent beneath him, and he should have been ashamed to admit what that did to him. Instead, he fed into it. “Don’t worry. Daddy’ll get you there.”

He knew you wouldn’t need a lot to get you there. He was quite certain you wouldn’t even be able to handle his fingers against your sensitive little pearl, so instead, he opted to grind deeply against you, the course gathering of hair at the base of his dick offering just enough stimulation to send you reeling.

You swore you saw stars, and your eyes rolled back in your head, body shuddering beneath him as if you were electrified. 

“Daddy, I-I’m g-gonna–!” You couldn’t get the words out. They were stolen from your mouth, fizzling out, dissolving into thin air.

Your belly tensed, muscles trembling, perspiration beginning to shimmer across your skin as the beginnings of your third orgasm spread through your body. Your fingers dug into the muscle of his back, nails leaving crescent shapes. You cried out, head thrown back, mouth open, sobbing, begging, pleading.

“That’s it, darlin’. Be a good girl and let go for me. I’m right behind ya.”

It wasn’t like the first two crescendos of bliss you had experienced. This one washed over you slowly, sneakily, like a thief in the night, one that you didn’t realize was there until it was already upon you. And then you were engulfed in comforting heat. Not fiery flames, but a warm embrace. 

Rhett’s mouth found your own again, kissing you, swallowing the pitchy sounds drawn out of you by your orgasm. Sweet little whimpers of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”

God, it felt endless. Ebbing through you from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. Flowing in tandem with your life force. Bringing you to new heights of bliss. “That’s my good little darlin’. Comin’ so much for me. Little pussy’s squeezin’ me so tight.” He was mere seconds from meeting his own end, so intense he could feel it vibrating through his jaw.

In the midst of your own frenzy, you could hear yourself begging him. “Daddy, please. Please come inside me.”

And then he was burying his face against your neck, teeth biting into tender flesh, hands grasping your hips tightly in his large palms. He was spiraling, unable to stave off the inevitable as you pulsed around him, milking him for all he had to give, letting him make a mess of your already sticky cunt. 

A sleepy, delighted smile spread across your face at the feeling of his seed flooding you, claiming you, marking you as his. 

He braced himself above you as he came down, arms trembling, trying not to rest his full weight against you. Aftershocks sparkled along his spine, pulling shudders from him as he took a moment to catch his breath, mouth hot and open against your collarbone.

As he came back to himself, he lifted his head, his first instinct to check on you, to take care of you. “Hey there, sweet thing. Y’still with me?” Fingers caressing your cheek.

Your eyes were still unfocused. “Uh-huh,” you managed.

Slipping right back into that dominant role, he leaned back a bit, fully examining your face. Sweat dampened your forehead, and more tears shone in your eyes. “Hey, I’m here. I’m right here.” soothing his palm over your forehead. 

Ever so gently, he eased his softening cock from you, and you whimpered, not wanting to be apart from him. But he pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you, cradling you against his chest.

You clung to him tightly, as if you were afraid he’d float away from you if you didn’t hold on. All the while, he talked to you in a steady, even tone. Coaxing you down, as if you were a kite he was guiding out of the sky. He’d never let you fall to the ground, for his hands would be there to catch you before you did.

“Did so good f’me. Beautiful baby. Did so good for your daddy.”

Daddy. That seemed to draw you back to the present, and your eyes widened as clarity dawned on you. “I…I’m sorry. Know we didn’t talk about it, but I…” You couldn’t get the words out. Could barely form a coherent thought. Yet embarrassment had begun to seep through the cracks, despite the fact that you had nothing to be embarrassed over.

“Shh, don’t you start spiralin’ on me, honey.” His hand rested at the base of your jaw, keeping your gaze fixed upon him. “You listen here. If callin’ me daddy is somethin’ you wanna start doin’, I’m more than okay with it. Honestly, hearin’ you call me that…it really did somethin’ to me. If…if that’s what you need me to be for you, then that’s what I’ll be.”

Relief flooded you. “Really?”

“Really.” He kissed you softly, lovingly. “You’re my darlin’, I love you more than words can express, and I want to be everythin’ you need.”

You threw your arms around his neck. “Oh, I love you. I love you so much.”

He held you even closer, closing his eyes as he relished in your body against his. “My perfect girl. Always gonna be whatever you need.”

Looking back, you would feel a little silly for being afraid to give him the title of Daddy. But for now, you were laden with endorphins, an almost dopey smile on your face as you basked in the afterglow, and in the realization that you no longer had to hold back the address. You could utilize the title whenever you wished.

And he would assume that role with ease, wearing it like a well-fitting glove. Natural. Familiar. Right. Just like he’d so easily assumed the role of dominant. And oh, how skilled he was at it. 

It didn’t end after your tryst in the sheets was over. No, it continued as he carefully laid you out against the bed, with whispered promises of cleaning you up, of taking care of you. And as you faded in and out of a blissful, floaty state of mind, he handled your body with tenderness, wiping you clean, fingers massaging taut muscles, rendering you boneless.

He praised you continuously, assuring you that he was proud of you, that you were always so good for him. Beautiful, perfect, angelic. 

And oh, how grateful he was to have you to look after. Someone he could bestow his tenderness upon. Someone who loved him so wholly and completely. Although he had endured much pain to get to this point, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. It had all shaped him into the man he needed to be. The man you needed him to be.

He had a lot of regrets in life, but you were not one of them. He was reminded of that when he witnessed you stand up for him that night, unleashing your contained fury on the woman who had broken him. And he was able to stand there and watch in awe as you did so, his heart no longer in pieces, but tenderly put back together by your gentle hands. 

And as he tucked you into bed that night, after making sure a clean quilt was in place, he was struck with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Whoever had decided to bless him with your presence, whether that be God, or the universe, or some other greater being, he was forever indebted to. 

You often liked to say that he’d saved you, but that wasn’t true. In reality, you had saved him. You had given him a purpose. A reason to go on. And he would cherish you for the rest of his life.

“I love you, little darlin’.” 

“Luh you, Rhett,” you sleepily murmured as you curled into him. He smiled, his eyes blurring as a wave of tears washed over him.

He was yours forever. His soul was knit with yours for all eternity. In the next life, and the next, and every life in between, he would always be yours. Your protector. Your provider. Your million dollar man.

[simp-ly-writes]

The Jackals Companion

─────── · · A 'Day of the Jackal' (TV series) FanFic

Pairing: Charles "Jackal" Calthrop x Fem!Hacker!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: After a shocking turn of events, you and the Jackal become lovers-of-sorts and you both share a moment in one another warmth as a snowy London sets the backdrop to your hotel room.

─ · · TAGS: second person perspective used, female-pronouns used, mostly fluff, cuddling, kissing, depictions of blood, mentions of guns and violence, usage of pet-names (ex. love) swearing, light angst.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,401

─ · · A/N: thank you to @calmowl2407 for this sweet ask! sorry that it took me awhile 🫶 I hope you all enjoy :)

─────── · ·

─ · · You were a certified genius- or at least thats what your first job title while working in an a Apple store for a few years but now you were a freelance hacker and profiler; having graduated with multiple degrees in sociology, psychology, mathematics, and of course, computer science.

─ · · During the day you worked as a teaching assistant and seasonal lecturer but at night, you were known as "Robin." You loved your behind-the-scenes job, the disconnection gave you privacy yet enough money to live a plush lifestyle in reality and to do the things you loved most- teaching others.

─ · · When on one of your nightly "raids" you liked to call them you were toying with auction prices at an event, watching through the security cameras in order to pause the sale just at the right moment yet it appeared that someone had the exact same idea as you... just in a more direct approach...

Your vision snapped over to one of your other various monitors at the sight of a figure in a suit, moving outside of the outlined space for the event. You raised a brow, zooming in on pixelated face with a scoff- nobody ever invests in high quality cameras these days.

You watched as he moved through the various corridors and always knew where to face so that all the cameras did not get a clear sight of him. He walked in long purpose-filled strides, a gym-bag over his shoulder, the object inside odd in shape as you rendered a scan of it- a gun? But who's the target little assassin?

You did a quick search of the black-web, trying to find any details or contracts that had been posted in the last three months yet nothing particularly pertained to anyone attending this event. Your eyebrows furrowed, irritation growing as you couldn't find any information of why this man was here, who he was going to attack, and even who the hell this guy even was in the first place.

You tapped your finger against your desk, contemplating your next move, the clock was ticking down and with one click it would be lights out, the men posing as handlers would run with the object just as your contract requested and you would have yet another fat pay check in your lap... could finally buy that new wool coat, you thought to yourself with a smile, thats if this assassin doesn't mess with anything...

You watched as he unzipped his bag and set up his gear, sizing up for the shot, click, you giggled, leaning back in your chair as you watched through the various body cams to see the artifact successfully stolen and they made their escape. People were running around everywhere, police entering the scene as the auctioneer was lead off-stage before collapsing a bullet right between his eyes. You clapped your hands together, good shot, you praised before erasing all the security footage- leaving not a trace to be found.

CHAT ROOM OPENED: r0ob6^in* said: payment? now. A-%l^8e6x said: sent. good work. A-%l^8e6x said: next job? file.16937 r0ob6^in* said: will do.

You placed an order on that coat before turning off your screens and order in take-out before going for a shower and settling yourself into a set silk pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

─────── · ·

─ · · A knock sounded at your door as you went to go get your food and to your surprise there was a metal barrel awaiting you instead of a brown paper bag. You raised your hands, eyes wide and blinking, "uh you can have anything you want in the apartment! please don't hurt me!" you plead as they force their way into the space and... gently close the door behind themselves?

You blinked, one... twice... thrice in confusion, "sit" they ordered as you rapidly nodded your head and trotted your way to the living room and finding the nearest armchair while shaking like a leaf and whispering a prayer to whatever celestial entity would hear.

The tall man sits across from you, legs extended outwards and on to your rug. You did not dare look them in the face, instead playing with your hands with closed eyes wondering what they would do next. You felt the mans stare at the side of your head and across your body as they observed what you were wearing more closely, "look at me."

You took a second before raising your head and staring just past the top of their head, you prayed that the second of hesitation you took would not take your life as well. "Look at me," they demanded again as your eyes flashed down to... a young mans face? and an attractive face with that?

You tried not to let the shock and confusion come over your features but failed miserably once hearing him chuckle at you. "I've been... observing your talents from afar for awhile now, your little mission today was a surprise for me but I must thank you for deleting that footage... saved me frying their servers on my way out."

You nod, slowly, as you observe the suit the man wears and how put-together he looks for being a criminal breaking into your own home and threatening you with a gun that was still pointed in your direction. "You're welcome?" you say yet it comes out more like a question, you hear the safety of their gun click on as they place it back in the waistband of their pants. You lean back, slightly in your chair knowing that you most likely were not leaving this spot while under such a heavy stare... or at least not for awhile...

─────── · ·

─ · · When you said awhile back then... you would be surprised to know awhile meant more like over a year and not a day went but without you seeing "The Jackal" or Charles he told you to call him. He said he wished to have a camera on you when you reacted to his name for the first time, the way your lips pushed together like your eyebrows as you tested the name again and again on your tongue while picking and pointing at his face- he couldn't help but smile at your silly actions.

─ · · You had become the Jackals companion in some strange turn of events, always by his side or had him in your sights as you navigated him through building floor plans and got him onto planes quickly back to your house that had became a second home-base for him. You scoff shaking your head, your own damn burglar now holding the keys to your apartment to come and go as freely as he wanted but the Jackal never wanted you too far away from him, especially when he was completing large and dangerous missions like the one he was on right now... trying to assassinate a parliament member in London.

─ · · It was nearing Christmas time, a perfectly unsuspecting and joyous part of the year that would have your client easy to locate for you and for the Jackal- easy to target.

─ · · You waited anxiously for Charles to get back to the hotel room after providing him directions through local security cameras. You had ordered room service in preparation and held a half drank glass of red wine in your hand, swirling it around like your thoughts before setting the glass down and jumping off the bed, running down the hall at the sound of the door closing before jumping into his arms.

"Hello to you to, love," he teased you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you smiled and buried your face into his cold jacket, a shiver cascading down your spine as his large hands picked you up and carried you back to beg. You giggled, wiggling your feet with excitement once feeling him throw you onto the bed. You watched from the covers as he undressed layer after layer upon himself and his face before stripping back to the Charles you knew.

"Much better," he sighed out before crawling on the bed and towards you, capturing your lips in between his own before brushing the hair out of your face. "I see you already ordered food for two?"

"Mhmm," you hum out contently before patting the seat beside you and brining him a plate as you both talk over yet another successful mission. "Speaking of which," Charles wipes his mouth with one of the serviettes before gathering both of your empty plates and putting them on the desk within the room, "we have to check if we got payed for our hard work."

You nod watching as he bends down, reaching into his bag to pick up his laptop and glasses case as you reach for your own on the nightstand. Feeling the bed drip once again you shuffle closer to his side and hear in chuckle, "clingy are we today?"

You shrug, "Its the holidays, Charles, let your girl be," you defend yourself.

"My girl-hm?" he says back, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you look up at him through his glasses- your heart begins to race as he looks down at you, the frames slipping down his nose as you reach over to fix them for him, "thanks, love."

─────── · ·

─ · · You both work silently beside one another, double checking your finances and going over the blueprints for your next mission in Croatia... after a much needed break and beach-filled vacation you both agreed upon.

─ · · By the time you had finished your side of things, Charles was still typing away and memorizing the blueprints. You played with the material of his shirt, pressing your head to the side of the arm in a silent ask for him to give you more of his attention. "A few more minutes then I'm all yours," Charles murmurs, zooming into an air duct right above the stage.

You watched his eyes move across the dimensions, you loved picking apart every micro-expression he let flash across his features only to be gone the next moment. Catching your stare he sighed, shutting down his device and casting it to the nightstand as you placed your head in his lap feeling his fingers rake across your scalp gently- as if coaxing you to sleep.

Yet you couldn't close your eyes as you had just remembered a file that you had accessed... freely... you opened and closed your mouth, thinking about how to phrase your next words before the Jackal cut you off and you pulled your head up, "whatever you want to ask in that brilliant brain of yours- do it."

"The things is," you try and explain, failing miserably to find the right words watching as Charles's attention moves away from you, your confidence slipping before seeing a notepad and pen being presented to you. "Would it be easier to write out whats going on in here?" He clicks the pen on by shoving it against your forehead.

You glare, snatching the items away as he holds up his hands. You look between the blank page and Charles one, two, and even three times before not writing anything down. The Jackal notices you struggling, he begins to get a bit worried himself as you stand up from the bed and move away to a separate chair in the room before writing out your list of questions, hiding your face behind your knees in order to escape from his questioning stare.

"Is this... something to do with my past?" The Jackal asks, remembering the last time you acted this way a few weeks after you both formally met. You freeze solidifying his answer. "My offer still stands, whatever if is I'll answer it... if I can," he explains, watching as you sit up in the chair and look him in the eyes, "Did you... kill your platoon?"

You watch as Charles freezes before slowly reaching over to take a sip of his glass of red wine, a bead of it dripping down his chin like blood as you grip your hands together in wait. "The simple answer is yes, I did but I believe it to be in fair fashion after... they massacred a wedding."

─ · · The following story has you nauseous and partially scared as you hold yourself and don't meet his eyes that search to observe your reaction- to hear your thoughts and heart. "Come 'ere" he pats his lap before opening his arms, watching as you hesitantly stand from your chair and walk over before being pulled down into the bed and feel his strong arms wrap around your torso like a weighted blanket to soothe your anxiety.

"I hope I didn't scare you- You know I would never hurt you, love, right?" he murmurs into your shoulder before pressing a kiss to the crook of our shoulder and neck, lingering in the spot until feeling you nod your head and rest your back against his chest more comfortably, "I know. But you're different now, right? And you're my Charles... but I would also understand if you needed to kill me." You feel as the Jackal freezes, his grip tightens around you, your breath hitches before you continue to speak, "A-and If you were going to... please shoot just shoot me straight in the face... I wouldn't want to be recognized by anyone."

You close your eyes feeling as Charles slips away form behind you, the cold air of the room spreading goosebumps across your skin as a tear slips from the corner of your eye. The sudden touch of a hand bringing your chin up has you wincing, "let me see your gorgeous eyes, my love," Charles asks softly. You shake your head in his touch before feeling it strengthen, "open them, please," he asks again, this time a bit more firmly.

You slowly blink them open, watching as he tears his glasses off and cups your cheeks, rubbing the skin thoughtfully with his thumbs, "I love you," he whispers before you feel his lips against your own. You both fall backwards onto the covers, Charles holding his weight above you as you break away breathless from the kiss, "I love you too."

─────── · ·

─ · · JACKAL TAGLIST: @swiftietevitdrewjew @groovyponypatrollamp @alelo23 @apaperflowerreader

[awordsmith]

paper dreams 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer take your daughter up to your mountain cabin to go ice skating for the first time.

katcember

who? dad!spencer x wife!reader  when? s7  category: fluff  content warnings: proofed! nothing really, all fluffy goodness, reader drooling over spencer's forearms... reid with warmth  word count: 8.4k a/n: i tried something a little different in this fic, where i use '–' as a namesake, i'd really like to know if you like it or dislike it, your feedback helps a ton! ...enjoy!

The day was waning, barely any orange was confined to the sky; the storm swirled in blues and greys only. The air had turned frosted, and the wind was ever present–all the hints that winter was here. Your daughter’s 5th birthday… 

You and Spencer had been debating about whether or not going up to your newly bought mountain cabin in Mapleshire was a good idea, but his coworkers had seemingly convinced him, much to your appreciation. 

He’d dropped you off at Mommy and Me for the last class before the holiday wrapped itself around everyone and their social presence. He’d spent the day getting the car ready, it would be a long trip, especially at this time of day. You said goodbye to —, whom you had met at the start of Mommy and Me, and who had been great friends to you and —, your daughter. 

You held —’s hand, pulling her close. Though she was wearing a coat, you couldn’t be too sure if she was warm enough or not. She had her father’s eyes, a mix of your’s and Spencer’s complexion, and a mole on the side of her neck, which you again attributed to Spencer, but more so toward Diana, his mother. She had a sneaky mole right behind her ear, you remember her mentioning it when she held — for the first time.

A smile stretched across your face at the memory, but then — tugged on your arm, and you left your thoughts in your head, focussing now on your daughter, “look, it’s daddy!” She pointed toward Spencer as he pulled up in the black jeep you’d bought together specifically for trips such as this one.

“Yeah,” you kissed her forehead, “yeah, I see him.” She puffed out her chest as she began marching forward, you laughed at her attempts to open the glass door.

She frowned, watching as Spencer emerged from the driver's seat. You sent him a wave and a smile when he rounded the jeep–hands stuffed in his pants pockets–and leaned against it. 

He returned your smile when he saw you, eyes dancing with playfulness. You opened the door and your daughter ran out, her hair bouncing with each step, between the two, you thought she looked like the little mischievous main character of a Hallmark movie, trying to get her parents back together, or some other wild cinematic plotline like that.

You paused your walking midstep, heart and mind working in sync to capture the image before you: Spencer–the father of your child, your husband, and best friend–lifting the bundle of joy you’d made together, spinning her around like a fairy. The soundtrack of her giggles and his laughter mixed with a backdrop of a cold, misty, magical Christmas behind them.

The laughter stopped as Spencer set — on her own little feet again, a contented sigh escaping his lips, but visible in the chilled air. “Hi,” he said, tilting his head, eyes tracking up and down your frame.

Your heart warmed as it had when you’d first met, “hi,” you replied.

“Hi!” — shouted, then shivered, “I’m cold.”

You shared a look with Spencer, though they were both warning, they were two different types. Spencer ignored your eyes as he bent down, taking your daughter’s hand in his own, shaking it, “hi, cold, I’m Dad.”

You face-palmed, chuckling into your hands when your daughter snatched her tiny arm away and turned to you in annoyance, stomping her foot, “Mommy, he did it again!”

Spencer stood in mock shock, holding a hand over his chest, “wha–how dare–I did no such thing.”

— turned to him, though you couldn’t see it, you were sure she looked unimpressed. She walked around them as you stepped forward, meeting Spencer near the car. You gave him a peck on the cheek, pulling away as you heard your daughter’s failed attempt at opening the car door. “Open it!” She shouted, crossing her arms.

“Alright,” you nodded, “come on.”

You pulled open the door and helped her into her new car seat. It was black, matching the exterior of the jeep. The seats were leather, to which you had a hate-love relationship with. You were thankful Spencer already had the heater blasting, — looked pleased as well.

When Spencer slid into the car on the other side, he faced you, pulling your hand into his. Though you’d been married 5 years, he still managed to give you butterflies. 

You were the same age, though you were a few months older. You’d met in college through a mutual friend, and though he was earning his 3rd degree and second phd and you were in your first year, you’d hit it off. A year of friendship turned into two years of dating, and yes, you were young, but you honestly didn’t see yourself marrying anyone else.

Your parents, of course, wanted to meet him first, though you spoke about him constantly and they seemed to really like him. You remember the first time he’d taken you to see Diana around the end of your second year of dating–before he’d asked you to marry him.

He had been nervous, though you weren’t sure why. She seemed alright, she had Alzheimer’s, but she wasn’t any less of a person, in fact, you really enjoyed her company and saw her regularly when you were free. You’d talk about everything, but mostly about Spencer. You hadn’t thought to tell him about your little visits, but Diana had slipped up about it–and why shouldn’t she have? She had no idea it was a secret to him.

You had feared seeing him after the fact, sur he would be mad at you. You recalled the trembling in your hands–unable to control it as you met him for coffee. You thought it might be the end of your relationship, so when he pulled out a ring box and proposed, you were more than a little shocked. Though you shouldn’t have been, it was just like him to pull something like that, as you’d come to find over the years–as you should have perceived from your years of knowing him...

“—,” Spencer whispered your name, pulling your attention to his soft, aglow gaze.

You smiled, squeezing his hand in yours, “what did you forget?”

He scoffed, but his grin grew, “I can’t believe your first thought is that I forgot something.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked around the car, noting the bags in the open cargo compartment behind your daughter. She smiled at you and you smiled back, asking if she wanted her tablet. 

She nodded enthusiastically, though Spencer muttered a small complaint as you rummaged through her backpack. You nudged him on the shoulder as you handed it back to her, “start driving.”

He’d argued with you a little when you’d said you’d wanted to buy one, but, as it was you whom he was arguing with, he’d given in pretty easily. It wasn’t as if you had her on it all the time, only for times like this–on long road trips, or when the sitter needed to keep her occupied when cooking. 

You had slowly moved — out of diapers within the last year, though two years ago, she’d taken her first step at age 3. She was a spontaneous child, and thankfully, Spencer was home to witness the gracious moment, and you thankfully had gotten it all on video. You cherished the memory of him holding her hands as she forced one foot in front of the other.

“I love you,” you whispered as Spencer cranked the music up.

His eyes crinkled, heart swelling, “I love you too.” You didn’t say it often as you both found it unnecessary, you both already knew it to be true, which is why when you did say it, it was notable–because for you to say something that didn’t need voicing, meant that you just wanted to say it, and that, that was special. 

Spencer pulled into a gas station. You huffed a laugh while he avoided your eyes, “I knew it.”

He held up his hands in defense as he stepped out of the car, “Listen, I–I never said I forgot.”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, your nose scrunching up, “yeah, you just failed to check the tank.”

“In my defense,” he leaned his head into the car, the door halfway shut, “I was running errands and packing all day.”

“And when you say ‘all day’–”

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna pump the gas now.” He laughed, closing the door with a thud.

You snorted and threw your head back, shaking your head. “Mommy?” — called, “Can we go in the store?”

You eyed the amenity, “we should get snacks for the road, huh?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Definitely.” You covered your chuckles at her inability to pronounce the word fully. It was both adorable and endearing.

“You’re just saying that because you’re not the one paying,” you joked, but again she nodded her head and said–

“Definitely.” You sighed, unbuckling your seat belt and sliding out of the car, Spencer rounded it, asking what you were doing.

“— wants to get snacks.”

You pulled open the backseat door, unbuckling your daughter. She hopped out, landing on her feet. Spencer’s eyes widened and he bent with her, arms splayed out as if she might fall. Your heart swelled at the worry in his eyes–his expression.

He glanced up at you with a frown, you bit your lip, fighting the urge to attack him with kisses. “Be safe,” he said, keeping an eye on — as she skipped in front of you, toward the shop.

“We’ll be fine,” you assured, pausing, watching his expression, and before hesitating a moment longer, you pulled him down by his collar and kissed his cheek.

Spinning around instantly after, you chased your daughter before he could react. Blush darkened your cheeks both from the bitter air and your actions. The inside of the convenience store was a flame of warmth to the gloom of the outside. “Mommy!” — called, swaying on her heels as she waited for you in one of the aisles.

“I’m here,” you came up behind her, eyes wandering around the candy. You looked up and caught the gaze of the store clerk, you smiled briefly, then went back to collecting snacks. “Do you think Daddy wants coffee?”

Your daughter halted, her fingers that were running along a row of MnMs coming to a cursory halt. She turned to you with a look you’d begun to distinguish as her “Hotch stare”. Well, Spencer had originally caught onto it and had given it its name– one you didn’t understand until you’d met the man himself. 

Spencer had typically tried to keep his work life and home life separate–especially before the marriage–but after you’d had —, he’d wanted the team to meet you, and you, of course, had wanted to meet them for some time before.

Your first introduction was at a Christmas party thrown by one of his team members. He’d been working as an FBI agent for almost five years when you’d gotten married, you’d fallen pregnant with — not long after. 

He let his coworkers meet you exactly a year after — was born. Her birthday fell in December, which was the month Spencer took the most time off, other than your anniversary, though you never held him accountable if he only stayed a few hours between cases, you knew he did the best he could, which was also why you took the most trips in December.

Spencer had been clear with everyone that he would not answer work calls, and everyone knew that in December, he meant it. He blocked agent Morgan one time, though the poor guy had been calling Spencer in as a joke, that was about the only thing he never found funny, and he still didn’t

“Right,” you plant a hand on your hip, “you’re right.”

For someone so young, your daughter was incredible at picking up on social cues, you knew it was rare for geniuses to give birth to other geniuses–but for Spencer and —, you thought it was entirely possible.

— followed you over to the drink station, arms full of different candies. As you made two cups of coffee, one sickly sweet, — wandered over to the chip aisle and collected a few more things. You smiled sardonically at the total, huffed about paying, paid, and braved the grim winter once more. You felt like Anna on that mountain in nothing but a gown.

“Heh-hey, there you are,” Spencer opened his arms for a hug, but instead of hugging him back, — walked around him and demanded with a shiver–

“Open the door, Daddy.”

You snorted at Spencer’s guffawed look, shrugging when he looked at you for help. He sighed, opened the door, and helped her into her car seat. You approached him as he shut the door, enclosing your daughter in the heat and coziness of the car. 

You waited for him to turn before saying, “Open the door, Daddy.”

He rolled his eyes, but followed orders once more, waving a hand as if to say, ‘yes, your majesty’. You bit back a laugh and set the cups of coffee in the middle console. “Thank you,” you grinned up at him, sliding your body into the seat a moment later, sighing when you found the warmer still on.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered with a forced frown, shutting the door when he was sure all of your person was inside. You laughed as he made his way to the other side of the car.

“We can switch off,” you said an hour on the road, — was munching on something from her bag, ignoring the world around her.

“I’m fine,” Spencer brushed away your offer.

“I know,” you persisted, “but, if you need to,” you clamped a hand over his, drawing his eyes from the road to where your palm met the top of his grip on the steering wheel. His expression softened and he smiled, giving you an appreciative glance before turning his attention back to the road once more.

Ere long, you arrived at the cabin. It was stuffed securely on the side of a mountain, but the gap from the mountain to the road wasn't big and you trusted it. You had to pass through Mapleshire, the small mountain town that sold you the land, to get to the cabin. — was out cold in the backseat, so Spencer went to open the door and get the fireplace going while you kept the car on and began pulling out the luggage with as little noise as possible.

You had the entire weekend planned, —’s birthday was Sunday, and you already knew what you wanted to do for her. You had thought about it for a while, though you always knew you wanted to introduce the sport on her birthday, you didn’t know which would be the right age. She’d barely started walking two years ago, and you thought it was too soon for her fourth birthday. This year though, she was confident, and you were sure she could learn it just as she’d learned to walk, with her father’s hands guiding and leading her, and you, there to capture the memory for when she wanted to look back in the years to come.

Spencer ran back outside to watch — as you headed inside with the first set of bags, you switched off until all things were safely secure in the cabin–it was more of a lodge, but the word ‘cabin�� had a coziness to it.

The snowy home wasn’t completely deserted as Mapleshire was less than ten minutes away and neighboring cabins surrounded the mountains. There was even an actual lodge, where tourists stayed during their time away from everything else. You’d lodged there once when you were in the market for a winter home.

You wished you could stay there all season, but alas, you had work, Spencer had work, and — had daycare. Though, you were debating about asking if he might want to come next weekend. You could make it tradition, and maybe… when — got older, you could stay for the entirety of her school break, though Spencer may have to work a little throughout, his presence would be more than enough.

You shoved the thought away as you prepped — for the trip through the shivering breeze that only seemed to be alive at this height and around this time of night. She shuddered and tightened her hold around your neck, her legs–under the blanket Spencer had wrapped around her when you’d first pulled her out of her car seat–tightened. “Mommy?” Her slurred question pulled a tight frown to your lips; you rounded to the cabin’s front porch–your steps hurried as they endured the thickness of the snow. Spencer would have to shovel a walkway in the morning.

The soft yellow glow and toasty heat of the fire was like a blanket of cookies fresh out of the oven draped around your shoulders, suffocating you in love. You closed your eyes for a moment, breathing in the aroma, “Mommy?” — called again, head tilted to the side, eyes groggy.

“Here,” you slipped your shoes off, shut the door behind you, and stepped down the hall toward the room you’d curated for her when you had time off. Spencer had picked a few things out, including the bed sheets and comforter.

The room was still pretty chilly, though you weren’t sure if you should let her sleep in the living room tonight as you and Spencer still had a lot of unpacking to do. You’d need to go into town early in the morning for a bit of shopping, you’d probably end up eating breakfast at Windrift, the diner in town.

You settled — into bed, tucking the extra blanket around her, “here, let me see your shoes.” you whispered, yanking up the cloth just enough to reach her feet. She’d been dressed in comfy clothing, but you wanted to take her jacket off. “Give me your coat and then you can go to bed.”

She huffed but listened. “We’re here, aren’t we?” She said in her broken words, her voice trembling with both sleep and toddler tongue.

You smoothed down her hair, “yes, sweetheart now get some rest.”

You stood to move, but she sat up instantly, “Wait–the light.”

You frowned, — hadn’t been afraid of the dark since–well–ever. You didn’t have a lamp ready and you couldn’t very well keep the big light on. “Tomorrow,” you smiled, “tomorrow we’ll look for a lamp.” Some antique stores must have something you could use.

“But–” though it was dark it was as if you could see her lip quiver with the tone in her voice. It must have been because she wasn’t used to this area, it was new territory for her, and she’d never slept anywhere she hadn’t been before.

You sighed, feeling bad, maybe you could give her your phone’s flashlight, just until you were ready for bed, then she could sleep with you and Spencer–or until she fell asleep. You were approaching her bedside again, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans when Spencer appeared in the doorway, knocking slightly, “What’s going on?”

“—’s afraid of the dark.”

“I am not,” she turned on her side, sleep beginning to leave her, which scared you. You couldn’t have her up at this hour.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you reached over, rubbing her side.

“Hold on,” Spencer said, slipping away.

You sighed, you’d switched seats with Spencer a third of the way through the journey, and had switched again when you’d stopped at another gas station, — had been asleep by then, and you were both already so tired.

“Here,” Spencer stepped through the threshold of the room and headed to the other side, where — now faced. “Here,” he murmured her nickname, “look at this.” — watched as he plugged in a nightlight, the room aglow softly with yellow light; it mimicked a fireplace, like the one in the family room. “Better?” Spencer brushed a lock of hair out of her face, her smile as bright as it could be at that moment, you were sure.

“Thanks, Daddy.” She mumbled.

He stood as her eyes fluttered closed and she nuzzled herself into the pillow. Spencer left the door ajar when he met you in the hallway. You nodded toward the room, “when did you buy that?”

He waved his hand, biting back a smile, “it was supposed to be her birthday present. I’ll just have to get her another one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know about it.” You scoffed, crossing your arms as he walked back toward the living room.

“You don’t know all of my secrets,” he halted his movements and spun around, his eyes flirting as he reached behind your ear and pulled out a single rose, “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed as a caustic expression grazed your features. You took the rose from his hand, it was real–your breath caught as you watched his figure disappear behind the corner to the drawing room. Grinning, you twirled the rose between your fingers, he was just full of surprises, wasn’t he?

You woke up with a good weight over you, something warm pressed against your face. At first, you thought it might have been a very small creature, but upon opening your eyes, you saw —. “Morning, Mommy.” She giggled, not fully pronouncing ‘morning’.

“Oohh,” groaning, you brought your hands up to your face and rubbed the sleep away. You sat up, — falling to your waist as you caught her back. “Where’s Daddy?”

— leaned in, cupping her hand over her mouth as she whispered, “Still sleeping.”

“Oh no,” you frowned, “now, we can’t have that can we?”

Her continued giggles were all the confirmation you needed to wake your husband up. You began shaking him, — slid off of you, and now between the two of you, cupped Spencer’s head, smoothing down his hair as she whispered in his ear, “Daddy, wake up!” Her voice went high at the end, louder than the other words.

Spencer stirred and you held a hand up to muffle your giggles. “What year is it?” He grumbled, eyes peeling open.

“Daddy!” She squealed like he’d just asked a question with the most obvious answer.

“Yeah,” he stretched, grabbing — under her armpits and spinning her around to sit her in his lap as he sat up. He looked down at her with a lopsided smile, “Hi.”

She covered her laughter with her hands and looked up, whispering, “Hi,” like it was their own, little secret. You wanted to capture this moment on camera, but perhaps that would ruin the moment, and you were sure there would be other times like this–so you deigned to just watch. 

The soft glow of the winter sun cascaded along your husband and daughter. You thought to leave them to their own devices while you went to take a shower. Rounding the bed, you pecked Spencer on the lips, “I’m gonna wash up.”

“Ewheww,” — scrunched up her nose, but a smile was adjacent to it.

You could hear them begin a tickle fight and pillow war as you reached the bathroom. It didn't have a tub, but a stand-up shower surrounded by fogged glass. You brushed your teeth while waiting for the water to heat up. You’d take — a bath in the hallway bathroom while Spencer took a shower afterward.

An hour and a half later the clock read 9:30 am. — was ready, wearing one of her favorite winter outfits. She looked like she’d be warm even when you stepped outside and headed into town.

“Ready?” Spencer found you and — in the den, he’d just come back in from shoveling a path to the car, and he was snow-bitten.

“Yep,” he kissed your cheek.

“Did you want to go to the movies later?” he motioned with his hands.

You shook your head, “I’m not sure, maybe we could come home and make smores, or something. I really just want to spend time alone as a family today, before all the circus tomorrow.” You pressed your hands against his chest and looked up into his goldened eyes. “Maybe after we finish skating tomorrow,” you amended. You were determined to teach your daughter how to ice skate, even if it took her some time, you loved the idea of sharing something so magical with her, and perhaps a movie at the local theatre would be a nice way to end the day before heading back up to the cabin.

Spencer nodded, “Okay, I’m fine with that.” 

You smiled, eyes now back on your daughter who seemed entranced by the idea of tying up her beret herself. You took it from her hands and tied it for her, patting her shoulder thereafter, “Come on, we need to eat.”

— dashed out the door and toward the car, the crunch of the snow beneath her small feet warmed your heart. She wore little brown mittens which further disabled her ability to open the door.

Spencer started the jeep while you helped — in her car seat. “Where are we going?” She asked as you strapped her in.

You glanced at Spencer, and he answered, “A cute little diner.”

“What’s a diner?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, had you never said the word diner around your daughter? Then a seldom expression fell to your face, or maybe she just forgot. “It’s a restaurant,” you shut her door, but not before bopping her on the nose.

She grimaced, whining, “Mommy I thought I told you to stop that!”

You huffed and crossed your arms as you slid into the passenger seat, “you let Daddy do it.”

“I do not!” She harrumphed, mimicking your actions.

You turned to your husband, eyes accusingly, “You liar.”

He held up his hands, falsy shocked, “Hey, now…”

“Mmmhmm,” you looked him up and down, unimpressed. “Drive, Daddy.”

He chuckled, pulling his seat belt over himself, and clicking it into place.

You played Christmas carols for —, laughing as she clapped and sang along. Ere long Spencer pulled into a lot across the street of the diner and wasting no time, the three of you headed toward the crosswalk and entered Windrift.

“Whoa,” — laughed, skipping to and fro. You asked her to keep calm and she promised she would do her “absolute best,” as if it were some kind of mission. 

While Spencer was led toward a table, however, you and — paused to play one of the mini-games the diner had in the front. You were caught up in securing a teddy bear from the claw machine (— being your number one cheerleader) when Spencer cleared his throat and appeared behind you like the grim reaper.

— laughed, saying you were in trouble. You whined as Spencer drug you away, you 0; claw machine 1.

You and Spencer ordered for — first, then he let you order, and finally, he placed his. The hostess read back everything she had scribbled down on her tiny notepad and hurried off toward the kitchen.

The red-stained, glass-shaded lights hung above you and every booth in the diner. A jukebox sat a few booths behind you, propped up against the back wall of the aisle. It looked like it’d been haunting Windrift since the place had been built. “You think it still works?” You nodded toward the music player.

Spencer shrugged, “we can ask.”

“No,” you waved your hand, “it’s fine.”

Your food came thirty minutes later, you were done around 11, and now back in the car, you were headed toward the only grocer Mapleshire had. It didn’t have a name like most other places in town, the lettering at the top simply read ‘grocer’.

You wandered around with a cart, grabbing essentials such as water and cereal (— was really specific about the cereal she preferred, you blamed Spencer for speaking so elaborately when she was in your tummy, she now had his curse of using words that were abnormal for a 4-year-old’s vocabulary. 

You headed back up to the cabin, unpacking the very specific cereal — claimed she’d die without. Most of the morning had gone by already, there were maybe 5 hours left until it was —’s bedtime. You thought of ways you could waste time, briefly, you thought you might have time to take — out on the ice, but then you recalled how exactly you wanted it all to happen, and thought it best to save it for tomorrow.

Instead, you and Spencer roasted marshmallows in the den via the fireplace. You were certain this would also be —’s first time learning what things like ‘roasting marshmallows’ and ‘smores’ meant. 

You loved that you would be there for everything–but you absolutely cherished the idea of Spencer being part of it all too. You knew he felt the same and you also knew he’d have to be dead for him to miss anything.

“I want another one,” — patted her stomach. 

You noted the chocolate around her mouth as she yawned. You smiled, glancing between your daughter and your husband, “Actually, I think it’s time for bed.”

— huffed, but she didn’t whine, “Can we eat more tomorrow?”

“Only if you clean up super nicely and bed head right-right now!”

She glanced at Spencer, but then frowned and turned back to you. Leaning in and holding up a hand, — whispered so softly so that Spencer wouldn’t be able to hear–but he did. You were sure of this as he stood, prepping to follow his daughter toward the hall bathroom. “She called me your loyal knight?” His eyes popped as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You grinned and kicked your feet up on the coffee table, stretching your arms behind you, “I believe that means she knows who rules this family.”

“With an iron fist,” Spencer clicked his tongue as he walked away.

You laughed and sat up again, reaching for your mug. Spencer had made cocoa and you had the bright idea to buy whipped cream and cinnamon powder to sprinkle on the top, one of your better concoctions.

Around 7:30 pm, you heard — and Spencer leave the bathroom, heading for her bedroom. “All done?” You shouted from your spot on the sofa.

“Yeah!” Came Spencer’s shout a few seconds later. You stood and made your way toward your daughter’s room, finding your husband tucking her in tightly. The nightlight on–once again mimicking the fireplace in the den. It glowed softly, lighting up the room like a candle would, though lower to the floor and not in the center of the room, it shone well.

You had just stood up from kissing —’s forehead when she called, “wait.”

You and Spencer shared a look before turning to your daughter once more, “yes, what is it, —?”

“Can you tell me a story?” ‘Story’ came out as ‘sory’ and you wondered if you should begin booking her first dentist appointment soon.

Another look shared between Spencer and you told you you were thinking the same thing, — had never before asked for a bedtime story, just as she had never been afraid of the dark before the night prior, but you supposed children changed over time. Her brain must be developing, and so her personality–her fears and everything in between were now growing.

“Yeah,” you said, moving back toward your spot near her twin-sized bed. Spencer joined you, crouching as you settled on your knees.

“What–what story do you want to hear about?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“All-alright,” Spencer swallowed, hesitant, “once–once upon a time there was a-uh,” he turned to you visibly terrified, though you couldn’t fathom why.

You picked up where he left off, “a daring knight,” you wanted to snort because of course that was the first fantasy character to pop into your head–just because — had said something about it earlier.

“A knight like Daddy?” She asked.

“Yes, yes,” you nodded, unconsciously feeling around the space for Spencer's hand, “a knight like Daddy” He tugged your hand toward his thigh and held it, rubbing minuscule circles into your palm with his thumb.

“Then…was there a queen like Mommy too?”

“Uh, yeah,” you smiled, “the Knight protected the Queen, they were very close.” Your heart thudded in your chest, but as you moved on with the story it began to calm and you could see —’s chest begin to rise and fall in a slow rhythm.

“I think she’s asleep,” Spencer whispered after a time.

“Yeah,” you squeezed his hand, “let’s go.”

The hallway was chillier than —’s room, so you ran toward yours to grab a blanket. Spencer followed you, leaning against the doorway as you wrapped yourself in the knitted quilt. “Are you planning to take a shower tonight?”

You shook your head, shuddering, “tomorrow.”

“Yeah, probably best, it’s too cold now.”

“Are you gonna clean up?”

When he said yes, you thought to follow him, but paused at the last moment and decided to prep the bed so he could change into something more comfortable and fall asleep more quickly.

You lit a candle as you worked, snorting when you heard Spencer curse down the hall as he more than likely stubbed his toe on something. You were always telling him to wear the house slippers you bought, but he never listened. “Serves you right,” you muttered under your breath.

A little while later, Spencer appeared in your doorway, “hey,” you muttered.

“Hi,” he watched you, and you couldn’t put into words exactly what expression he used when he looked at you. It was a mix of emotions you’d seen over the years, it was as if you’d given him the moon–as if you had decorated the night sky just so he’d have something to watch when the sun left his sight.

You could see it in his eyes, but he wasn’t a poet, and he wasn’t trying to beat around the bush, “thank you,” it said, but what you thought it meant was ‘I love you’. 

“Knight?” You crossed your legs under the covers and faced him as he flipped the light switch off and approached his side of the bed.

“Yes?” He smiled cheekily.

“Back there, you were acting a bit strange.”

He averted his gaze which he only did when he was nervous, embarrassed, and/or hiding something–lying.

“Spencer?” You questioned, reaching over to grab his hand. He let you. He also let you force his head back toward yours. You searched intently, looking for an explanation to his odd behavior, the only light visible from your phone once you held the flashlight up to his face.

“I couldn’t–” he huffed as if trying to find the words, “I’ve never heard a bedtime story…” he admitted, biting back a frown–though it only served to bring a pout to his face.

Your heart did that thing it always did when he looked extra adorable. “Spencer Reid,” you called, his eyes finally finding the courage to return to you, “would you like to hear a bedtime story?”

Were it anyone else, he would have thought they were making fun of him–teasing him, even, but it was you. You and your perfect laugh, you and your warm hands, you and your kind, loving, heart. He smiled and pulled you to his chest, “— —, will you tell me a story?”

You snuggled close to him, giggling as he brushed a lock of your hair out of your face–it tickled. “Always,” you agreed, whispering, “close your eyes.”

You watched his eyes flutter shut, you could smell him, he smelled good, though he was dirty with the day's events, he had that ever-lasting scent to him–coffee and old leather. It was like he’d stepped right out of one of his Victorian novels.

“In a place–long ago–not too far away, there lived a girl in a small village.” He hummed against the beginning of your story and you smiled. “For most of her life, she thought it was herself against the world, and she wouldn’t let the world beat her… little did she know, however, it wasn’t the word she should have been afraid of,” your whispers filled the calm confines of your room.

“She braved the earth alone, fighting every day like it was her last, until she came upon a boy, who seemed the exact opposite of her.

“He laughed at the oddest of things, elated the queerest of sayings. He could go on and on about nothing and everything, and for once, the girl wanted to listen to someone other than her own thoughts.”

Spencer chuckled, though he tried to hide it. You didn’t mind, you loved that he was enjoying your story. 

“The girl and boy became friends, but that’s when she realized there were things far scarier than the world.”

“And what was that?” Spencer quirked a brow.

You pushed yourself up and out of his hold, his eyes flew open as you leaned over and murmured into his ear, “love.”

You pulled back, noting his raised brows, “why was love scarier than the dangers of the world?”

You wanted to squeeze him and never let him go, overjoyed at the fact that he was taking your story seriously. You were sure–had it been anyone else, they would have laughed, telling you it was enough. But not Spencer, because Spencer was Spencer, the only reason you needed to love him.

“Because along with love,” you began, “rejection existed. Everything has a balance, true love is to unrequited love what summer is to winter–and that–that was scarier than anything… Because it meant that the girl could indeed be hurt, and she was human, which made it more fatal than any physical wound she could have ever encountered.”

“Then end?” Spencer raised a brow, looking up at you.

You huffed, a tranquil expression settling over your features, “perhaps.”

He shook his head, but a delicate smile appeared on his lips, “thank you.”

You huffed with pride, “always,” and nudged him with your head, like a cat, he thought.

The morning isn’t as bright as the day before, the curtains weren’t drawn back, but what caught your attention first was the buttery aroma floating from the hall and into your room. The door was left ajar, you raised a brow, a half-awake smile dawning on your face.

You rubbed your eyes, ridding yourself of the crust that built up the night prior. There was a soft glow, however light it might have been, rolling to the side of the bed and planting your feet on the floor, you found the source. It was the nightlight Spencer had bought for —’s birthday. You smiled, she must have brought it in when you were sleeping, and an empty bed meant she, along with her father, was awake.

You stood, stretched, and right your consciousness before following the scent that woke you up so calmly. You paused for a moment, taking in the picturesque scenery before you. Crossing your arms, you leaned against the wall where the walkway ended.

— was sitting on the counter, mixing a bowl of some kind of composite, Spencer spun around in the kitchen, almost as if he’d choreographed a dance for exactly that purpose. “Having fun?” You called after a second, both bodies stopped instantly, and both heads jerked in your direction.

You covered up a snort, noting pancake mix on —’s tiny nose. “What’s so funny, Mommy?” She asked a grin spread across her face.

“Nothing,” you waved a hand, stepping forward, “you take a shower?” You propped yourself up on one of the barstools.

“Forturnalty, yes,” he smirked triumphantly, “— here was able to keep her promise of letting Mommy sleep while Daddy got in the shower.”

“He made me,” your daughter accused, “he said if I wanted to surprise Mommy, I had to.” Her words blended, causing the swelling in your heart to increase.

“Aww, thank you, baby.” You leaned over the counter and kissed her forehead.

“Ew, Mommy, your breath stinks,” she waved a hand in front of her nose, leaving the mixing spoon in the bowl.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your hands, backing away slowly while Spencer died in the background. “Mommy’s going to go brush her teeth.”

“And shower?” Spencer idiotically added.

“That’s okay,” you pointed a finger his way, “I’m going to remember that.” 

Spencer’s face fell, he held up his hands–almost like he was mimicking you–as if he’d done nothing wrong, “ooo, Daddy’s in trouble.” — whispered, eyes wide.

“That he is, —,” you nodded sternly, “that he is.”

An hour later, you were showered, and and dressed–and your breath no longer smelled of mold. Pancakes were stacked on a plate on the counter near Spencer–who was washing dishes while — still sat at the counter, now eating a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, nose fully free of mix.

“Hey,” you rounded the counter, leaning over Spencer to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured, looking down at you with the eyes of a man sick with love.

“What are we doing today?” — asked with her broken speech, you grabbed a few paper towels from the roll and rounded the counter, sitting beside her to wipe her mouth of the chocolate. Spencer slid a plate of pancakes in front of you–a bottle of water came soon after.

“Thank you,” you accepted the utensils and began slicing through your delicious breakfast.

“Always,” he sighed, throwing a kitchen rag over his shoulder. He unbuttoned his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, you let your eyes fall over his arms as he seemingly continued washing the dishes. 

Watching him made you wonder why he hadn't rolled his sleeves up in the first place, but then you understood he had just begun washing them when you went to kiss him, and the sink was still full, and there was still a couple of dirtied kitchenware scattered across the area.

You hadn’t realized you were drooling until — said something about it. Spencer craned his head slightly to get a look and you dropped the fork in your hands to wipe the saliva. He snorted once he saw you and you glared, though couldn’t help your eyes tracking over his exposed skin.

You huffed, determined to finish your pancakes without looking at him. You were angry-stuffing your mouth full of buttery, chocolaty goodness when — reached over and tapped you, “Done, Mommy.”

“Alright,” you sighed, setting your fork down, you were ¾ done, but you were more than ready to start your day, you would just have to get back to your breakfast later.

Spencer cleared the counter as you stole — off to her room, no doubt to get her ready for what you had planned. He’d spent hours going shop to shop just to find the right pair of skates, and even then, you were a nervous jitter about ‘what if the skates don’t fit her’ and ‘what if she doesn’t like the color’.

He’d reassured you more than enough times that they were fine and — would love them regardless of the color or model or make, though he knew he’d have rubbed your back and kissed your cheek however many more times you needed.

He headed toward your shared room, grabbing your scarves and mittens. He wrapped his around his neck and yours around his arm. The mittens were stuffed into his pocket as he began packing a bag for the trip.

There was an ice ring near the edge of town, it was Mapleshire’s biggest attraction, though it had separate times for children and adults, or rather, people who knew how to skate. If you left now, you would arrive right when they opened, around nine.

The car ride was smooth, — was wearing her mayoral coat which you’d picked out, especially for this day, and a plaid skirt, which Spencer had bought specifically to match the coat. It was adorable how his geeky, book-nerd style was evident, even in the form of his daughter’s clothing.

—’s snow boots protected her socks from getting wet as she jumped up and down, excited with the view–the anticipation. 

“Happy birthday.” You smoothed down the top of her head, “Come on, let’s get wristbands and sign that waver.”

Well, Spencer got the wristbands and signed the waiver while you and — sat on one of the benches behind the barrier that separated everything else from the ice. The sky was gray, but not gloomy–just the opposite. 

Children of all ages surrounded you, from toddlers to teenagers, parents, of course, were there too. Some had cameras like the one that hung around your neck, others had their phones out, already recording.

You preferred your camera because it was meant to capture scenery like this, the focus was great and it automatically blurred the things around your center point.

“Ready?” You finished tying —’s shoes, she loved the brown of the base of the skates and the blue laces, of course she did, you had no idea why you’d been so worried when picking them out. Spencer stood in front of you as you laced your skates. “I’ll get her used to the ice, let the skates get cold.”

He nodded and held his hand out for the camera. You pulled it from your neck and set it in the palm of his hand, large hands–you’d noticed this the first time you’d met him, they were slender, like musicians, but long too, which was why you’d first thought he was a pianist.

“Alright,” you leaned down, keeping — close to the wall, “first, we need to get our skates cold, so we're going to stay close to the wall.” You forced her in front of you, one arm under her armpit, the other holding onto the wall. Both her hands were clutching the wall and you were surprised at how calm she was. She wasn’t crying, or begging to get off because she was scared to fall. You thought she was being very Spencer-like, or perhaps, this was all —.

A few minutes later, Spencer had called you over, letting you know he’d bought and placed your bags in a locker. The only thing he'd kept was his phone and the camera, now strapped around his neck. He shrugged over your mittens which you had neglected to put on until now, and which you desperately needed.

He took a few photos of you as you slowly moved more toward the middle of the rink, your skates getting colder with each round you made. You decided to stop when you almost bumped into a father and son, Spencer making his amusement known as you embarrassingly skated toward him again.

“I think that’s enough for Mommy.” You huffed.

“Maybe you just need a little more practice.” Spencer batted his dumb, long eyelashes.

“Daddy!” — shouted, but a smile grazed her tiny face.

You sighed, patting her on the back, “thanks for trying to pretend.”

“With pleasure.” She nodded aggressively and tried to furrow her brows into a very serious, very Hotch expression. Unfortunately, it was undermined because of the way she pronounced pleasure as ‘pweajer’. 

You smacked Spencer’s arm for snorting, then held out a hand for the camera. He slid it over with grace, taking —’s hand in his. “Let me show you how a pro skates.” 

— had fallen a couple of times, but she’d taken it like a champ, she was learning the ropes easily, she was a natural–it almost felt ironic in a way.

Your first date with Spencer had been to an ice rink, it was on a whim, sure, but it was still so incredibly special to you. Sometimes you thought how, if the restaurant hadn’t overbooked that day, you never would have walked down that street at the exact moment the ice rink opened in town. 

You never would have stood in line for half an hour eating street food with too loud children, never would have found out how good a skater Spencer was and how horrid you were. (Skating on ice was undoubtedly different from skating with rollerblades–though that also had an ironic notion to it.)

Spencer probably wouldn’t have cracked up every time you fell, wouldn’t have helped you up after every fall, and wouldn’t have fallen himself trying to catch you that last time. You wouldn’t have shared so much so easily with each other that quickly.

You recall the exact moment you knew it would be him or no one. The moment you knew you’d made the right choice in confronting your feelings; it was the moment you knew you were either going to marry him or die single.

He’d just helped you up for the millionth time after trying to hold in his cackle. And just as you’d calmed down, holding the railing, a kid–a girl–fell and began crying. There were no parents in sight, no adults, so it drew your attention immediately. Spencer–without a single second of hesitation–skated toward her and bent down, obviously asking her if she was okay and if she knew where her parents were.

He was able to locate the father, in a few seconds, skating her over to the exit. She must have been no older than six or seven. Time around you moved forward, but the image was ingrained into your brain. You knew he didn’t think so, but to you, Spencer was nothing less than perfect.

— called your name, pulling you back to reality. She and Spencer were skating toward you slowly, he was skating backward, holding her hands. He kept glancing behind him to make sure it was clear. Your heart warmed as the chaos around you froze, like the ice before you. You held up the camera and snapped a photo, the image perfect, just like your husband.

He would be there, you realized, for everything, just like he was here now: in front of you, holding your daughter’s hands… 

Her first school recital, her first crush, her first disappointment–her first heartbreak. He would be there for and after every single one. Picking her back up, hand in hand to lead–to guide her; showing her how to move one foot in front of the other, and you would be there to capture it all.

The illustration in front of you looked like something out of a fantasy; a paper-drawn dream.

a/n: more than halfway through writing this fic, i remembered i'd wanted to listen to seeing blind by Niall Horan, but it played it the background along with willow by Taylo while editing... ily cari !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

[misotsukiiyeooo]

"What's this one about?"

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x F! reader

A/N: need me a Wonwoo. (I'm too lazy to add photos for this one sry!)

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 3.6k

Synopsis: Wonwoo's curious and interested in the book you're reading, so interested that he accidentally reads ahead.

On a serene, cozy, rainy night, you stand in front of your kitchen counter, resting your book on it while being completely engrossed in the story.

So focused on the book, that you don't even notice your boyfriend, Wonwoo, walking into the kitchen.

He approaches from behind and wraps his big arms around you. "What's this one about, hmm?" Wonwoo asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

With a smile, you reply, "It's about a girl on a mission to find out who killed her family. It's so good, and right now, the killer might be one of her best friends! Crazy, right?"

He listens intently as you speak, wanting to ensure you feel heard. He hums in response, "It does sound interesting."

You turn to face him and ask, "Want to read it with me? I could start over."

Wonwoo rests his hands on your waist as you talk. "Are you sure? Reading it over again doesn't sound fun."

You nod reassuringly. "I'm sure! Besides, I'm only like twenty pages in." You wait for his response.

He nods, "Alright then." You grin at him and take his hand, guiding him to your bedroom.

The gentle sound of rain drizzles against the window, creating a soothing backdrop to your shared silence.

You're both comfortably tangled in bed, feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

"Isn't the book good so far?" you ask. He chuckles lightly, tilting his head. “I’m still trying to figure out if I can trust the second best friend. There’s something off about him.”

"Right? I think he might be the killer!" you exclaim, pointing at the page as if to emphasize the character.

He chuckles again, wrapping his arms a little tighter around you. "Now that I think about it, he's always around when the girl finds pieces of evidence."

You nod, enjoying how invested Wonwoo is in the story. Resting your head on his chest, you continue to read.

As you delve deeper into the book, you begin to feel tired, lulled by the rhythm of the rain in the background.

Gradually, you fall asleep, with Wonwoo remaining oblivious to your quiet state.

He gasps in shock as he figures out the plot twist. "He was the killer! We knew it!" He raises an eyebrow when he realizes you're not responding.

Wonwoo turns slightly to face you and scoffs. "Really? I guess I'll just have to pretend I didn't read it." He speaks softly, knowing you wouldn’t want to hear the details if he’s already finished the book.

He places the book beside the bed along with his glasses before kissing the top of your head and saying goodnight.

Sequel You and Wonwoo are both resting on the couch, watching TV.

"By the way, did you finish the book last night?" you ask, looking up at him.

Wonwoo shakes his head. "No, I noticed you were sleeping, so I didn't finish it," he replies, lying.

"Really? Oh…well, I woke up in the middle of the night because I couldn't stop thinking about it. But guess what? You wouldn't believe who the killer was!" you respond excitedly.

He looks over nervously. "Who was it?" He pretends to be curious.

"The guy we were talking about earlier—the best friend!" you reveal dramatically.

Wonwoo covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide. "Really?!"

You pause, sinking into the couch. "You read it, didn’t you?" You don’t buy his poor acting.

He sighs in defeat. "I'm sorry, Doll. I thought you were awake, so I kept reading…"

You giggle at his small pout. "It's fine, I guess. I did wake up to read it without you too, so…I suppose we're even."

He smiles. "I guess so." You sit closer to him again and look at the TV. "By the way, you're a terrible actor."

You both burst into laughter, the sound echoing joyfully throughout the house.

Reqs are open!!

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @black-swan-blog27 @allieyaaa @honglynights @bath1lda @hanniehae-yoon @wonunonu

[xhoneygirlxx]

We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

-

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

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[notiddygothgf]

1/2

★ pairings: choso kamo x f!reader

★ synopsis: Yuuji Itadori truly was the best friend a girl like you could ask for, but he wasn't the only reason you came to visit. (His older brother, the devilishly handsome Choso Kamo, had always been the apple of your eye).

★ c.w.: slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual smut, childhood sweethearts, kinda, mutual pining, choso with a tongue piercing, rough sex, cunnilingus, backshots, unprotected sex, regular people au, two year age gap, PWP.

★ a/n: hi pookie dookies!! ive been wanting to write choso for a while!! this is a one shot I split into two chapters bc its like, 11k words.... but! if u guys request it, I might add more chapters!!! thank u for ur support as always, muah muah!! (btw if u like tokyo rev go check out my other shit teehee).

★ w.c.; 4.5k

best friend's brother ; chapter index

YUUJI ITADORI WAS truly the best friend a girl like you could ask for. The two of you were kind of like childhood friends, though you hadn’t been close for a good portion of it. You didn’t remember the exact day Itadori had invited you into his home – though you knew it was some time in elementary school. The two of you had been practically inseparable ever since. 

There was one thing about the pinkette’s home life in particular that seemed to catch your young eye. 

His older brother, Choso.

He was two years your senior – dark hair, dark eyes, he looked nothing like his brother. He had this scar over the bridge of his nose from an accident that had happened when he was younger. He was an elusive figure, something of a mystery to your young mind – he was always there, but never there.  

He was content to dwell in the background like some sort of side character. 

The first time you’d ever met him had been at one of Itadori’s baseball games. He’d invited you to show up – and at this point you had to have been no older than 8 or 9 – and show out for him. And show out you sure did. 

You had your mother do your hair up real nice in those cute little pigtails you used to love wearing. You had scribbled his jersey number onto a plain white tee the night before, donning some hot pink leggings beneath.

And you screamed for Itadori, cheered as loud as your little lungs would allow you to. He won, of course, but that’s not the point here. You’d gone up to him after the game, wrapping your short arms around his frame – and at the time he was no larger than you were – and telling him he’d done great. Itadori grinned at you, faint blush dusting his cheeks, and thanked you. His smile was a thousand suns in one.

A hand on his shoulder had shaken the two of you out of the moment. A bigger hand.

It was his 11-year-old adoptive brother, Choso Kamo. An angel of the darkness, as corny as that sounds, but in that moment you swore the gates of heaven resided in those dark eyes of his. He stood out against the bright backdrop of the September afternoon. The sunlight filtered through his short black hair, reflected off of his pale skin, shooting rays right into your stomach and sending a horde of butterflies fluttering.

“This your girlfriend, Yuuji?” He commented with a half-grin.

You remember turning red at his comment, waving your arms around wildly. You remember the way his eyes creased as he laughed at you, one of the few times you recall seeing him laugh.

So what if you had heart eyes for your best friend’s older brother? It was harmless, just a little crush you had formed on the guy you felt had stolen your heart away. Harmless. 

At least, it was until the two of you grew older. You started junior high, you started puberty , and as your body changed, so did his. So did your feelings, morphing from a butterfly crush to something more akin to desire as you began to see him in a different light.

He lost the baby fat around his face. His eyes had darkened, shoulders broadening. His hair got longer, falling into his boyish, scarred face in a way that rendered you entirely breathless. 

He was becoming a man.

You were 13 and 15 now, stealing sneaky glances at him whenever he would pass by his brother’s room. Yuji, who had just been boasting about how he was starting to get taller than you, would pay it no mind.

It was just a crush. He was two years your senior, after all. You had no chance.

You were 13 when he would poke fun at you and his brother. He was 15 when he would laugh at the way your face would go red. He didn’t know that it wasn’t his brother you wanted.

14 and 16 when you first began to notice the subtle slope of his shoulders become more pronounced, more defined. When you began to notice the way his muscles would strain against the sleeves of his tee shirt. 

He had always been a large guy, having hit quite a few growth spurts along the way. He had to have been about 5’10 at that point, practically towering over you. But lately, you thought he must have been hitting the gym. He would walk past Yuji’s open door – and in their house it was a family policy to leave the door open when you came over, even if Yuji was only a brother to you – with gym gear on. He would come back with sweat-slicked hair plastered to his forehead, chest rising and falling steadily.

Something about that made your hormones go wild for him. Inappropriate thoughts began to chew away at you from the inside, images of what he could do to you with such strength, even if you weren’t too certain what ‘doing’ even entailed at that time. The scent of his pheromones, something like that – or maybe it was the way his gym clothes hugged his body while he marched towards the bathroom to take a shower – it made you feral for him.

He was so much bigger than you now. It made your head spin with feelings you didn’t quite understand. It was just a crush… so why did you stay awake at night imagining him panting over you, sweat trickling down his bare chest? The way his muscles might ripple under your hesitant, inexperienced touch? The warmth that would bloom over your face when you imagined his lips on yours – this man who you had never gotten close to.

A man who you remembered having a late night conversation with in the kitchen while Yuuji slept right down the hall one night.

He was ransacking the cabinet for snacks when you found him. He relaxed once he’d noticed it was you, the two of you eventually falling into sugar-fueled conversation after he cracked open a pack of double-stuff oreos. A conversation about the taboo , about the things you had been told to keep quiet.

“You don’t have to be all flustered ‘round me, y’know,” He had told you rather softly. The two of you were separated by the kitchen island, but it felt like he was way to close to you. “You can ask me anything you’re curious about.”

“I’m not curious!” You had whisper-shouted back with a roll of your eyes. “I don’t want to know about your sex life, you whore.”

“You just asked me what it felt like, liar,” He noted, quirking a brow at your outward reaction. He loved to get under your skin. Lived for it. “And for the record, I’m not a whore. Most of the times I’ve been touched have been with my own hand.”

“I’ve never tried… that, ” You mused quietly, head low. Your face burned with the heat of your admission. 

He popped an oreo into his mouth, dusting his hands off carelessly. “What, masturbating?”

Your heart did a weak somersault. “Quiet!” You hissed at him. “Now what if Yuuji heard you talking to me like that?”

“Calm your shit,” he told you. “You’re too young f’me. Relax.”

He only chuckled at your words, shaking his head quietly while he resealed the oreos. Still, if he was thinking anything about your reaction, he didn’t voice it. You were glad.

But it hurt. It hurt, hearing him talk about you like you didn’t have a chance. Like none of the effort you put into your appearance around him had any effect on him because you were too young to steal his attention away. None of it mattered – the push up bras, the low cut tanks, the cherry lip balm. 

In his eyes, you were only a kid.

“I’m a virgin,” you had blurted out, for some odd reason you still didn’t quite understand.

The pause that befell the two of you was one that you remembered years later. 

“I can tell,” He had said, slim waist swinging side to side as he walked around the kitchen island, towards the exit behind you. He sauntered over to you with a smirk on his face and a plate in his hand, dark hair pulled back into a bun while his layers fell around his face. He was breathtaking, handsome, tantalizing build towering over you.

16, A man whose voice had dropped again in the last few months whispered those words, the ones you would never forget, “‘S fun. You should try it.”

You didn’t know what he had wanted you to try – having sex or performing it on yourself.

Either way, that night when you went home was the first time you ever tried to touch yourself. Fantasized about him whispering in your ear, holding you down, talking you through – while your pink-manicured fingers worked you up to your first orgasm.

Two years had never felt so far apart.

Choso had a girlfriend at one point. It was only for, like, four months – he was 17, you were 15. You only found this out when he’d come home after a pretty rough night with her. He looked pissed, lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You knew he was too old for you, that you weren’t old enough for him, more specifically – but, still, you batted those lashes of yours up at him while you asked him what was wrong.

You didn’t tell him about the way butterflies erupted in your stomach like a hundred angry guisers when he told you his girlfriend had cheated, left him for another man. 

You hugged him instead, telling him that it would be alright, telling him that she never deserved him anyway. You were the one for him, and one day he would see that.

Instead of turning to you – who had been right there all along, he had just been too blind to notice – he took his anger out on everyone else. He became cold, emotionally closed off. He became a serial heartbreaker. 

For a while, whenever you came over to Yuuji’s, his bedroom would be vacant. Open, dark, just as he had left it. For a while, he would spend his nights with faceless hookups and meaningless dates. Itadori would call you to complain about it, about how “we’re home alone for dinner tonight and Choso just walked out”.

Your heart broke, too. He just didn’t know it.

He didn’t know you were waiting for him to come to his senses, for him to see you as a woman .

You were seated in the kitchen across from Itadori enjoying another late-night snack, sharing some hearty laughter. You had always adored your conversations with him, the ‘After-Hours’ talks, as you would often refer to them. 

Your night had taken an unexpected turn when Itadori’s brother burst through the kitchen door with a giggling girl in tow. The late hour suggested that this was no ordinary visit.

Still, even though you couldn’t pry your eyes away from her, you didn’t say anything. You stayed quiet while your heart shattered into one hundred million pieces inside of your tight chest.

Itadori’s laughter had died down, giving way to an awkward silence. He greeted his brother with a smile, “Hey, bro. Who’s she?”

Choso shrugged, dark hair shifting over his eyes that seemed to glint beneath the dim lighting as he replied, “Company.”

His mischievous tone and the girl at his side left little to the imagination. Your cheeks flushed as you exchanged another quick glance with Itadori.

You felt frozen in place. You couldn’t move. No, all you could do was sit there like a dumbass and stare at him, watch the man you loved liked guide her by her hand up the stairs. 

Of course. You had been naive to think that he would wait for you. He would be 18 next year. 

He was out of your league.

Feeling the need for a momentary escape, you had excused yourself, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom. You had stood up, heart racing, and made your way up the stairs and towards the bathroom.

Conveniently, of course, it was located just down the hall from Choso’s room.

You crept down the hall slowly. As you passed by his door, you caught a sound. Something unmistakable – two people in hushed conversation uttering words in between kisses. 

“Choso, baby.” 

Another quiet kiss. Their lips separated.

“I’m ready.” 

“You brought protection?” 

Your embarrassment grew as you realized the intimate nature of the encounter happening on the other side of the door. Quickly, you averted your gaze, face burning, and ran off to the bathroom.

It took you a moment to catch your breath. You couldn’t believe the awkwardness of the whole situation. Shit, you didn’t even know how to approach him after this.

Worst of all, you didn’t even know why you were still only able to imagine it was your voice behind that door instead of hers. That it was him pressing butterfly kisses to your lips. Him asking you if you were ready for him.

With your cheeks tinged a rosey hue, you resolved to keep yourself locked away in the bathroom until the thoughts subsided.

It seemed like it was a new girl every time you came to visit. A blonde, a brunette – he didn’t seem to have a preference. Every time you would watch him walk another girl to the front door, bidding her safe travels on her way home, your hope would wither away.

But the feelings never subsided. No, even when you would spend a little more time walking past his room on your way to the bathroom to eavesdrop. Not even when you would hear hushed whispers and quiet moans from the other side and imagine what kind of lover Choso would be. Would he leave marks? Talk dirty to you? Was he a giver or a taker? 

Not even when the two of you would cross paths in the kitchen after his plans for the evening went home. He would turn to you with a knowing smirk, hair down and messy even though it did nothing to hide the red and purple love bites that littered the valley of his neck. 

And he looked so good that you often found yourself wishing it was you who had left those marks. 

It was as if he knew you were dying inside. Like something was beginning to change inside of him after all of these years. Like he took some strangely cruel pleasure in showing off to you.

No, you would have to remind yourself in vain. I’m too young for him. 

You were just a girl in his eyes. That’s what you maintained.

So you went out and retaliated by losing your V-card to some kid from your class. Well, in your head it was retaliation. He was none the wiser about it, but it gave you a sense of satisfaction knowing you were able to fuck people who weren’t him. 

Take that, Choso. 

Yuji groaned, laying spread eagle over his carpeted floor, arms spread out on either side of him. He had grown so much – you could hardly contain the way your eyes wandered from his pretty face to his new physique. Like his brother, Itadori was a well-defined man.

God picked favorites, and it wasn’t you.

There was an open notebook splayed over his face. He gripped the spine, tossing it to the side. 

“I’m over this chemistry shit,” He sighed.

You couldn’t possibly have agreed more. Still, you continued to sketch the rough outline of a circle onto the sheet of construction paper in your hand. You would need to make it perfect, just right, so that you would be able to incorporate it into your group project.

You turned the pencil over between your fingertips. “We’re gonna need more supplies.”

"Like what?" Yuuji asked, his frustration still evident. "I’m pretty sure we’ve purchased, like… every craft supply on the market."

You quirked a brow at the thought. "Scissors…?"

Yuuji pursed his lips, his brow furrowing. "I don’t have those."

"Of course you don’t," you sighed, shaking your head. "Who the hell doesn’t have scissors?"

"I lent them to Choso," he retorted with a hint of annoyance.

Your heart dropped at the mention of Choso. You couldn't help but picture his face, his body, and wondered if he was asleep. You didn't want to disturb him.

Yuuji sat up, nudging you with his foot playfully. "Hey, why don't you go over there and get them? Make some goo-goo eyes, bat your lashes. I’m sure he wouldn’t say no to you."

You hesitated for a moment, considering your options. "I'm sure I can find some in my backpack," you said instead, trying to avoid the suggestion.

"Come onnnn, you know you wanna go over there," Yuuji teased with a sly grin. He leaned in closer, cupping his hand around his mouth, and whispered, " He just got back from the gym. "

Another nudge from Yuuji finally made you relent. "Fine," you said with a playful roll of your eyes. "I’ll be back."

Only moments later, you found yourself standing in front of Choso's door, a mix of anticipation and nervousness coursing through you as you raised your hand up to knock. You rapped twice against the wooden surface. There was a shuffling sound on the other side of the world, one that made your heartrate pick up, and then the door cracked open.

He had one earbud in his ear, the other dangling over his chest. He wore a black wife pleaser and some grey sweats that hung loose over his hips – leaving little to the imagination. He looked so strong, muscular arm braced against the doorframe while the other held it open. His waist was thin, toned, so much so that you could see it through the fabric of his shirt.

He smelled like he had just hopped out of the shower – like cherry and musk. His wet hair was done back into a messy bun. His eyes raked over your trembling form.

With a gentle, familiar grin, he said, “What’s up?”

Your throat felt dry. You swallowed anyway, with a great deal of discomfort, averting your wide-eyed gaze. Ignoring the way your eyes lingered over the pale skin of his toned navel revealed where his tank had ridden up, over the v line that dipped down into his waistband, over the neatly trimmed trail that led down south . 

“Do… Do you have scissors?” You asked him. You didn’t like how timid you sounded, or the way your stomach churned at the sight of him.

He paused for a moment, and somehow you knew he was looking at you. You were suddenly very glad you had worn a fitted v-neck tee shirt today, one that would have provided him with a bird’s eye view of your cleavage.

He’s looking at me. 

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly, stepping away from the door and into his room. You had only wandered into Choso’s quarters a few times with Yuuji, usually to steal something from him while he wasn’t home. You had never really taken the time to notice the band posters taped up over his walls, the black sheets on his bed, the clothes scattered over his floor in typical teenage boy fashion.

You poked your head in, taking a quick look around while his muscular back was turned. Ultimately, it was him you wound up gawking at, hungry eyes following the well-defined curve of his back into his slim waist, the curve of his bubble butt.

You looked away just as he had turned around. If he noticed you staring, he didn’t say anything. A red pair of scissors dangled from his curled finger. 

“Here,” was all he said, offering the tool to you. 

You didn’t know when conversations between the two of you had gotten to be so tense, so strained. It used to come effortlessly. These days, however, it seemed as if you were always trying to run away from conversation with him.

You took it from him gently, dying a bit more inside when his large fingers brushed against yours, offering a slight nod in return. “Thanks.”

16 and 18, now.

You had texted Choso asking for his help on a particularly difficult math assignment. He was older, after all, you didn’t doubt that he was better equipped to complete the homework than you were.

That was the first time you had ever hung out alone with him. Without Itadori. 

You would never forget the way the atmosphere changed when he sat close to you at the kitchen table. The way your skin prickled with electricity beneath his hesitant touch. He poked fun at you and your incompetence. You didn’t even care, not when he was sitting so close to you.

Alone.

The possibilities that filled your mind were less than holy.

Tensions were at an all time high. He had leaned over to help you, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, when it finally snapped.

When you met his gaze with uncertainty in your eyes, making no real effort to put any distance between you and the man you had been pining after for so many years. In that moment, you saw it – saw him, saw that he finally looked at you as something more than just a girl.

Saw the way his gaze softened as he leaned into you. You let him get closer, close enough that his nose brushed against the tip of yours. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You remarked, even though you ached to be trapped in this moment with him a while longer.

He licked his lips, murmuring, “You’re probably right.”

Nothing compared to the delicate brush of his lips against yours as the two of you finally met in the middle, The way fireworks blew up in your gut. The way he cradled your cheek gently in the palm of his hand, crossing that unspoken boundary that the two of you had been toeing for so long.

Though you had made out with a few guys before, in your eyes, you had shared your first kiss with Choso in the kitchen that night. The first of many to come .

The summer between 16 and 17 was spent sharing secret moments with him behind doors, between appearances. 

You sat on the couch next to Itadori, trapped in the second installment of a film series the two of you had been watching yesterday. You were wearing a zip-up hoodie over your school uniform. 

You had come over to do homework. Just like yesterday, though, you wound up fucking around. 

Itadori was far too engrossed in whatever was happening on screen to notice his brother leaving the kitchen just a few feet off to the side. He looked you up and down, dark eyes reaching into your soul and picking you apart at the seams. With a barely noticeable motion, he nodded towards the stairs.

You nodded back, heart thrumming wildly in your chest.

Choso gripped the meat of your ass in his hands, throwing your legs around his waist while his mouth danced against yours. You tossed your arms around his shoulders, head reeling from how effortlessly he had picked you up. He walked the two of you backwards until your back hit the door. 

He continued to ravage you against that surface, too, tongue slipping in between your lips and exploring your mouth. You trembled against him, trying your best to keep up with him.

It felt so good – being pressed up against him, being given his attention. You wished it was more than secret kisses here and there, of course, but you would take what you could get.

“Missed you,” he hummed against your lips. 

You didn’t even care if that was the line he used on all of the other girls. In that moment, all that mattered was his lips against yours, his hands on you, his attention.

You snaked your hands up the back of his neck and into his hair, twisting some of the dark strands between your fingertips. “I should really get back soon,” You gasped, relishing in the way his kisses felt up and down your neck.

He relented, letting you down. You pressed one more chaste kiss to his lips.

“Didn’t mean to keep ‘ya,” he chuckled lowly, breaths still heavy from the makeout session you had been having only seconds before. He nodded towards the door behind you. “Get back out there.”

You nodded wordlessly, opening the door. With one final smile, you slipped behind it. You felt like you were floating as your legs carried you down the stairs and into the living room. You didn’t even care how disheveled you looked.

Thankfully, Yuuji didn’t notice the way you were wiping your mouth on the back of your hand as you plopped onto the couch beside him. He also didn’t notice when his brother wandered down the stairs a few minutes later, or the way he smiled knowingly at you before disappearing into the kitchen.

You were 17 when Choso left for college. He was 19 when his brother had thrown him a going-away party.

There were 10 of you in the living room, a few of Yuuji and his childhood friends all gathered around the coffee table. A movie was on. Some of them were engrossed in a card game in the corner of the room. 

You and Choso lingered behind the group, situated comfortably on the couch behind all of the action. He was sitting so close that your thighs brushed against his, so close that it felt like he, too, wanted to savor the moment before interacting with you became a rarity. Before he moved out and started a new life somewhere hours away.

He didn’t voice any of these feelings, keeping his dark eyes unreadable and steady on the movie that Yuji had put on in the background. Selena Gomez was playing from a speaker somewhere behind the couch.

You almost wanted to lean your head on his shoulder. Almost. Never mind the fact that everyone would see it.

You distinctly remember the way he shifted closer to you when you pulled out a blanket. You let him make the bold move, seemingly unfazed by the potential audience only feet away from the two of you. 

He tossed the plush blanket over his legs. The lights were dim. Dim enough that they wouldn’t see the way your face flushed at the proximity.

Sixteen minutes passed. You felt like you were going to explode.

Somewhere along the way, though it’s all a bit fuzzy now, you remember feeling his hand creep down beneath the blanket to rest on your thigh. You fought to remain composed, even though the darkness undoubtedly shrouded whatever it was that Choso was planning to do.

He lingered over the skin on your thighs left bare by the shorts you had chosen to wear. His finger traced over you, igniting fire in your nerves. Again, you said nothing, letting him go about tracing shapes on your thigh while his face remained stoic and composed.

You glanced between him and the blanket. You couldn’t see the imprint of his hand moving, somehow, but you could practically feel the heat radiating from beneath it when his index finger slipped between your thighs. 

19 years old. Two years had never seemed so far apart. When he was the age you were now, you recalled his voice being quite a few pitches higher. The same voice that had dropped even lower over the last year, now drawing you closer to him as he murmured into your ear, “Can I touch you?”

Parting your legs infinitesimally, you wordlessly granted him entrance. His fingers dipped down, ghosting over your cotton panties in a way that had you wondering how well of a disguise the dim lighting really was.

“What if they see us?” You had whispered back, even quieter. None of them had bothered to turn back. Even still, you wondered if one of them had X-Ray vision.

His voice seemed even deeper as it vibrated against your side. “You’ll be quiet for me, won’t you?”

The moment his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, you knew you were in no position to disagree.

Yuuji and his friends were none the more wiser. Yuji didn’t notice when you whined quietly, letting him slip two fingers into your aching cunt, or when his brother worked you open on his fingers. 

He didn’t notice when the two of you had left to make out heatedly in the pantry, right against the box of assorted chips, right where anyone could walk in, turn on the light, and see you there pressed up against him disappeared to the pantry for ten minutes. 

Though the moment you returned to see him glancing at you with a curious brow raised, you knew he had finally caught on. Even if he didn’t say anything about it.

It would be another three months before you would see Choso again.

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

taglist: @missphanosaur18 ,

wanna join the ' choso kamo ' taglist?| bfb; chapter index

[dee-writes-anime]

Heroes Are People Too

FEATURING Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

SUMMARY You are sick and tired of people asking you and your boyfriend nosy questions without thinking about how they might affect you both.

CONTENT WARNINGS Bakugo being Bakugo, nosy reporters, protective Bakugo, fluff, angst (if you blink, you'll miss it)

AUTHORS NOTE I have had this one in the drafts for a while. I wasn't sure if I was going to post it because the reader is kinda cringe and I wasn't sure if people were going to like that, but screw it. Enjoy Bakugo being taken care of :)

The grand ballroom of the Hero Gala is alive with shimmering lights and the low hum of conversation, the glint of chandeliers reflecting off the crystal glasses and polished marble floors. The space is adorned in hues of gold and deep midnight blue, everything dripping with opulence—a fitting backdrop for the most prestigious heroes in the world, who stand at the center of attention tonight.

And among them, Katsuki Bakugo stands out like a flame in the night.

He's dressed sharply, his usual combat-ready expression softened slightly by the formal setting. His black tuxedo fits him perfectly, tailored to accentuate his broad shoulders and muscular frame. The faintest glimmer of his cufflinks catches the light, subtle, understated but undeniably expensive—like everything about this night. His wild blonde hair is as untamable as ever, though there’s something different about him tonight. His usual edge feels slightly smoothed over, replaced with a sense of calm that’s rare to see in him.

Beside him, you walk hand in hand, the both of you a striking pair. The gown you wear flows effortlessly with your movements, soft fabric catching the light, the color complimenting you perfectly. It’s simple but elegant, chosen with care, not to outshine but to match the evening’s grandeur—and to blend seamlessly into Katsuki’s world.

The cameras flash the moment you step onto the red carpet, photographers and reporters calling out Katsuki's name, shouting over one another in an attempt to grab his attention. As the number two pro hero, his presence here is one of the most highly anticipated of the evening, and his explosive personality ensures that wherever he goes, eyes will follow.

But tonight, they aren’t just interested in him.

The moment they catch sight of your joined hands, the interest shifts. You're used to it by now—being the civilian partner of a hero of Bakugo’s caliber comes with its own set of challenges. The constant spotlight, the way people want to pry into the intimate details of your relationship, as if the world has a right to dissect your love just because he's a public figure. But tonight, you’re determined not to let it get to you.

Katsuki, always protective, tightens his grip on your hand slightly, and you glance up to see that his usual scowl has deepened, crimson eyes flicking over the crowd with barely-contained irritation. He’s never been a fan of these events, much less the prying eyes that come with them.

As you near the entrance, one of the more persistent reporters pushes their way forward, microphone thrust towards Bakugo’s face.

“Katsuki! Over here! A quick question about your relationship!” the reporter calls, their voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

Bakugo’s jaw clenches, and you can almost feel the surge of irritation roll off him in waves. But he stops, turning slightly to face the reporter, his free hand stuffed in his pocket in an attempt to maintain some semblance of composure.

“We’ve heard rumors about how difficult it is for pro heroes to maintain relationships with civilians,” the reporter continues, the camera hovering dangerously close. “How do the two of you navigate such a high-profile relationship, especially with your demanding schedule, Bakugo? And does it ever get difficult, knowing your partner is constantly at risk?”

Your heart skips a beat at the invasive question, the air suddenly thick with expectation. The flash of cameras feels blinding, the weight of dozens of eyes pressing down on you. It’s uncomfortable, invasive. This isn’t the first time you’ve been asked about the ‘difficulties’ of dating a pro hero, but tonight, with all the attention on both of you, it feels sharper, more personal.

Katsuki stiffens beside you, his fingers twitching slightly in your grasp. There’s a part of you that expects him to snap—he’s never been good at holding his temper, especially when it comes to protecting the people he cares about. But instead, he surprises you.

His gaze shifts from the reporter to you, and there’s a flash of something soft in his eyes, something that no camera could ever capture. It’s a look reserved solely for you, and in that moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

“The hell kinda question is that?” he growls, voice low, controlled, though you can hear the edge beneath it. He takes a small step forward, his broad frame effectively shielding you from the cameras. “My relationship isn’t anyone’s damn business. If we’re happy, we’re happy. Doesn’t matter what job either of us have.”

The reporter, undeterred, presses on. “But surely the danger involved in your line of work adds a layer of complication—”

“I said it’s not your business,” Bakugo cuts in, his voice firm, final. There’s a warning in his tone, the kind that sends a ripple through the crowd. The camera shutters click faster, capturing every second of his growing irritation, but they don’t dare push further.

For a moment, the tension hangs heavy in the air, and you can feel the weight of Bakugo’s protectiveness settle over you. It’s not just anger driving him—it’s the way he shields you, the way he refuses to let anyone, not even the media, pry into the sacred space you two have built.

Gently, you tug on his arm, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” you murmur under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

He glances down at you, the fire in his eyes flickering, softening, and after a moment, he nods, letting out a breath. But you aren't done, you won't be silent when there is so much you have to say in defense of your explosive hero.

You know how much he hates this part, how protective he is of your privacy, and how much he wants to shield you from moments like these. But before he can respond, before the situation escalates even more, you take a small step forward, meeting the reporter’s gaze with a calm, steady expression.

“How does anyone navigate a relationship?” you ask, your voice even, though it carries an edge of firmness. The reporter blinks, momentarily thrown off by your composed response.

“I understand that because we see heroes risk their lives for us every day, there’s a fascination with how they spend their time off the job and who they spend it with. It’s natural to be curious. But just because heroes are in the spotlight doesn’t mean that other people don’t face similar challenges. Think about police officers, firefighters, or even paramedics—they all have families, people they care about, relationships they maintain. Their jobs are dangerous too, yet they go home at the end of the day, just like heroes, and their personal lives aren’t under the same kind of scrutiny.”

You glance around, aware of how many eyes are on you, but you don’t falter. This is your truth, and you want it to be heard.

“The question we need to ask ourselves,” you continue, voice steady but carrying a weight that demands attention, “isn’t how heroes manage to maintain their relationships. It’s why we push so hard to pry into those relationships in the first place, when we see real-life examples all around us. Heroes deserve privacy, just like anyone else. They deserve to have moments that are just for them, with the people they love, without the rest of the world looking in.”

The crowd falls quiet, the reporter’s microphone lowering slightly as they process your words. You feel Bakugo shift beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours, and when you glance up at him, there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes, though his scowl remains firmly in place. He stays silent, letting your words settle over the room.

For a brief moment, the flashes of the cameras slow, and the weight of the attention feels less oppressive. Your answer, thoughtful and composed, seems to resonate with the crowd, the previous tension dissolving into something more respectful.

Without another word, Katsuki steers you away from the throng of reporters, leading you inside the grand hall.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifts again, though the weight of the earlier confrontation lingers. The music is softer, the conversations more hushed, but even here, you can feel the eyes on you—curious glances from the other guests, some of whom are undoubtedly wondering about the exchange they just witnessed.

Katsuki pulls you aside, finding a quiet corner near one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of the city stretches out beneath you, lights twinkling like stars against the dark sky. He turns to face you, and for a moment, you see the vulnerability he rarely shows anyone—the part of him that hates these events, that hates putting you in the spotlight just by association.

“You alright?” he asks, voice gruff but laced with concern.

You nod, your hand still in his. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You pause, giving him a playful nudge. “I’ve survived worse than a pushy reporter.”

His lips twitch into a smirk at that, but there’s still a tension in his shoulders, as if he’s holding back. “I hate when they ask that shit,” he mutters. “Like I’m not already doin’ everything I can to keep you safe.”

You squeeze his hand, pulling him a little closer. “I know you are,” you say softly. “And it doesn’t bother me. I’m with you because I want to be. I knew what I was getting into.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the gala falls away, leaving just the two of you standing in this quiet bubble. He’s always been fiercely protective of you, sometimes to a fault, but you love that about him. It’s part of what makes him who he is—the intensity, the passion, the way he loves with everything he has, even when he doesn’t have the words to express it.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing away for a brief second before meeting your gaze again, “just... tell me if it gets too much. I don’t want you dealin’ with this crap alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you remind him, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

His grip on your hand tightens, and for a moment, he lets out a breath, some of the tension finally releasing. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a silent gratitude that you’re here, standing by his side through all of it—through the chaos, the attention, the questions.

And in that moment, you know that no matter how many eyes are on you, how many questions are asked, or how many challenges you face as a civilian in a hero’s world, the two of you will navigate it together—side by side, hand in hand, with Katsuki always at your back, ready to face whatever comes next.