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1d1195 · 12 days ago

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Pucking Rookie II

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: sloooooowwwwww burrrrrrrnnnnnnnn

Warnings: angsty, fluffy, douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent

Summary: Harry is one of the most annoying people she's ever met. It's unfair he's talented, hot, and way nicer than her ex.

“So getting to the side of the ice before the puck is there is offsides?” Marc asked.

She nodded watching the Warriors center faceoff against the Bears on her TV screen. They were in the third period with only five minutes to go and the defenseman from the Bears was in the penalty box for a foul against the center. She thought it was a death sentence. “Correct.”

“They have that in other sports,” he sounded like a child remembering a fact from preschool. She smirked.

“Yes,” she laughed. “Are you sure you want to date this guy?”

“I want to date his dick,” Marc shrugged. She snorted and shook her head.

“Fair enough.”

Her phone lit with a message from Kael. He wanted to see her when she was in town with The Chargers. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but it would have been nice to get some of her stuff back. If he kept it.

“Are you speaking to Harry again?” Marc asked.

It was impossible to keep the smile from growing on her face. She rubbed a hand over her mouth to hide it. “Yeah...” she nodded. “It’s kind of hard not to talk to anyone on the team.”

“The fact you went a whole week without talking to that hot as hell man is beyond me. You’re a better woman than me.”

She snorted. They were coming down to the final two minutes and the goalie skated to the bench and another player glided across the ice. “So, when the team is down by a goal or two, they send the goalie off the ice so they can get another scorer in position. But it leaves the goal open. It’s risky.”

“You are seriously doing that team a disservice by not dating them,” he murmured. “If I was into women I wouldn’t let you out in public. You’re so perfect.”

She laughed. “I am not perfect.”

“Babe, you are stunning, you know hockey, and you make the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s not enough,” she told him sipping her water and standing up. But sure enough, The Warriors scored without their goalie in the next. She had to get to the rink for the night game. She smirked, wiggled eyebrows at Marc, and turned off her TV.

“You should bet money on these things.”

She put on her regular outfit for a night of taking pictures at the rink. Her hands had to be free (and yes, they would freeze) but she wore a thick sweatshirt below the jersey. It had Niall’s name on the back. She figured he was the least likely to make a big deal of wearing someone’s name on her back. She honestly hoped no one noticed that she picked it. She didn’t want to make it seem like she had a favorite on the team. Because she didn’t. And it definitely wasn’t Harry Styles.

Truthfully, she stole Niall’s old jersey out of the bin in the locker room. It got ripped in a game where someone got a little too irritated with Niall’s good goal tending. There was a significant tear along the seam because Harry was the first one to get to Niall when the incident occurred. Harry accidentally tore at it while trying to get his hands on the opponent and wound up in the penalty box for two minutes because of it.

She spent part of the following evening sewing it carefully back together while watching a movie on Netflix.

Once her winter boots were on, she slipped her camera bag and press pass over her shoulder and neck respectively. She was ready for the evening. Marc walked her down to her car. They both waved at Michael who was pacing outside while smoking a cigarette. “Hey Sweetheart,” he called. Michael was about five years younger than her and way too grumpy for his own good. But he often perked up on her behalf. “Good luck to the team.”

“Thanks!” She smiled as if she had any responsibility for how well they did.

Marc made sure she got in the car safely and winced when her car took two turns to start because of the cold. Once assured her car would remain running, Marc went to Michael’s side and bummed a cigarette from him as she pulled out of the lot in front of the building. What a weird little family she was creating in a weird part of town.

Her car seemed angry that it was being asked to do its job, and she worried that one day it was going to die on her way there. If it did, she was nervous it would be a thing and Uncle Charlie would be pissed. She could see it now. But instead, she listened to her music, stopped to splurge for a coffee made by someone else, and headed to the rink.

At the very least, she was happier than she had been in a very long time. There was no weight around her worrying she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend, the perfect arm candy for her hockey boyfriend. She didn’t worry about looking weird or awkward. She felt more like herself behind the lens, at the rink, and at The Locker Room, and at her apartment with her new friends than she had in years.

Maybe she didn’t need any of her stuff back from Kael. If she never spoke to him again, then she would be okay.

“Niall you lucky motherfucker!” Asher yelled.

She wasn’t paying much attention as the boys finally arrived for their game. She was in the middle of a conversation with Uncle Charlie as she went over the pictures she was planning to submit to the news outlets, looking over the tiny screen in her hands. She showed off her non-athletic photography skills. This included the senior pictures she took of her cousin (Charlie’s daughter), and she told him which ones she thought were best. This naturally led to discussing the holidays. Her hope was he was willing to carpool to her parents’ house. It was selfish, mainly because she didn’t think her car would make it the three-hour drive out of the city. Not that she was going to tell him that.

But the boys interrupted before she could get that far. She turned, smiled brightly at her team of restless twenty-something-year-old puppies. She set her coffee on the ledge of the window of an office for one of the team assistants and gave the boys a proper wave. “Are you all ready for gameday?” She asked.

But no one was paying any attention to her greeting. Instead, their gazes were focused on the number on her body. The black-and-silver-lettering and logo was riveting it seemed even though it was on all their own jerseys as well.

So much for it not being a thing. “Sweetheart, I’m honored,” Niall chuckled. Were his cheeks pink in embarrassment? That was cute—he looked so nervous. Niall was adorable. She could see why Harry was so protective of him. In the time she had gotten to know him, she seriously didn’t know how someone so sweet and nice could be roped into a rough and tumble sport like hockey.

“What?” She asked curiously, hoping that if she acted confused, they wouldn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

It seemed there was little chance of such a thing. “You’re wearing my jersey,” his grin remained shy and so, so adorable.

Well, maybe she could use it to her advantage. “Well, don’t tell the others but you’re my favorite,” she winked.

But it wasn’t quiet and everyone heard it. The gasps and scoffs of disbelief echoed loudly as they entered the locker room to drop some of their stuff. First there would be game day entrance photos, the boys looking dressed in not quite formal but not so casual attire. The stuff that made hearts throb to look at them (and other organs throb if she was honest). They would pose as if they hadn’t already walked in, and no one would know except for them.

Niall turned a shade redder and headed in. “Don’t break my goalie,” Charlie warned.

“I would never break Niall!” She pouted petulantly at her uncle. “Why are they all up and arms about the jersey? It was free and I fixed it. Is it not allowed?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “It’s just a dumb hockey-guy thing,” he patted her on the back and headed into the locker room.

“Harry’s running late,” Lang said as he returned with just a duffle bag and an overpriced water bottle that was part of his sponsorship deal. “Hit some traffic or something. So, you might not get his game day entrance,” he told her with a shrug.

She nodded. “That’s fine,” she shrugged and snapped a picture of him while he wasn’t really focused, testing the lighting and frame once more now that she had a subject. “There’s enough of you guys to suffice as eye candy for the day we probably won’t need everyone’s picture.”

Lang laughed, covering his mouth. “Sweetheart, please say that in front of Harry while I’m around and you’re wearing that jersey,” he begged. She frowned unsure what he meant by that specifically. Instead, she shook her head and began ordering the captain and his teammates around to get the first part of her evening’s tasks done.

Harry showed up just as she took the last shot of the team walking into the locker room. He was pouring the last bit of his protein shake into his mouth while she examined her camera once more and sipped her coffee that she left on the ledge of the window. There was so much more activity back by the locker room as game time approached. There were team doctors, athletic trainers, assistants, and more milling around.

Harry hated being late. It messed with his pre-game rituals. But there wasn’t anything he could do about traffic. Plus, Hayden lived on the exact opposite side of the city. He really shouldn’t have bothered with trying to sneak a quick hook-up in before the game. But he needed something to take the edge off and nothing was working.

Granted the hook-up left him feeling unsatisfied as well. Although it wasn’t Hayden’s fault. She was lovely, truly. It was all Harry’s brain. Something was off and he couldn’t quite place it.

But one look at the pretty photographer wearing the number thirty-one on her body reminded him that he was much more aware of the issue than he was willing to admit. He blinked hoping his eyes were mistaken. But no, the name Horan was on her back.

“Rookie!” He called.

What the fuck was he going to say? It didn’t even make sense for him to be mad. She didn’t do anything wrong. God, Harry was an idiot. She was off limits. For all he knew she had one of everyone’s jersey and was going to rotate through.

It was probably not a good sign that she looked up when she heard that nickname, right? It wasn’t good to get used to knowing it was Harry calling her the moment she heard his teasing. But right then, Harry didn’t look teasing. His gaze was laser-focused on her torso (and not the way she would expect him to be focused on her chest). “Hi Harry,” she smiled, sweetly; hoping vehemently that this wasn’t about the jersey. “Do you want a game day photo?” She asked gently holding her camera up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He snapped.

This hoping thing ain’t shit. She thought. Glancing down at her outfit once more, she frowned. “I thought I looked cute,” she pouted.

Harry was all but half a foot in front of her. “You’re wearing Niall’s jersey.”

“It’s from the locker room, it was going to get thrown out, so I just sewed it,” she shrugged. “Is that not allowed? No one said anything.”

He seemed to bristle but settled at the same time. She really didn’t get what the big deal was. “S’fine,” he grumbled. “Y’do look cute. You always look cute,” he rolled his eyes and pushed the locker room door open with a little too much power. She shook her head and heard laughter from behind the door.

“Boys are weird,” she sighed and headed for the tunnel to get to the ice.

She texted Michael from her car when she got back to the apartment at one in the morning. It was dark, cold, and she had a weird feeling as she pulled into the small lot. He hurried out yawning as he did. He was wearing only shorts, a t-shirt, and slippers. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she frowned and hurried to the front of the building. He waited patiently for her to lock her car.

“S’fine, Sweetheart,” he shrugged and yawned.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. She really needed to find a new place, so she didn’t have to bother them. But she swore she could feel someone’s eyes following her as she closed the entry door to her building. Michael headed down the first-floor hall to his place without another word. She stopped at her small little mailbox, locked on the inside. Only a slit in the wall from the outside to get in. It was all junk and bills. She didn’t give her address to anyone. Not even Uncle Charlie had her real address. She mentioned some apartment complex on the good side of town. But when pressed, she immediately diverted and asked if he would be okay with shipping her Amazon packages to his house. It did the trick, fortunately. Her parents didn’t think much of it either because they knew Charlie was keeping an eye on her.

It was all she could afford after not working much because of Kael and his weird obsession with making sure she played the proper part of picture-perfect hockey girlfriend. This was a sketchy part of town, and she knew it and didn’t like living here either. But what could she really do? Making friends with Michael and Marc was easy and she was lucky. So very lucky to have people keep an eye out for her when she got home late and felt like she was being followed.

So, when she turned to the stairwell behind the little mail room and saw the very angry hockey player outside the door of her building peering through the glass, she practically jumped back a foot and immediately and nearly screamed.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and pressed the other one to her heart, dropping her mail in the process. “What the fuck are you doing?!” She whisper-screamed opening the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry hissed stepping inside. He gathered up her mail handing it to her. He continued glaring as he took in the run-down place. “Do you live here?”

“Yes!”

“Rookie, this is not a safe area. Why are y’living here?”

“Because I can afford it? What kind of fucking question is that?”

Harry looked so good having just played a grueling game that included overtime and a shootout. His hair was still damp from his shower. His face glowing that way he managed to do in the dead of winter that was so unfair to her. He smelled good—too good. He wore a black hoodie, black pants, and black sneakers. Like he was trying to blend in with the night. The only not good-looking thing about him at the moment was the sour expression on his otherwise extremely pretty features. The furrow between his eyebrows looked angry. The green of his eyes appeared darker, almost black to match his clothes. His mouth was pressed in a flat line.

But even angry, Harry looked hot. He had been angry all evening. Since he set foot in the arena. He didn’t relax when they all went to The Locker Room either. He hardly spoke to Niall and barely acknowledged his good goal tending. “Does coach know you live here?”

She shook her head. “Harry, shut the fuck up. Why did you follow me home like a creep!?”

“Because s’one in the morning and y’said y’were exhausted and that your car was a piece of shit! I was making sure y’made it home. I didn’t know home was even scarier!”

“Hey babe, everything alright? Michael texted you would be on your way up and to keep an ear out.” Marc called as he approached them descending the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she whispered and rubbed her temples.

“Holy shit,” Marc gaped.

“Harry, this is Marc,” she introduced the pair, but lacked any enthusiasm. “He’s my neighbor.”

Harry glared at him—even though he didn’t deserve it. “Hi,” he said curtly.

“I’m fine,” she told Marc. “Harry followed me home.”

“Great game today, man,” he looked awestruck; no longer concerned about her well-being at all and entirely concerned about the beautiful man in front of him. “That was a bogus penalty in the second period.”

“I said the same thing,” she nodded in agreement hoping it would remind Harry that she made her own little place here and he didn’t need to worry. That he was her friend.

Harry softened just a little. His shoulders untensed ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he nodded curtly, trying to remain polite to a fan when he wanted to shake the sweet photographer. “Rookie, show me your place,” he ordered.

“Michael and I keep an eye on her,” Marc offered sensing there was a deeper issue.

Harry eyed him up and down and then turned back to her. “Show me your place,” he repeated.

“No!”

“Jesus, babe, show the hot man your apartment!”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and slid them down her nose and over her lips as she spoke. “Marc,” she sighed. “Go away.”

“Huge fan,” he held his hands up in surrender and made his way upstairs.

Harry was staring at her in disbelief. “You’re not living here.”

“Harry,” she sighed.

“I’ve had a shit day, Rookie. Don’t fucking test it,” he snapped and headed up the stairs figuring he would find it on his own because he would just know? She shook her head.

“Third floor,” she mumbled following behind him. He sighed with relief from ahead of her.

“Take that stupid fucking shirt off,” he said once the door was shut.

“Why are you so angry today?” She shed her camera carefully setting it on the small table. Then her badge. She dropped her keys on the table too. Quickly, before he could get angrier, she rid herself of the jersey and her hoodie.

Harry sighed again, relieved it seemed of what she didn’t know. Without broiling in irritation over his friend’s name all over the girl he had a massive crush on, he was able to focus a little more. Glancing around he inspected the small place. It was cute, adorable even. Just like her.

She bent to take her shoes off. “Do you want water or something? You’re so keyed up... Maybe you want a sedative?” She rolled her eyes at him.

He snorted. “Pass,” he continued looking around. “S’nice, really,” he murmured

“It is,” she agreed. “I don’t plan on staying here forever, but it’s what’s affordable right now. Not all of us make seven figures a year for their talent.”

He ignored her and wandered around the little rooms she had. On all of her walls were more photos she had clearly taken. It didn’t take much for him to figure out her style. It was natural and lovely. “S’cold in here.”

“Heat’s expensive,” she remarked. “Do you want some tea?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, thank you, Rookie,” he mumbled relaxing more as he inhaled deeply. Everything was so intoxicatingly her in this room. It smelled so good. She smelled so good. “Is Marc in love with you?” He asked offhandedly.

“Not unless I identify as a man, which I don’t.”

He smirked, unable to hide the amusement. She was so funny, it was unfair. Beautiful, talented, kind, and funny. She was made in a lab and meant to tempt every one of Harry’s desires. “What ‘bout the guy that walked y’in?” He picked up the book that was on her coffee table and read the back of it, wondering what kind of books she was into and if she liked the same things as him. He set the book down carefully.

“Michael? No. He’s a baby.”

“He’s taller than you,” he murmured.

“He’s not in love with me. Well, actually, I do make him cookies. So maybe,” she shrugged.

He shook his head wishing he could focus on his own questions. But she was too quick and Harry was too tired.

On the wall of her living room was an array of small frames. Probably fifteen or so four by six photos that his mom would have put in a photo album. He recognized Charlie and Ray. A man he could only assume was Charlie’s brother and her dad as they looked like twins with different hair and eye coloring. Girls in their teens, a dog that never seemed to age even though the family around it did, and her gorgeous smile.

There was also a stupid fucking picture of Niall on her wall beside a team photo which made him want to yank it down and stomp on it like a psychopath.

Poor Niall did nothing to deserve Harry’s wrath. The team teased him the moment he went into the locker room telling him all about how she said Niall was his favorite. It wasn’t surprising. Niall was nice and sweet. He didn’t hook up with a bunch of girls nor did he go from city to city hoping to be entertained by a different girl. He was a nice guy. Probably the kind of guy she did deserve. Especially after whatever it was that Kael did to arguably ruin his life by losing her. He barely congratulated him on his saves in the game. Didn’t even buy him a drink at the bar either. To Niall’s credit, he didn’t take it too harshly. Merely smirked at him as he glared. Knowing it really had nothing to do with him at the heart of it.

But the picture of his best friend on her wall just made him grumpier all over again. It didn’t help that Harry was exhausted. He dreaded having to drive home this late. Especially when he was mad on top of everything else. But having seen where she lived, he was glad he followed her home. Didn’t care that it was creepy. It would have made him insane to know she wasn’t safe.

There wasn’t much he could do but turn his attention to her kitchen so he could avoid the stupid picture of his stupid friend who he didn’t like very much at present.

Right there on the fridge door was one of her family photos—clearly taken at a wedding or something. A quick glance showed she wasn’t in it which made him sad. How often was she left out of pictures because she was always the one taking them? Beside her family was the side-by-side duo picture of herself that he saw on her website. A photo of her parents’ dog next to that. A couple landscapes of the ocean and sun.

Right in the middle of all her photos was a picture of Harry.

He swore time stopped. All his anger towards Niall disappeared. Why was he on her fridge? It was the picture of when he scored a goal, from one of the first games she photographed this year. The one she sent him the first time she texted him. “Why’s this on the fridge?” He asked, straightening it alongside the others it. There was a magnet on the back and Harry felt his chest constrict a bit knowing he wasn’t on the wall, but he was in her house. She cared in some way enough to put him among her pictures of family and friends.

She shrugged. “I put all of my favorite pictures on the fridge,” she said it so simply. It wasn’t a big deal to her. The pictures belonged there and that was it. It just was.

His heart sincerely skipped a beat. Like if he were a cartoon, a graphic of a little heart monitor would appear in a cloud bubble, and it would show an irregular rhythm representing the way she made him feel. His gaze flickered to her briefly, but he was worried he would stare and never look away. He cleared his throat and looked toward her wall of photos. “What ‘bout the wall over there?”

“Those are nice pictures too, but I don’t really look at the wall much. It’s behind me when I sit on the couch, you know...? The fridge however,” she had a smile in her voice. “I love snacks and cooking and baking. So, I’m in the kitchen a lot. So, I like to look at my favorites.”

Harry felt softer. Relieved. Less mad and annoyed than he’d been in hours. Maybe even days if he was honest. Harry was one of her favorites. Even if she didn’t mean he was her favorite and merely the photo.

“Bunny?” He asked softly staring at the other half dozen or so of her favorites.

She didn’t miss a beat answering to the nickname that she didn’t really like. But she did really like the way it sounded when Harry said it. “Yeah?”

“Would y’ever wear my jersey?” His voice was quiet, he felt stupid for asking. The question wouldn’t leave his brain until he said it. Whatever the answer was, he had to ask it.

She frowned and sighed. Harry hated that. It seemed like a terrible question, and he was dreading her answer immediately. “I hate to say it, Harry, but I can’t afford a Styles jersey.”

He rolled his eyes. “Would y’wear it?”

“Of course I would, Harry. You’re my friend just like Niall is. And Asher, Callie, and Lang. I really only wore it because you guys were throwing it out.”

Harry rubbed a hand on the side of his face. He could live with that. “Alright.”

“Did I miss something?” She asked. But he knew how perceptive she was. She had to know how much it bothered him that she wore his friend’s name and number on her body today and not his. She had to know he had a crush on her. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Nope,” he shook his head not wanting to get into it further.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?” She asked again. “You seem really out of sorts...maybe you need something without alcohol?”

“Sure,” he sighed. She could give him whatever she wanted. She wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was relieved now. He didn’t need anything else. “Tea would be nice...” She nodded, gently nudging him out of the way to get a pitcher of water from her fridge. “Can I stay here?”

“You want to stay in my crappy little apartment? After you went on and on about how unsafe it is?” She questioned filling the kettle on her stove.

Fair point, Bunny. “M’exhausted, Rookie. I told you I had a bad day.”

“I see that,” she pouted and scanned him up and down. “Of course you can. You have to take my bed though; the couch is too small for you.”

He shook his head. “M’not kicking y’out of your bed when I barged in.”

“Well... it was... kind of nice that you made sure I got home safely. I’m glad it was you, but I was pretty nervous... so if it wasn’t you...” she shook her head and looked at her hands wringing them awkwardly. “I’m sorry you got stuck here,” she pouted.

More of him softened somehow. It seemed impossible that she could make him feel any softer. He was certain he never felt softer than when she said that his picture was one of her favorites. The way she spoke was so gentle.

“I fall asleep most nights on the sofa anyway,” she shrugged, unaware of the thoughts rolling through Harry’s head. She probably hadn’t a clue how she made him imagine her adorable body curled into the small sofa with a blanket around her. What it would be like for him to come home from a game and find her snuggled into a sweatshirt with his cologne on it, the TV playing the post-game highlights, and her hands tucked under her cheek. Did she snore? Harry ached to know.

God he was fucked. How did she walk into the arena and do that? Harry thought of nothing but hockey and hookups. Now he wondered if she snored at night.

She carefully poured the hot water into a mug with The Charger’s logo on the outside and dipped the tea bag in and out a few times letting the water do its thing. She slid it across the small counter before she poured her own mug. They stood silently for a moment, sipping tea.

“I might have something of Kael’s for you to sleep in.”

“I’d rather die than sleep in that piece of shit’s clothes.”

She smirked around the edge of her mug and shook her head. “Are you cold?” She asked.

He shook his head. It was cold but he wasn’t cold. He would be fine with a few blankets. A warm body beside him would be good too, but he wasn’t sure he could convince her.

She put her mug in the sink and went to the bathroom without warning. After a few minutes, she returned. Her face was washed of makeup, her hair pulled back, and she wore a pair of sweatpants instead. She grabbed a pillow off her bed. “Normally I’d change your sheets, but... It’s too late. I hope you don’t mind.”

Wrapped up in sheets, blankets, and pillows that smelled like her? Fine by him. “S’fine, Rookie. Thank you.”

She grabbed more blankets from under her sofa cushion; a space for storage hiding in plain sight. She placed them at the end of her bed and then went to the sofa. “Make yourself at home,” she offered. “Night, Harry,” she yawned and settled into her pillow and blanket, nuzzling into the warmth just as he imagined, her hands tucked under her cheek.

“Night, Rookie,” he mumbled and climbed into her bed. He was practically asleep before he was fully settled.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later—it was still very dark out. Her bed was warm, soft, and smelled so fucking good he thought he might sew himself into the sheets just so he never had to leave. But it was undeniably cold. Even in his hoodie and sweats.

He glanced across the room and could barely make out the shadow of his pretty crush curled into the sofa. She looked chilled and Harry felt so immensely guilty. He got out of bed, his feet nearly stinging on the cold floor. Without more thought he scooped her up. His arms looping around the back of her knees and the other around her waist. He tried to move her without jostling her too much. Her head fell toward him, pressing into his chest as he carried her back to the bed. He settled her under her sheets and blankets. He wanted nothing more than to cozy up to her, but he wasn’t going to ruin the progress he made that night. Instead, he slipped between the sheet and blanket, draped the pair of them in the other blankets.

She sighed loudly in her sleep. Like she was comfortable.

Harry didn’t think there was anyone cuter than her.

Harry woke up to her burrowed into his side. He didn’t dare move. If she wanted out, she would have to make the move. There wasn’t anything that would get Harry to remove himself from her warm body in the same bed as him. It was almost too warm, but well worth it.

“Jesus,” she whispered suddenly and scooched back in the bed. “Harry!” She hissed.

He smirked. “Good morning, Rookie,” he yawned. “Sleep well?”

“How did I get here?”

“Y’must have tucked yourself in with me,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes, shook her head. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

“Y’jus’ looked cold,” he shrugged. “S’plenty of room.”

She sighed. “Well thanks, it was cozy,” her cheeks turned red. “Do you want something to eat?” She asked, immediately pivoting from their little late-night cuddle.

“Y’make breakfast too?”

“It’s actually my favorite meal...” she trailed off pushing the covers off. “I love going out to breakfast,” she got out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt from her dresser. Harry sensed there was more to that, but as soon as he saw her sweatshirt, all previous thoughts left his mind.

Niall’s number and name on her body made him mad.

The words Glacier Wolves across the front in it’s hideous font was going to send him to an early grave.

“No,” he shook his head immediately. “Take it off.”

“You’re awfully bossy about my outfits, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s cold. I need a sweatshirt.”

Harry pulled the one he was wearing off. “Here.”

For a moment she eyed it. Harry couldn’t figure out her expression or the pause that lasted as she examined it. “Harry it’s like ten degrees out,” she pulled the hem down and walked toward her bathroom again.

He pouted, grumbling to himself as he put his clothing back on. “M’burning that,” he mumbled.

“I heard that!”

Harry left after breakfast. He didn’t bug her about her sweatshirt. But he did beg her to turn the heat on for a little bit. He helped her with dishes and not once did the conversation feel forced, awkward, or like there was a lull that lasted too long. He watched her take pictures of her food, then the way the light streamed in through the window, so it hit her coffee table just so. She adjusted her book to an open page and set a hot cup of tea beside it.

With a couple of snaps, Harry watched her while biting into his toast. “Can I see?” He asked.

“It’s nothing special. I just take random pictures sometimes for practice,” she explained.

He wiped his hand on his leg and held it out expectantly for the priceless equipment. It felt weird, awkward. Tentatively, she handed it to him. Not only had she captured the beauty of the early morning in her little place, she took another picture of Harry drinking tea in between bites.

He smiled. “Aw, Rookie, me?” He teased. She didn’t say anything, looked anywhere but him while her pink cheeks spoke for the emotions she was feeling. “M’not sure why but m’still really impressed,” he tabbed through the pictures she took on the little screen.

She must have faced the camera backwards because her pretty smiling face with the ice rink as back drop behind her illuminated the screen. Harry loved everything about the photo. It had her and his beloved hockey rink. “Can I have this one?” He asked.

“I was going to delete that,” she blushed. Harry frowned.

“No way, Rookie, y’look adorable. Let me have it, y’got me on your fridge.”

She looked away shyly, nodded silently. “I’ll text it to you.”

Harry was unbelievably talented and attractive. He could outthink his opponents on the ice and he was sweet enough to make sure she got home safe. Carried her to bed in the middle of the night to keep her warm.

It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have him. Even if it was her own doing.

Around ten or so, Harry had to head out and she hated to admit it, but she really missed him almost the moment he left.

The following day she headed to practice taking pictures for the team’s social media posts. Ray and Charlie were at the center of the ice waiting for the team to file out of the locker room. She took a picture of her uncle and surrogate uncle. Then she setup for some detail shots while waiting. The score book and pen on the bench. A stick propped up behind the bench. She laid flat on the ice and got a shot of the coach’s shoes on the center of the ice.

“Hey Sweetheart!” Callie called from across the rink—first one on the ice. Ray threw a puck at him, and he shot it into the net. Charlie threw another and he pushed the puck back and forth near him. “Laying down on the job?”

She snorted, shook her head with a smile. “Come here!” He glided over and stopped in front of her without getting ice all over her and her equipment. “Put your stick flat on the ground,” she ordered. She reached out and touched the puck and pushed it in front of the slight bend at the end of his stick. “Take your helmet off, and your gloves.”

“You gonna tell me to take more of my uniform off, Sweetheart?” He teased but followed her directions.

“You wish.”

“I do wish, Sweetheart, I do.”

She shook her head while centering her view on the shot she wanted. “Don’t move.”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed dreamily. He was enjoying her bossing him around too much and she couldn’t help but smile while she clicked the shutter taking several of the same photo.

“Okay, thank you,” she carefully maneuvered so she would flop awkwardly back on the ice. Callie immediately grabbed her camera and then took hold of her arm to help her up. Once righted, she brushed the ice off the front of her body. She was quite chilled from lying on the ground for so long. Plus her apartment was cold, naturally her car’s heater was chilly, and it felt like she never quite got out of the cold ever because of it.

“Can I see?” He said excitedly.

She turned the camera to show him. Her teeth chattered a little more than usual. Callie put an arm around her shoulders to add some warmth. He was tall and lean like most other hockey players. And undoubtedly attractive too. “You’re pushing it, Kian,” she shook her head but didn’t mind how warm he felt.

“No one calls me Kian except my mother, Sweetheart,” he reminded her. “You’re cold. Don’t read into it,” he took the camera from her and thumbed through the photos pressing the buttons beside the screen to view them. “Wow,” he murmured. “That’s so cool, Sweetheart. It looks really beautiful.”

She blushed with pride and ducked her face. “Thank you.”

“You know... I’m not sure what he did, but Kael is an idiot to lose you,” he affirmed clicking through more of the photos. “Can we take one?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” she turned the camera around and pointed where Callie needed to look. He squeezed around her a little tighter as she clicked the shutter. He immediately took the camera back and examined the photo. “Cute, Sweetheart,” he grinned and continued flipping through all her photos. Including the ones from her breakfast with Harry the day before. “Ooh... what’s this?” He cooed. “Did you and Styles have a sleepover?!” He gaped.

She took her camera back. “No,” she didn’t even blush. It wasn’t his business. She didn’t want Charlie to hear.

And she definitely didn’t want Harry to hear.

Harry slid onto the ice his eyes zeroing in on his teammate’s arm wrapped around her almost immediately. She felt a little awkward knowing that he seemed to be a bit territorial about her even though it wasn’t really within his right. He glowered at the puck that Charlie tossed to him, and it sailed almost immediately into the net from where he stood. “I can’t compete with him, Sweetheart,” Callie frowned. “Please tell me you don’t actually like Styles.”

“I like all of you, Kian,” she rolled her eyes, tearing her eyes away from his broody skating.

“But you like me most, right?” Asher appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“She likes you least,” Lang said assuredly skating by just as quick. She laughed and shook her head.

“I like you all equally,” she promised.

“Bull shit, you can’t sell a twenty-way-tie!” Asher frowned.

She loved her little family away from her real one. This team made her feel more loved and appreciated than Kael ever did. It was eye-opening in so many ways. Was it just because she took pictures on the team? Would they behave this way if she was just a girlfriend? Or the coach’s niece without special treatment? She got special treatment from the other girlfriends and wives of the Glacier Wolves simply because she was Kael’s girlfriend.

At about the same time she started to feel drained by her relationship (the last six months before it ended), she overheard two of the significant others talking about her in the bathroom. While she was using the bathroom... They said Kael was an idiot to stay with her. She was a leech and nothing more. For three years she had been nothing but a good girlfriend. She attended every game, catered to Kael’s workout schedules, practice schedules. She monitored his calendar and made sure his stunning, penthouse apartment was cleaned. She hosted parties for his teammates. For three years post-graduation she didn’t take photography gigs, skipped family parties, and let her degree sit on a shelf unused to it’s full potential.

Maybe The Chargers boys were just being kind because she was the coach’s niece. Maybe her skill really was subpar. Wasn’t she really just a leech in a new way now? Her uncle got her this job and they didn’t really need her.

Kael fucked her up good. Made her feel worthless. He didn’t value her skill and made her believe she wasn’t good enough in any part of her life. “Hey Sweetheart?” Callie asked, giving her a squeeze, bringing her mind back to the present. “You good?”

She nodded. “Sorry, just daydreaming.”

“About me?!” Asher grinned. She smiled. At least for now, this family she had was sweet. She wanted to believe they valued her for her and savor it for however long she could.

While the boys practiced, she went to the locker room and tidied up, brought the dirty uniform hamper to the laundry room, and brought the clean laundry back. She took more detail shots without the boys around. It was fun to get them in the shots, like the ones she took with Callie. But ever-like puppies, it was easier to get pictures without them milling around eagerly. She took some really nice shots of their locker space. With the right lighting, it would look like they were ready for battle—she could see it in her head, and she couldn’t wait to get the shots of their numbers alongside equipment on her computer to play with the settings.

But after about an hour of that, she ran out of things to do. She sauntered back to the rink and watched from the bench. Ray and Charlie stood at the center dictating where they should go and what to do next. It was mesmerizing. The beauty and graceful agility these tall, lean, padded men exuded was incredible.

“Take a picture it will last longer!”

The team burst into laughter as Callie called out to her. She shook her head but certainly did just that.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Niall grinned coming over during another break. “Heard you had Harry over. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

She smiled. “No, he was good,” she assured him. “It was nice he followed me home. To make sure I was safe.”

“Yeah, he’s decent like that. His sister Gemma made him a real gentleman,” he agreed. “He didn’t like you wearing my jersey,” he told her.

“I’m well aware.”

“I won’t say no if you wear it again.”

She laughed. “Will do.”

“Want to make him madder taking a picture?”

“Maybe tomorrow, Kian made him pretty mad today with that one already.”

“Who?” Niall furrowed his eyebrows. She shook her head and silently laughed. “Is that what the silent treatment was for?” Niall asked with a laugh and skated off to rejoin his team.

At the end of practice, she took shots of them leaving the ice, the empty net. In her head she had a series of photos. The sequence of a hockey game and maybe she would put it into motion one day. She sat on the bench looking at her camera screen and sifted through some of the multiples she didn’t need.

“Hey Rookie,” Harry said softly.

She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Harry.”

Dangling from his fingers were a pair of figure skates. All white, pink guards, pink anterior cushioning, and pink laces.

“I got you these.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“To practice.”

“Harry, I cannot accept that. I know how much ice skates cost. Those have to be close to 400 dollars.”

He shrugged. “That’s what a good pair cost.”

“Harry, I can’t even stand on the ice. Return them. I’m not taking a 400-dollar pair to ruin because I can’t even stand still while wearing them... And they’re practically giving me blisters from just looking at them. I don’t have the right socks..." Harry looked disappointed and he frowned. "But... that... that was very sweet of you,” she added. Because she hadn’t said thank you yet, and it was sweet. It was extremely thoughtful of him. “Thank you,” she added gratefully. “That was so nice of you.”

“Do you like Callie?” He blurted.

“Do you think I’m in love with every man I meet?” She countered.

“You two looked cozy,” he mumbled.

“I was cold,” she admitted. “He offered his jersey, but I didn’t want a repeat of the other night,” she quipped. Harry smirked and looked away from her. “I’m not dating hockey players, remember?” She grabbed her camera and bag ready to leave the rink.

“Yeah...” he sighed, rubbed the back of his head. “I know, Rookie.”

There was a knock on her door later that evening. She assumed it was Michael asking if she had baked anything after feeling a bit on the munchier side of life. It probably wasn’t Marc because he had a date with the hockey lover. But maybe it was an early night for them, so who knew.

Instead, Harry was there. A pair of skates dangling from his fingers once more. The guards were still pink, there were scuffs on the toes and heels. The interior was cushioning was a light brown. “They’re a good brand. Used, so they didn’t cost a lot. But full disclosure, they were the most expensive used pair I could find because m’not gonna let y’skirt on the quality because of the cost. They won’t hurt your feet with blisters being brand new.”

Harry, with used ice skates, was the last person she expected to see. There was a tug in her chest where her heart would have melted for Kael to do something as kind as that. But she couldn’t fall in love with Harry. It was just a bad idea. He was a celebrity. There were millions of women he could choose from.

“Have you had it with dragging me around the ice or something?” She asked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, but... I want t’help you, Rookie. Y’should know how t’skate. Think of the pictures y’could take even if y’jus’ learn t’skate a little,” he shrugged.

That tug in her chest felt an awful lot like Harry worming his way into the center of her universe. But she didn’t want to do that again. Not really. She didn’t want to dote on Harry the way she did only for it to backfire on her. She still had a lot of time, but she felt behind. Kael made it so she didn’t have tons of money. She ‘didn’t have to worry about it’ because he made plenty. But it wasn’t about money. It was about her independence and now she felt like she literally paid the price. “I got y’some socks too,” Harry added.

Goddammit.

She was going to fall in love with him.

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rosenclaws · 4 months ago

Text

Different Side of the Track || 50's Greaser!Logan smut

summary: All your life your parents had created the perfect image of their daughter that you were forced to fit into but when you went off to college and came back with a degree they were nothing but ashamed. Claimed that it wasn't a ladies place to be educated like that. So why not ruin their good family image even more and sleep with the older hot and mysterious man with a motorcycle.

warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, fem!reader, breast play, doggy style, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, borderline abusive family, sexism, harassment from a group of assholes, violent Logan.

wc: 4.6k

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a/n: It's my birthday! So to celebrate I wrote this fic because I couldn't get the idea out of my head and god he's hot. Also I didn't really try to do proper 50's talk because I'm lazy and I cannot handle all the research jaldfk;s. This ended up a little angstier than normal, as my fics usually do lol. The ending isn't my favorite but I tried im sorry asdfjkl. Okay anyways I really hope you like it!

You truly hated this town. College was a breath of fresh air and while it wasn’t always easy, it was better than home. You got your degree, proudest day of your life. Even if your parents didn’t show up. Even if you had to smile in the picture by yourself, watching everyone else celebrate with their families. Your parents never understood your want to go to college.

You thought they’d be proud but if anything they were ashamed. They think that a woman pursuing higher education was unladylike. That a woman's place was to stay at home and take care of the kids. They were embarrassed of you, refused to acknowledge any of your achievements.

You wished you could have stayed in your college town but then you got the letter. Your grandmother had passed and you needed to come home. You were heartbroken. Your grandmother was the only one to support you, and helped you when you worked countless hours at the diner to pay for it. She celebrated when the acceptance letter came in and she gave you the biggest hug when you left.

Coming home was a no-brainer, needing to be here for her funeral but now you’re stuck at home with your parents and life is miserable. You were counting down the days until you could get out of here again. You spent as much time as you could out of the house.

Going to work, dreaming of another life. Doing literally anything you could to stay out and away from your parents. That’s how you found yourself here. Taking midnight shifts at the diner to stare at the man sitting at the counter.

Logan. It was sewed onto the patch on his jumpsuit. You don’t even know his last name but you do know that you want to know everything about him. He worked at the mechanic shop right across the street. He was dark, brooding, mysterious. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just ordered one black coffee and sat there with the paper. This was a small town and you had never seen or heard of him before.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth there pumpkin.” You feel a hand on your jaw and you swat it away. Betty, your coworker was grinning like a madwoman. She was a sweet old lady who has worked at this diner for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Oh hush.” You look down at your order sheet. Sketches of your patrons fill the empty sheets. Mostly drawings of Logan.

“I don’t blame you sweetheart, he’s a dreamboat if I’ve ever seen one.” She sighs dreamily as she looks at him.

“Who is he?”

“Not sure, rolled into town one day. Plenty of rumors, though, say that he was an army guy. Some say that he’s running from the law.” You gasp at the idea.

He couldn’t be a convict could he? You’d never met anyone like that. Though, you feel yourself grow curious instead of fearful. Your whole life you lived in the perfect world. Perfect family with a lot of money and a perfect reputation to uphold. You got the perfect grades, had the perfect friends and still your life felt anything but perfect. You craved something more, needed it. You couldn’t live the rest of your life as someone's housewife. That wasn’t your dream.

“Looks like he needs a refill..” Betty nudges your arm and pushes you forward. You eye the apple pie sitting in the case and steal a slice. No better way to get a man to talk than give him pie right? Clearing your throat you head over and put on a smile.

“Hi Logan.” He looks up from the paper with his usual stony face. A beat passes and he doesn’t speak.

“This is for you, on the house.” You place the pie down in front of him. You shift nervously in your spot as you pour coffee into his cup. He’s never told you his name, does he think you’re a freak or something?

“It’s on your uniform, you know. Your name.” You wince at how horribly awkward this feels. He looks down.

“That supposed to be me?” He grunts out. You tilt your head in confusion before following his gaze. Your guest checks with drawings all over them. Drawings of Logan. You slam your hands down and stuff them in your pocket.

“No! I mean, yes but it’s nothing. Just drawings I. I’m sorry.” Logan just looks at you and you walk off in shame.

Mentally kicking yourself as you sulk back to the kitchen. Betty takes over serving him as you silently wait on the remaining people. By the time your shift is over your back aches and you’re still replaying that moment in your head.

“See you tomorrow Betty!” You say as you put on your coat.

“Hold on dear, this is for you.” She hands you a napkin and winks. Confused, you open it up to see messy handwriting.

Thanks for the pie doll

-Logan

Logan has come by every night since then. Ordering one black coffee and you sneak him whatever pie is left. Sometimes it’s apple, other days it’s pecan. Today’s pie is pumpkin. Just in time for the fall season. He’s still a man of few words but he’s always polite. Pays and says thank you with that handsome voice of his. You’ve gathered some information on him. Mostly from the town gossip.

The group of boys, greasers who would often come by and cause a ruckus, idolized him. He drove a motorcycle, fixed cars, and smoked like there was no tomorrow. In some weird way he’s become their parental figure. Not that he really gave a shit but he worked with them at the shop and he took care of them when he needed to. He strolled in again today. This time he looks at you and throws you a wink. It’s a little routine the two of you have now. Not much talking but it’s nice. You think you’ll be able to get him to open up soon enough.

“Thanks doll.” Logan says as he sits on the worn stool. You hand him his coffee and pie, already prepared just the way he likes it.

“So, do I get to know your last name yet?” He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“How about you fetch me a napkin first. Then I’ll think about it.” You roll your eyes playfully and he smiles. The door jingles and you hear the sound of obnoxious laughing. You look up to see the jerkiest looking boys you’ve ever seen. They wore letterman jackets that seemed too small and talked too loud.

One of the boys, a blonde guy who seemed vaguely familiar whistles at you. You hold back a scoff as you walk over to their table. They’re looking you up and down with a gaze that makes you shiver. Absolute jerks.

“Hey sweetheart, why don’t you be a good girl and get us some milkshakes.” You clench your jaw as you jot down their order.

It dawns on you that you know exactly who that guy is. David Scott. He was in your high school class. Quarterback, the popular guy every girl in school wanted, and the worst human being you’ve ever met. He was nothing but a no good bully. It seems fitting he’s never truly moved on from this town as he was dumber than a bag of rocks. Logan catches your eyes as you head back to the counter. Preparing their order and trying to tune out their annoyingly loud voices. Before you head back with their order you top off Logan’s coffee.

“You know drinking this much caffeine can’t be good for you.” You say.

“And yet you’re still serving me.” He shoots back. You shrug your shoulders and smile, he’s got you there.

“Hey! You done serving grandpa over there.” Logan growls and his grip tightens on his cup.

“Ignore them, they’re nothing but a bunch of idiots.” You say under your breath. You bring the tray of drink over and set them down.

“Anything else?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“Nope.” David whispers something to his friend before moving his hand and spilling his shake all over you and the floor. His friends burst out laughing and you bend down to clean up the mess. Counting down the seconds until they leave. You’re too focused on cleaning to hear David whisper to his friend.

“Watch this.” You hear the stool fall and suddenly you’re pushed to the ground.

“Get off me!” You turn around and see Logan holding David by the collar of his shirt. Teeth bared and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Logan!” You scramble to your feet as he shoves David into the booth.

“Think you’re funny bub? You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat you to a pulp.” He growls, eyeing his friends who are now cowering in fear. You stand stunned as Logan seems to command the room.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to scram or I’ll make good on my promise.” He rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and grins. You’ve never seen a group of boys in so much panic.

“And don’t forget to pay.” Logan says with a smirk. They throw down more than enough money and bolt out the door.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” You say softly as Logan seems to calm down.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” He shakes his head and gently pushes you away from the mess.

“Broken glass doll, gotta be careful.” Silently the two of you clean up the mess, him scooping up the glass and you cleaning the table.

You watch carefully as he handles the glass, watching to make sure he doesn’t cut himself. You see a piece of glass slice his hand and you hurry to the back to get a band aid. However when you come back the cut is gone, maybe it was just strawberry? The clock strikes 4am and the new waitress comes through the door, relieving you of your duties. He waits for you to clock out and walks you out the door.

“Thank you again Logan.” He just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

“Let me walk you home.” He offers and you accept. The walk is silent as you head to your home. You eye his cigarette and he notices. He holds it out to you and you take it. Taking a puff and immediately coughing it back up. Logan chuckles as he takes it back.

“Never smoked before?” You shake your head and he just smiles. Figures.

You’re much too sweet to have done anything bad. Just looking at the houses around him he knows that you’re as high society as they come. When you reach your house Logan stands on the sidewalk, watching as you walk up the driveway. You look at your door and then turn around to hurry back to Logan. Leaning in you kiss his cheek and he almost drops his cigarette.

“Bye Logan.” You bite your lip as you slowly walk back. As you walk through the door you hear him call to you.

“Howlett, my last name is Howlett.”

Your sweet night with Logan turned sour the minute you woke up. Your parents were down at the breakfast table. Scowling with disappointed looks on their face. Oh great what else is new.

“You need to quit.” Your dad says and you laugh.

“What?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is for us to tell people you’re working at a diner? You come home smelling like smoke? It’s insulting the family!” Your mother hisses and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You knew they were cruel but to hear those words from your own mother. It hurt.

“I am an adult, I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“As long as you’re living here you do. Now go down and tell them or I will.” Your father stands and stares you down. You feel so fucking helpless. It’s true. You’re stuck here and the money you’ve saved up isn’t enough to get out of here just yet.

You storm out of the house, letting the tears fall once you’re out of their view. The walk to the diner is miserable. You don’t want to quit, you like your job. Tears fall as you tell your manager, apologizing and leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. You hated this. You longed to be free and now you’re trapped at home.

Sitting on a bench outside of the diner you let yourself cry. Not wanting your parents to see any sign of weakness from you.

“Hey, everything okay doll?” You look up and see a blurry Logan from your watery eyes. He’s got grease and oil on his face and suit. Wiping his hands with a rag. You shake your head and Logan sits next to you.

“My parents made me quit.” He scoffs in disbelief.

Oh Logan knows all about your father. He wasn’t sure until last night but once he saw your house he knew exactly who your family was. Flaunting their money and status to spit on those lower than them. He serviced your fathers car a few times. Adding pointless upgrades. On the bright side he charges him double and your father doesn’t even bat an eye.

“That’s bullshit.” Logan says angrily. You’ve told him about your life. How disrespectful your parents are. How stupid they can be, anyone should be proud of their daughter getting a degree but they think it’s shameful. You’re smart, pretty, a real perfect girl.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say in such a defeated tone.

“You can always spend time at my work, don’t know if it’s the kind of place you’re used to hanging around but-” He gets cut off as you lunge at him. Hugging him tightly as you seek comfort in his arms. He freezes but slowly places his arms around you. Your perfectly crisp and clean dress was now dirty by his hands but you don’t care.

“I owe you so much Logan, you’ve been a real life saver.” You don’t want to let go. He’s toned, even with the jumpsuit over him. He’s strong and his arms are so warm and welcoming.

“Don’t worry about it doll, can’t stand to see a pretty girl like you so upset.” You lean up and kiss his cheek again. He grins as you scoot closer to him. Suddenly he pushes you back. You’re confused until you see your father pulling up next to the diner. Oh god did he see anything?

“You quit?” He asks, glaring at the dirt on your dress.

“Yes. I quit.” You say unhappily but he doesn’t care. He shifts his eyes to Logan.

“What happened there?” He says accusingly, you know your father wouldn’t hesitate to threaten Logan despite Logan being much stronger. It’s the egotistical nature of him.

“She fell, I caught her.” Logan lies so easily. Your father hums and drops it to your relief.

“I need you to look at my car tomorrow, something’s wrong with the brakes.”

“Got it.” Logan says casually and you can see your father roll his eyes. He drives off leaving the two of you on the bench.

“Say, why don’t you come by with your father tomorrow. I’d be happy to show you a few things” Logan offers, a flirty tone to his voice.

He walks off before you can respond, needing to get back to work. You throw the idea around in your head as you head back home. There’s no denying that Logan is hot. Really hot. He’s everything your parents hate. Lower class, older, doesn’t care about their status. It would drive them insane if you started to hang around a guy like him.

Though you don’t want to just use him to get back at your parents. You really do like him. It’s a win win in your head. Smiling to yourself you already start to pick out your outfit for tomorrow.

Ready to cause a little chaos.

Your father didn’t understand why you wanted to come with him but you gave him so stupid excuse and he bought it. Your father pulled the car in and threw the keys at Logan. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but Logan does it for you. Despite Logan being much more knowledgeable about cars, your father still talks down to him. It’s rude and classist and you hate it.

“I’d like to stay, you know, make sure nothing goes wrong.” Your father scoffs but leaves you be.

“He’s real lucky I don’t punch his lights out.” Logan mutters as he pops the hood of his car.

“I’m really sorry, you don’t deserve that.” Logan shrugs. He’s used to it by this point.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” He leans over and kisses your cheek.

He wipes off a seat for you to sit on and you watch him work. There’s something about the way he moves that’s just…attractive. His muscles strain in his jumpsuit, sweat drips down his face. And the noises, god the noises. The grunts when he moves something heavy. Then he does the unthinkable. He unzips his jumpsuit, taking off the top half and tying it around his waist. Leaving him in just a white tank top.

Now you really have a show. You don’t know how much time has passed and you don’t care. Slowly the garage empties as people head to lunch until it’s just you and Logan. Logan can feel your eyes on him. In fact he loves it. Your cute face is staring at him like a piece of meat. He can see you shift on the leather stool. He can smell how bad you want him. It’s desperate, almost pathetic how badly you want him. He stands up, making sure to flex his arms as he sets down the wrench.

“You alright doll, you look a little hot?” Logan feigns concern as he steps closer to you. Placing his hands on the workshop table. Caging you in.

“I’m okay.” You eye his chest shamelessly, eyes traveling down to the bulge in his suit.

“Yeah? I don’t know…” He slowly takes your sweater off. Leaving your arms bare and your cleavage on show for him.

“I’m not sweet doll, not gonna treat you like a good girl.” He growls in your ear and you whimper. Oh you need him bad.

“I’ll break a sweet thing like you, but something tells me you want that.” You grab his face and smash your lips to his. It’s messy and dirty, teeth knocking against each other as you fight for dominance. Logan slips his hands under your dress, lifting you up to the workbench and stepping in between your legs. Your hands are locked in his hair. Tugging hard as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth. His hands rip your dress at the top. You gasp as his lips trail down your neck leaving sloppy wet kisses until he reaches your boobs.

“Fuck.” He squeezes your chest roughly, purring at the feeling of them in his hands.

“So cute.” He says with a wink as he leans down and bites your nipples roughly. He promised he wouldn’t be nice and he meant it. He shamelessly grinds his bulge against your wet panties.

“Dirty girl, letting a no good mechanic touch you like this. What would your daddy say hm?” He taunts as his hands move to slip up your dress. Pulling your panties down and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Who fucking cares?” You spit out as you grind your hips. Soaking his suit with how wet he’s made you.

“Oh, pretty girls got a mouth on her.”

“Just hurry up!” You whine as you slip your hands under his tank top.

Lifting it over his head so you could get the view of his muscular body. He unties his jumpsuit and yanks it down, letting his hard cock free. To your surprise he picks you up and brings you to your dads car.

“Turn around.” He lifts your dress up and bends you over the hood of the car. His hands run across your ass, squeezing and admiring the view as he slowly grinds his cock along it. The tip of his dick slides in and you moan.

“Yeah, feels good doesn’t it doll.” He says cockily as he renders you utterly speechless.

The stretch is unbelievably amazing as he bottoms out. You whine as you feel every vein, every twitch of his cock inside of you. He’s so big. Everything about him is big. His presence, his arms, his cock. He was just big. He barely gives you anytime to adjust before fucking hard into you. Your hands claw for anything to hold onto. The hood of the car is too slippery so Logan just pins your arms behind your back instead.

“Naughty, naughty girl.” Logan huffs as he leans down to bite your ear. His pace is relentless. Pounding the words right out of you.

“Letting me fuck you on your daddies car.” He puff his chest out proudly. He’s tearing you apart on your asshole fathers car. Making you moan his name as he desecrates his car.

“Feels so good Logan. Oh god!” His cock hitting that perfect spot in you every time. Over and over. It’s unrelenting. You involuntarily shift your hips. The pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Where are you going doll? I’m not done with you yet.” He lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, pulling you back on his cock with a bruising grip.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg wildly as you move your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Not planning on it.” He tilts his head back in pleasure as he pounds into you. He feels you clenching tightly around him. Your legs are quivering under him. There’s grease smudged all over your body, your face.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the windshield. You’re completely disheveled, hair a mess. Makeup smeared and clothes torn. You look absolutely filthy and you love it. You can see Logan’s abs flexing as he thrusts his hips. His hands run up your sides. Taking you by the shoulders to slam you back on his cock. A weak cry leaves your throat with every thrust. Finally you break. A desperate, strangled moan as your body quakes. Shaking and rocking you right to your core.

“That’s it doll, I’ve got you.” He leans down and nudges his nose into your neck. Kissing softly as his thrusts slow just for a moment. Letting you breathe. You’ve never felt more happy in your life.

Logan kisses the side of your head as his hips grow sloppy. Chasing his release and savoring the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. With a loud groan he pulls out and finishes on your ass. Your eyes close as your body feels like it's melting. You can barely stand. Logan wipes you down with a clean rag, loving how fucked you appear to be.

“I got you.” He gently picks you up and brings you to a bench. Laying his clean jacket over you as you will your legs to stop shaking.

“You alright?” He’s got a devilish grin on his face as he redresses himself. Somehow it’s like he’s back to normal while you’re wrecked.

“Perfect, oh my god you’re amazing.” You lean back into the bench and sigh happily.

“What the hell is going on here?!” You shoot up and see your father storming towards you angrily. You’re a mess and you don’t think Logan can lie his way out of this one. He’s angry. Really angry.

“You are nothing but a disappointment and you have been ever since you were born! A disgrace to the whole family! To the town! Doing such horrible things with the likes of him.” He snarls as he points at Logan. You’re stunned into silence.

“I have the right mind to never let you out of the house again you ungrateful little-”

Logan steps in front of him and he tries to hit Logan right in the face but fails miserably. You gasp as Logan pushes him against his car. You watch as boney claws shoot from his hands. Your father squirms in fear as the tips of his sharp claws grow closer to his neck.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan growls.

“You’re a real fucking dick and a sorry excuse for a father. If I ever see you come near her again I’ll fucking kill you.” He lets go of your father and watches as he runs away. Yelling about mutant freaks. Logan turns back to you, a cold look settling on his face when he sees your face. Now you know his secret.

“You’re a mutant.” You say in awe. To his shock you reach out for him instead of running away.

“I am.” You admire the claws, how amazing.

“Beautiful.” His mouth gapes open as you pull him closer.

For once someone is looking at him like he’s normal, like he’s not a freak of nature. He longs for this but he knows your dad won’t go down quietly. He’ll tell the whole town.

“Look doll, you’re too good for this town. You’re too good for me.” He brushes your cheek softly.

“I can’t stay here anymore and you need to go home. Pretend you never met me. You’re a smart girl and you have a bright future ahead of you.” Logan takes his hand away and walks away.

“Logan!” You throw off his jacket, you're limping slightly but you refuse to let him go. He’s quick on his feet, already shedding his work clothes for his normal ones. A leather jacket thrown over his tank top. His motorcycle is out back. He’s got a backpack already packed and ready to go. Like he was waiting for this moment to happen.

“Take me with you!” You stand in front of his bike.

“What?” He asks in disbelief.

“Please, I hate this town. I have money saved. I can help but please don’t leave me.” You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Logan. I’d give it all up to be with you”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine so please, take me with you.” He wants to say no. To leave you here. It would break your heart and his but it’s what's best. But a part of him wants to be selfish. He could protect you, he could take care of you. But he fears you’d regret it eventually.

He’s overthinking and you can tell. You grab his jacket and kiss him gently. He groans as he slips his arms around you.

“Please.” You beg softly.

“I can’t promise you the life you’re used to.” He warns but his resolve is slipping.

“I don’t care.” He sighs and kisses you again. It’s becoming addicting. You’re completely addicting.

“Hop on doll,” He throws his leg over the bike and waits.

You waste no time jumping on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he revs his motorcycle. You lean into him and smile. He stops so you could say goodbye to Betty and grab a bag of clothes. He waited at the door, a grin on his face as his claws were proudly shown off to your parents.

Then he drives. Away from your horrible family and the horrible town. Your future is uncertain but with Logan, you’re confident things will work out.

He’s all you need.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut

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dmfromtheblacklagoon · 10 months ago

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It seems people really enjoyed the last headcannon post, so I have returned, this time with headcannons for the non-romanceable characters!

I love all of the characters in this game, and have created so many little dumb ideas for them, so here ya go!

We have confirmation that Linus came from a wealthy family, but put this life aside, donating his money to various charities and organizations to help others, and I like to imagine that he still enjoys working with these charities from time to time, whether this be shelter work, environmental care, or supporting other people!

Willy never had children, but took in Elliot as his own, teaching him everything he would need to know regarding the seas, and quickly takes in Farmer as well, after learning about their love for fishing.

Gus is a trans guy! I don't have any evidence for this, but I just adore Gus so much and need this in my life.

Gunther is a long-time DM, and runs a small group with some of the local teens, and maybe some of the adults! I feel like his fascination of antiques and old treasures has assisted his DMing skills, or possibly the other way around!

Kent has learned how to sew, knit, and garden in order to get closer with Jodi and the kids once he returned to Pelican Town. (He's trying to be a better dad, he already is such a good guy :])

Mr. Qi is quite close with both Sandy and Gus, considering them friends!

Pierre was a college dropout, yet still considers himself a "man of study", I'm sorry, I just can't see this man as anything but an arrogant asshole.

The Wizard is incredibly supportive of the queer folks in the town, and Farmer, and will offer help with anything. Gender change? He's got you. Voice manipulation? He's got the stuff. Just be careful if he invites you to share a pipe!

Marlon and the Wizard are the local salty gay couple, Statler and Waldorf style, and lurk in the back during the flower dance, taking the last dance for themselves.

Pam loves thrifting and going on antiquing sprees with Harvey, and she knows how to absolutely steal a deal, girlie would most definitely punch an old woman over an auction item.

This is all I have atm, but if you want more, please let me know!! I love making stupid little theories for the glorbos. :]

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drabblejester · 3 months ago

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SAMPO KOSKI RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS!!!

requested by: nobody. i made this :3

pairing: sampo koski x gn!reader

content warnings: no important warnigs!!! stupid men doing stupid things

comments: ily blue kronk. hes like if johnny bravo was finnish and stupid (lovingly)

oh he’s a NERD nerd. constantly in your hair rambling about something or other, TOTAL yapper. becomes 10x more talkative when you’re in the same room as him!!

constantly trying to impress you with everything he does. he’d do a backflip for you and ask if you liked it (if you didn’t respond fast enough he’ll do another one). he’s like those birds of paradise that do a little dance to court other birds

he wouldn’t flex his money on you but you know what he would flex? his MUSCLES!! always trying to pick you up and hold you, toss you around, carry you places, etc. he just wants you to know that he can protect you and also just help you out :3

he would call you the DUMBEST pet names ever. babygirl style. he’d call you his cheeseburger, his slush, his googoobaby, etc. either stuff that doesn’t make sense or super cheesy/old timey ones. puddinpop, honeybaby, etc.

although he does have an ominous more serious side, he’d try to hide it a bit. he’s a bit nervous about intimidating you (i mean he does have two knives and has killed people before so very obvious reason), so he tries to act all silly and passive to make sure you don’t get scared

he wouldn’t get TOO possessive i think (i know.. i apologize…) but y’know, he’d step in if someone talks to you for a WHILE.

tries to share your interests!! if you like sewing, he’d try to sew you a little plushie of himself. you like crochet? he’s making ten blankets right now. drawing? he’s trying his best! writing stuff on tumblr for a bunch of people who think that stupid blue men are hot? don’t break the fourth wall please

SO MANY DAD JOKES. whether you have a kid(or kids) or not it doesn’t matter, he’s cracking jokes like they’re gonna be uncrackable tomorrow. did i ever tell you about the story about that elevator? it sure has its ups and downs!

constantly CONSTANTLY snuggling up to you like a little cat. like, actually crawling into your lap and everything. curls up into a little sampo-shaped ball and falls asleep. always at the worst times and places though. you will never know rest from his tormenting

might bring you to the tavern a few times! buys you a drink, giggles around with you, introduces you to the other fools. he tries to give you a little smooch with his mask on but it just donks against your teeth. you both laugh about it though (as aha intended)

enjoy the food my lieges <3

#sampo koski #sampo #hsr sampo #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hoyoverse #hsr x reader #x reader #relationship #sampo x reader #writing blog #no requests�� sighs #the fool jingles miserably across the floor

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worthyprnce · 3 months ago

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gwaine had many hidden talents.

we all know about his amazing skills with swordfighting. a skill he learnt from watching knights and squires play and fight, from picking up fights even being too young to do that and during his many years traveling alone. he had to know how to defend himself and, most importantly for him in the begging of his life, his mother and sister as well. but that's not all he knew.

growing up without his father to teach him the arts of sword fight, he learnt a lot from his mother and older sister instead. at seven he got tired of his clothes tearing up all the time, so he asked his mother to teach him how to sew. even after becoming a knight, gwaine took a few minutes to mend his own clothes whenever he could. he needed this time alone. at nine, his sister taught him about the language of flowers and how to dance. he did it for them. he used to steal flowers from luxurious gardens around to gift his mother and sister, and he always took them to dance, using any excuses to do it. he just loved it, and he loved to see them happy, not worrying about money or grieving for once.

at eleven he already knew how to steal food from the market without getting caught. and he was an excellent bargainer too. he was known by some as the child who stole valuable objects from distracted rich people and sold them at a lower price afterwords. robin hood style. it didn't take him too long to learn how to make his own dagger. courtesy of the local blacksmith who took pity on him and his family.

but most of his little secret talents he learned along his travels, wandering alone after leaving home at an early age. he learned to play the lute, to play cards, to steal by cheating playing cards, how to get easy money, how to impress a girl, how to impress a boy, how to whistle, to cook — although he was not actually good at it, just very practical. he knew french, a little latin, how to orient himself by the stars, how to bandage a wound by himself and what to do if it became infected, body anatomy (for medical and first aid reasons only. mostly), cut his own hair, trim his own beard, how to read maps, how to identify poisonous mushrooms, how to cut wood for fire, to swim, and many other little things.

but the hidden talent he was most proud of, was his drawing skills.

when he was around twenty, he once saw an elderly man struggling with a few home repairs he had, and decided to help him. as a return, the old man let him stay in his home for a few days. gwaine soon found out the man loved to draw. he had plenty of sketchbooks filled with many different portraits and landscapes, gwaine was in awe. seeing gwaine's genuine interest, the old man taught some basic and quick drawing principles, and gave gwaine a sketchbook and a pencil as a gift for all the help and company.

during his long years alone walking aimlessly around, gwaine used his sketches to immortalise every place he passed, every interesting person he met along the way, passions that made his heart beat differently, animals he helped save, taverns that served a good ale.

by the time he met merlin, his sketchbook pages were full of sketches of camelot, gaius' chambers, bottles of potions with funny names, little details inside the castle most people wouldn't even notice. but gwaine did.

he found himself making sketches of gwen with flowers in her hair, of arthur with the worst expression possible, of gaius with his usual worried face. but merlin was the main focus of his new drawings. every page had a sketch of merlin, doesn't matter how big or small.

and when gwaine was no longer in camelot, he realized his mind had never left merlin's room. he went back into drawing landscapes and taverns, but no other person were interesting enough. not when he once had merlin.

the pages of his sketchbook were getting boring and lifeless, not what they used to be before. but it seemed like they would come back to life whenever gwaine and merlin were together again. he had many sketches of merlin with white lillies around him, merlin's eyes shining as bright as they did the night gwaine confessed he was doing it all for him, wyverns, an old and dirty trident he had no idea what it actually was for but he liked the shape of it. even arthur made a comeback to his sketchbook.

when he was made prisoner by jarl, he lost all of his sketchbooks. everything inside his bag was stolen and discarded, and since gwaine's escape was rushed, he had no opportunity to try and find it. he lost it all, all the memories of his travels, the beautiful places he saw, the people he met, his early adventures with merlin. all lost. he had only his memory now.

after he became a knight he was reluctant to go back to his old hobby. still bitter about losing it all suddenly. but after getting to know his new friends better, and after he started to see merlin everyday, he couldn't resist.

he used every moment he had alone to draw. he loved drawing lancelot's hair. he had his fun giving leon extra curls. elyan, percival, and even lesser known knights and guards owned gwaine's sketchbook pages.

but his muse was always merlin. drawing merlin was like muscle memory for him. he would be lying if he said he never lost himself in his own thoughts while admiring merlin's features and carving them into his memory so he could draw him later.

his drawings were directly affected by his mood, so it was easy to know when he was angry or upset. but there was only one emotion showing whenever he drew merlin, and it was love. pure, powerful and unconditional love. sometimes a brokenhearted love. sometimes a melancholic love. and there were even the times he felt a certain kind of guilty love, a mixture of insecurity and uncertainty. but it was always love. and it was always merlin.

the first sketch he made after getting back to draw was a memory very dear to him of the first day he met merlin. he was smiling, looking at gwaine with hopes he would stay, begging him with his eyes and words for gwaine to stay in camelot with him. for him. whatever his reason was, he wanted gwaine close, and gwaine remembered those eyes and words very clearly.

his last sketch was also one he made of merlin. he was smiling as he held gwaine's hand. just before he was the one leaving gwaine this time. and even though gwaine had his eyes blurred by tears, he made his best to register merlin in his pages one more time, one last time, forever.

#long post #i am so sorry about it #tried to sneak micro headcanons I have about gwaine and it made this post longer than I wanted to #just a reminder this is all headcanon. my own personal headcanons.#and I have many and they sometimes contradict themselves but they coexist in my mind and should coexist in the fandom too #anyways #once again english is not my main language so if you see any mistakes no you didn't #gwaine #merwaine #merlin #bbc merlin #sir gwaine #mergwaine #headcanons #☀️#apollo posts

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more-sonorous · 11 days ago

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sneak peek at my next big piece!! (javey)

i've decided on my next big undertaking, once i'll paint you shades of blue and red is done!

this idea, once again, came from the lovely @jackmkelly . we've been yapping about it nonstop and we're creating a pretty lovely storyline that's full of themes of love, loss, grief, acceptance-- there are cute kids, cute daveys, and lots and lots of family.

of course, because it's me, there's gonna be romance-- but there's also going to be a lot of discussion of healing and dealing with grief. i hope you guys are excited because I AM!!!!

.....

The carriage seemed to rock beneath them as the dirt road stretched onward beneath the wheels, jostling softly to the rhythm of the trotting horses up ahead. David swayed back and forth, bumping every time the wheels rumbled over a rock or divot in the path. He’d never ridden in a carriage like this before– the seats were cushioned and covered with silky smooth fabric, and the walls were painted with lovely flowering details of gold and pale pink. Curtains hung over the windows and lamps flickered above the heads of the two lone passengers– David Jacobs and one Medda Larkin, facing each other.

How he’d ended up riding in the carriage of one of the most successful women in New York City was honestly beyond his own understanding, but there she was, as real as the cool glass of the elaborately paneled windows to his left and right. Miss Medda was a beautiful woman with dark skin and elegantly styled black hair, curled into careful loops and pinned against her head in the fashionable style of the day. She was wearing a lovely S-shaped gown made of rich, coral-colored fabric that might’ve been worth more than David’s family’s entire apartment. Even her shoes seemed expensive. David could see the tips of her elaborately crafted flats from beneath her petticoats, and he wondered how someone could ever come upon such wealth.

“David, darling, I can’t thank you enough for taking this job.” She began, offering him the warmest of smiles and extending a careful hand to him.

He took it with slight hesitance, nervous heart running like a racehorse within his chest. David’s mind was still lingering on anxious minutiae– was he underdressed? What if he didn’t impress her? What if his father’s shabby old coat and faded waistcoat and trousers were unpleasant to the eye? Was his tie crooked, or his shoes too obviously spit-shined? Perhaps his curls were a mess or he’d accidentally let the star of David hidden beneath his clothing show through. He was an anxious wreck as she squeezed his hand softly and leaned in.

“Now, I know this is going to be somewhat of a challenge, but I know your sister and I adore your family, and I know you’re a resilient bunch.” He could see some sort of trepidation trying to creep through her anxious expression, but Medda Larkin was an excellent actress, and any trace of nervousness was gone before he could catalogue it. “You’re overqualified, after all. A degree in education, years of piano lessons, excellent track record in school– I don’t think the children could ask for a better tutor, truly.”

“Thank you, Miss Medda.” He answered truthfully, though he was sure his anxiety was obvious.

David was currently riding out to the beautiful New York countryside to serve as a live-in tutor to the three Kelly children. It wasn’t the sort of job he’d dreamed of– when he attended Columbia university, he hoped to work his way up the ladder and eventually earn enough degrees to become a professor of literature. Then he’d pull his family from poverty and drop them into a comfortable middle class life– but he soon realized that his dreams were a bit too unrealistic. He’d need a bit more money because there weren’t enough scholarships in the world to pull him through a second degree.

Sometime during his desperate job search, his elder sister Sarah must’ve mentioned his plight to her boss– she worked as a costume designer for Miss Medda, always sewing clothes and sketching elaborate dresses for the shows playing at the theatre– and when Medda found out that David was young, unmarried and university educated? She reached out immediately.

David was going to move in with the Kelly’s and act as not only a tutor but a nanny as well. The job paid well and he received free room and board, meals included, so he shouldered the rather embarrassing burden of childcare and took the job as a male nanny. Working here for two years would earn him enough money to finish school with his scholarships. Then he’d be set for life.

Didn’t make it any less strange or nerve-wracking. If he did a bad job, that would make Sarah look bad, too.

“Now,” Medda pursed her lips and carefully took David’s other hand. “I’ve got to be honest with you, honey. My son’s wife died two years ago. It… it hasn’t been easy for this little family, and they’ve been through about… well– it’s been twenty or so nannies since she passed.”

He felt his own eyes widening as his heart dropped to his stomach. So much for the two year plan. “Twenty? Are– are the children rather challenging?”

“The children? Oh, no.” She chuckled warmly, shaking her head. “Those babies are angels, David, I assure you. Three of the sweetest little souls you’ll ever meet. It’s– to put it delicately, it’s Jack. My son. He’s… selective? But before you panic, I’ve got a good feeling about you! You’re young! You’ve got lots of energy, lots of intelligence, siblings of your own– and you’re the first nanny that hasn’t been hired through an agency. My own personal choice.”

David felt it wasn’t appropriate to mention that such a statement wasn’t refreshing at all. In fact, it only made the load upon his shoulders feel even heavier. Now he was going to make Medda herself look bad if he made a mistake. “I… I’ll try not to let you down.”

“I have a feeling you won’t.” She smiled, with an incredibly optimistic tone, and carefully squeezed David’s hands in her own before dropping them. “Here’s the trick– you win those kids over, you win their daddy over, too. I’ll give you some insider information. Francis is the youngest, and she’s two. Precious little thing, but she’s a real clinger. Luna’s five. She’s incredibly bright, adores singing and dancing, dressing up– it’ll be easy for you to connect with her, too. Micheal’s the oldest, and he’s eleven and a half. He’s a such a lovely kid, but he’s real prickly when you get to know him. You’ve got a little brother that age, though, don’t you? Leshem?”

“He’s just turned thirteen.” David confirmed, growing more nervous by the second.

“You’ll be good with Micheal, then. He loves riding horseback, despises arithmetic… but he’s very interested in history, so you might use that to your advantage.” She shot David a playful wink and drew back the curtains on her side of the carriage, thoughtfully looking out the window.

At some point, the grayscale cityscape had blossomed into a forest, bathed in the landscape of early spring. Blades of green grass pushed their way through the underbrush and green, budding leaves were beginning to appear. Even with branches mostly bare from winter, the road they were traveling was lovely. David could only imagine how it looked in full bloom, or drenched in the warm colors of autumn. Maybe even coated in a thick blanket of snow. It would be nice to live out of the city for once, too. Once in a life he could scarcely remember, David had lived in a little Polish village with his family. They’d left when he was only four, though, so all he could remember was their tiny Baxter Street department, deep in the slums of New York City. Such a getaway was usually a luxury only the rich could afford, and though he’d be working, he knew he’d still enjoy himself.

He peered out the window as well, trying to conceal his own nerves. David was a horrible blabbermouth when he got like this, and he couldn’t stop himself from trying to spark up an awkward conversation. “So… is the house a family property?”

“Not my family.” Medda laughed a warm, full type of laugh that seemed to fill the air around them with mirth. “No, certainly not mine. It’s been passed down through Jack’s wife’s family for generations. Used to be a vacation home, but Katherine’s father… graciously gave it to them as a sort of wedding present.”

A house as a wedding present. Wealthy people fascinated David. “That’s very kind of him.”

She huffed the sort of huff that a person did when they found something funny in a sarcastic manner, usually because of some hidden context. David cringed and decided not to push the matter any further, pulling away from the window and shrinking back into his seat. Medda carefully examined her flawless nails as David’s rigid posture jostled about in the bumpy carriage.

Oh, he was very nervous with the added context. A father who was picky with his nannies and three different children to impress– plus the levels of learning were incredibly different. He’d need to teach the two year old basic speech and developmental skills, the four year old basic things like the alphabet and numbers, and the eleven year old would be well into his schooling and need at least four core subjects. It would be a balancing act between naptimes and meals and other activities to bring the children joy– maybe he’d teach them piano or take them on walks. The sort of things he would’ve liked as a child, or maybe the sort of things Les would’ve liked.

David tapped his fingers over his knee as he resisted the urge to bite his nails, staring fixedly out the window. Every once in a while, a massive country manor rolled past. He couldn’t believe that he was going from his family’s tiny apartment to one of these almost-palaces. It was like something out of a dream.

When the carriage took a sudden right turn, Medda cleared her throat. “David, I think you’re really what the family needs. My son, too. He’s got to be pulled out of his head. No one should live like he’s been living since Katherine passed.”

“I… I’ll do my best, Miss Larkin.” His knee bounced almost uncontrollably, and his stomach was caught in nervous knots.

“I know you will. If anyone can do this, it’s one of you Jacobs siblings. Born to the breed.” She winked again, playful and charismatic, and even earned a small smile from the anxious man. He wished he could work for Miss Medda again under more pleasant circumstances– like the few times he’d assisted her stage managers for productions at her theatre during his University days.

Now he was facing the most daunting task of his life, and he could scarcely breathe from being so nervous.

They rolled into a massive gravel drive, the carriage rattling around them as the loveliest gardens David had ever seen appeared. Fountains and hedges laid out in pretty symmetry stared back at him, begging him to stick around and see them in bloom. He could just imagine the front lawn bursting with flowers, green and lovely and smelling sweetly of springtime. Strolls down this lane would be positively unmatched, and his fingers itched for a good book.

The house itself was even grander than the gardens, almost imposing in its ancient beauty. David guessed, based on the perfect symmetry and minimal detailing, that this manor had been built sometime in the beginning of the last century. He knew tall, reaching Neoclassical pillars when he saw them, and this lovely house with its creeping ivy was an enlightenment thinker’s dream. It stood starkly against the pale blue sky, wisps of pulled-cotton clouds curling outwards behind it. David had never seen such grandeur up close.

Soon (possibly too soon) their carriage rumbled to a halt and Medda sent him an encouraging smile. David did his absolute best to conceal his nerves and returned the gesture, climbing out of the safety of the carriage once an attendant opened the door.

Before him, the entire household staff stood in lines leading to the door. Men on one side, women on the other. Now David really and truly wanted to throw up, but he focused on the warmth of Miss Medda’s hand as he helped her out of the carriage. He really was far too shabby for this, and shoved his hands into his pockets as he followed her towards the front door. Tall and made of wood, they seemed to walk in slow motion towards it, and David had never been so nervous in his entire life. Before Medda could even reach the door, it was thrown open to reveal a little burst of tiny human energy– a small girl with a round face and flushed cheeks running through to fling her arms around Medda.

“Gammy!” She cried, squeezing her eyes shut happily as Medda lifted her into an embrace.

“Oh, if it isn’t my Luna-bug!” Medda cooed with all the adoration of an enamored grandparent, “You’re so much taller than the last time I saw you!”

Luna laughed loud, like Les used to laugh when he was that tiny, and David got a good look at her face as she cupped Medda’s cheeks in those tiny little hands. She was positively, heart-wrenchingly adorable, with the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, and short brown hair cut just beneath her chin. Well-kept bangs swept across her forehead and a green ribbon tied half of her hair out of her face, skin tan and cheeks chubby with well-fed youth. She was a tiny thing but she was positively doll-like. “I miss you!”

“I missed you too, baby girl.” Medda pressed a kiss to Luna’s cheek and earned another precious giggle, just as someone else rushed out the front door.

A boy, definitely the eleven-year-old Micheal, followed by two others. Micheal winced and carefully extracted Luna from the older woman’s arms. With all the practiced ease of an adult parent, this eleven-year-old boy settled his little sister on his hip. David was instantly reminded of himself and Les. “I’m sorry, Gram. She wouldn’t sit still.”

“‘S no problem at all. She’s just excited to meet Mr. David, here.” Medda carefully beckoned him forward, a gentle hand resting on his back.

He awkwardly stumbled forward and got a good look at the tiny family in front of him, four sets of eyes staring him down, and–

Oh, he thought, breath stuttering in his chest, they’re just perfect.

The whole family. From little Luna and her big, brown eyes to the man that was obviously her father, and happened to be the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous man David Jacobs had ever laid eyes upon. God, was he gorgeous. Black hair, dark as silk, seemed to fall in two perfect, wavy curtains over his forehead. His hair swept back and formed little curls at the back of his head, framing his face perfectly. Sharp, furious brown eyes stared David down, set just beneath perfectly shaped brows and thick, black lashes. His jaw was wide and sharp and his bone structure was breathtakingly gorgeous, from his wide nose to his cheekbones to the slope of his brow. A dusting of stubble covered his chin, like a shadow over the bottom of his face. He looked angry, yes, but he looked like a furiously beautiful God plucked straight from Grecian mythology, with his honey-brown eyes and perfectly full lips. His skin was deeply tanned, the color of coffee with just a splash or two of cream. Pretty.

Of course, a man this beautiful was bound to have precious children. Little Luna was held by Micheal, who very well could’ve just been an eleven-year-old version of his father. He had the same black hair, styled a bit differently with the part above his right eye instead of the middle, and the same deeply tanned skin. David saw the same nose and lips and eyebrows, down to the shape of his eyes and ears. Though his eyes were a darker coffee-colored brown, little Micheal was his father’s young twin.

And then Francis, only-two but smiling at David like she knew him already. She had the same round face as her sister with impossibly chubby cheeks and incredibly curly orange hair pulled up in pigtails, one of the most strikingly ginger children David had ever seen. Her eyelashes were long and blonde and her cheeks and tiny nose were pink, and she clung to the fabric of her father’s shirt with grabby hands. She had big, brown eyes too, just like the rest of her family. He knew he was going to have trouble denying these kids anything.

They were a lovely family. All dressed well, all well fed. It would’ve been a perfect picture had Micheal and Jack not been sending him twin glares.

“It’s lovely to meet you all–” He began, but was cut off immediately by Luna leaping out of her brother’s arms and racing towards him. She latched around his leg and smiled up at him, her cheeks dimpling. Ohmygod she has dimples? He was really in for it now, he was never going to be able to do any discipline. “Well, hello there, Luna–”

“You’re gonna be our new nanny!” She stated matter-of-factly, and then held her hands up in the universal child’s wordless question of ‘pick me up’? David couldn’t help but oblige and carefully lifted her, settling her against his hip. It was remarkable how easy the motions were returning to him, giving him flashbacks of his own twelve-year-old self holding Les at this age.

“Yes, I am. I hope that’s alright with you?” He asked, very seriously, and raised his eyebrows.

She giggled and raised her hands to cover her mouth, eyes getting big. “Your eyes are my favorite color!”

He glanced at the green ribbon in her hair and smiled. “I take it that’s a yes?”

Luna was very suddenly removed by his arms from her father, who was a good three or four inches shorter than David. He looked just about as furious as David had ever seen anyone look as he settled Luna on his other hip. “No climbing the tutor, Lune, you barely know this man.” He ignored her pout and started speaking as he beckoned his son over. “I’m Jack Kelly.”

“David Jacobs.”

He held out his hand for a shake and then realized Jack was holding two children. Awkwardly, he tucked it back into his pockets and tried to ignore the huff of a laugh Jack directed his way. “I know. These are my kids. You’ve met Luna. This is Francis, and this is my son, Micheal. I can assure you that they ain’t gonna need a tutor, but since my Ma insisted–”

“Jack, play nice.” Medda raised her eyebrows at him and crossed her arms. “Surely I don’t need to list off David’s credentials again…”

He muttered something that sounded an awful lot like ‘credentials don’t mean shit’ before abruptly turning his back and heading inside. David tried not to be surprised by the thickness of his Upper Manhattan accent, because it certainly didn’t match the clothes he was wearing. He had on nice trousers and suspenders and a pale-blue button up, waistcoat hanging unbuttoned beneath the girls he carried. His collar was unbuttoned and his clothes were obviously expensive, but he wore them far too casually for David to understand.

Mr. Kelly started speaking as if he just expected David to listen and follow, and maybe he did expect that, so David quickly jogged to catch up. Medda rolled her eyes and trailed along more slowly, but David listened raptly to every word this man said. “This is my house. I’m pretty sure you’ll have everything you need to teach my kids, but if you don’t, don’t ask me about it. Find Charles and ask him. You can teach your lessons in the library. Your bedroom is in the West Hall– that's where the kids sleep, too— and there’s a washroom at the end of the hall for you to use. Breakfast is at nine, dinner at one and supper at six. That’s pretty much it.”

Jack paused in the middle of the entryway, a room so grand that David’s head was practically spinning. A gorgeous rug on the floor, a paneled ceiling painted with a gorgeous mural, a chandelier and a beautiful staircase made of polished wood– the shorter man gave him a long, disdainful once-over and raised his eyebrows judgmentally, eyes narrowed as he looked back up. He covered Luna’s ears. “You know this ain’t some job you can half-ass in favor of going out and fucking around with your college friends, correct?”

David glanced at the eleven-year-old, who didn’t even flinch at his father’s improper language. Luna was scrabbling to get his hands off, thankfully unaware. Didn’t Jack know that his two-year-old could easily pick up such foul language? She was probably already talking. Thankfully Francis just continued to stare at David like she was trying to figure him out. He bit his tongue and resisted the urge to correct that he didn’t actually have any friends from University and nodded instead. “Yessir.”

“And it ain’t just teaching. You have to be able to care for the kids as well.”

“Yes, Miss Larkin told me as much.” He added on, drawing into the depths of his patience. He’d only just entered the house and this unfairly beautiful man had already decided on his incompetence, without even giving him a chance.

Jack huffed darkly, shifting the girls in his arms. Francis dropped her head onto his shoulder and Luna reached for David, but Jack angled himself away. “Yeah. I’ll believe it when I see it. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Jesus. You’re just a kid.” Jack laughed, shaking his head in disapproval. He drew in a deep breath and pressed his lips together, giving David another long look before those honey-brown eyes narrowed and he tilted his chin almost defiantly. “Well, you start tomorrow. I ain’t holding my breath, though. Ma– you stayin’ for dinner?”

“Sure. I’ll also give Mr. David here a proper tour of the house.” Medda leveled Jack with an almost challenging glare as she linked their arms. “And, you know, actually introduce him to your majordomo and head housemaid.”

He fixed her with a sarcastic grin that was unfairly pretty. David realized where Luna got her dimples, too. Jack’s teeth were imperfect, only further pushing David to wonder how he’d come across ownership of this obvious wealth. “Better you than me.”

With that, he started up the stairs. Micheal, who’d remained entirely silent the whole time, gave David a long once-over (reminding David very much of his father) and then continued up the stairs as well. Mr. Kelly’s strength wasn’t exactly lost on David– he was carrying two toddlers up a staircase and he didn’t even seem to be struggling. Strong and attractive as he was, he was awfully prickly.

He’d just lost his wife. Two years? The wound was still fresh. David decided then and there to give this man some grace. He’d prove him wrong and he’d do it gently and carefully, too.

“Bye, Mr. David!” Luna called, frantically waving at him from over her father’s shoulder. Francis turned around and mimicked her sister with a bright little smile. “Bye-bye!”

He waved half-heartedly. At least the girls seemed to like him a little bit.

A glance back at Medda showed him that she was looking at him in an ‘I-told-you-so’ type of manner, and that did nothing to quell his growing nerves.. It seemed that after a bit of math, Jack had a habit of firing a nanny almost every month. Maybe one or two had lasted a bit longer and brought the average up, but the fact remained– David needed to act fast if he wanted to stick around, and he did. The pay was excellent, the children were cute, and something about the mysterious and gorgeous Mr. Kelly had David intrigued.

With sudden determination, he turned to Miss Medda and drew his hands from his pockets. “I’d like to meet the staff.”

She grinned. “Attaboy.”

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orphan-account123653 · 8 months ago

Text

𝕴﹕𝕾𝖎 𝖛𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖒, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖚𝖒

if you want peace, prepare for war.

cw: fem! reader, fyodor's probably ooc, reader goes to church, religious themes (it’s just Jesus tho)

word count: 2.0k

a/n: can you tell i got grammarly premium? please tell me you can tell that I got grammarly premium.

Staring into the oval mirror, you see your face streaked with dried tears. (The makeup the servants had applied hadn't done the best job of covering them) Your hair is styled into a bun, and your wedding dress is hanging on a rack in the corner of the large room. It's off the shoulder and dyed a pure white with gold and ruby accents. You stare at the dress from the corner of your eye, glaring at it contemptuously.

You didn't want to marry him.

You didn't even know him.

You cover your face with your hands and start to sob once again, the carefully applied makeup becoming ruined further by your crying. You uncover your face but continue to hold your head in your hands. Your mind is running with so many thoughts. However, the one that weighed the most on your conscience was how you got into this mess.

The first time you saw him, you were going to buy sewing supplies from the tailor to teach your younger sister how to sew so she could fix her old teddy bear by herself. The manager had brought you the tools, and you grabbed the needed money out of your pocket. You placed the coins on the counter as the owner started to count the amount.

"Uh, miss? This amount of money isn't enough." The tailor had told you.

"Oh? I really thought it was, and that's all I have…"

You were about to take the money back and apologize when a man with black hair placed more than enough coins on the counter for you.

"I'll pay for her." The man said.

"Huh? No, there's no need to pay for me!"

You pause your sentence when you finally recognize who it is.

"Mr. Dostoyevsky?? What are you—"

"Don't mind me. I'm just here to pick up my new suit," Fyodor said, nodding to a fancy black suit in the back of the store. He turned back to the tailor. "It should be enough for my suit and this lady's items. Now go get our things, please."

The worker nodded and ran into the back of the store to grab his newly tailored suit. When he returned, he handed the respective items to both of you and accepted the money.

"Thanks for buying the sewing tools for me." You thanked Fyodor before he could walk off.

He nodded in acknowledgment of your thanks before walking away.

The second time you saw him was Sunday, and you were walking to church alone. You weren't particularly religious, if at all. But it couldn't hurt to at least try to pray for your little sisters' health, could it? Isabella was getting increasingly sick, and neither you nor your mother knew what was wrong. You were too poor to afford a doctor, so all you could do was sit and wait.

As you walked towards the church alone on that quiet Sunday, your footsteps echoed against the sidewalk as you noticed a figure leaning against the fence bordering the front of the church.

His silhouette cast a shadow that had seemed to sway with the soft wind. As you walked closer, you finally recognized him.

Him again? Seriously?

He looked up as you approached, his violet eyes softening ever so slightly as a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The quiet moment between you was interrupted by the loud ringing of church bells, marking the start of another Sunday service. You hesitated, unsure whether to acknowledge him or walk inside the building without speaking to him.

"Hello," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that did nothing to ease the uncertainty in your heart.

The last time you ran into him, you had just bought three loaves of bread and were walking back home when you bumped into Fyodor again. You had tumbled to the ground along with your bread.

It was getting quite odd at how many times you two had met, almost like it was on purpose.

Your eyes widened as you blabbered words that sounded like they were trying to be an apology, but it wasn't working well.

Fyodor let out a small chuckle as he bent down slightly, lending his hand toward you to help you. You froze momentarily before graciously taking his hand as he pulled you up.

"We must stop meeting like this."

"Indeed," you replied nervously, the loaves of bread scattered around you. You looked around at the mess, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Would you like me to buy you some new bread? I don't think you would find eating dirty bread delightful."

"Oh– It's alright, I'm sure I'll manage." You reassured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." You bent down to pick up the loaves of bread. You could just wash the dirt off, probably.

You immediately fled the scene after picking up your food. You quickly opened your house door and found your younger sister lying in bed. You genuinely wished you could get a doctor for her. But you can barely afford bread.

You bent down next to the bed, gently shaking your sister awake. After a while of shaking, her eyes finally opened.

"You're back?" She asked.

"Buying bread doesn't take much time."

"It feels like it does." She retorted, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I know," you sigh. Your little sister can be pretty impatient sometimes. "Where's mother?"

"I don't know. I was asleep when she left."

You shrugged before returning to place the bread basket on the table.

"She'll come back soon, I know it." Your sister said.

Your conversation is interrupted by a loud knock at your door. You stand back up and head to open the door. Standing there is a mailman.

"I have a letter for [Name] [Last Name]. Is she here?"

"You're speaking to her."

"Oh, well then, here you are." The postman hands you a letter and walks off.

You close the door and stare at the envelope. In the middle is the crest of the Dostoyevsky family.

You walk back towards your sister, who is sitting in bed. You sit at the foot of her bed.

"What does the letter say?" She asks curiously.

"I'm not sure. I haven't read it yet." You respond to her.

"Well, then read it!"

You ripped open the envelope and started to read the letter.

Dear Ms. [Last Name],

With the quill in my hand and the ink flowing from the depths of my heart, I must express how you have attracted me with your beauty despite your poverty. You have truly captivated me.

I was enchanted by the aura radiating from your soul when we met in the tailors' shop.

Though fate has seen fit to place us on entirely separate paths—you, a child of the fields, and I, a child of noble birth—I am compelled to defy the standards society has set for us. Even though I had only met you three times before writing this letter, you are the one with whom I wish to share my life's journey.

Therefore, if you allow me, permit me to pledge myself to you in the blessed bond of marriage. Together, we shall travel the trials of life, hand in hand, as equals in love's timeless embrace.

My dear, I beg you to consider this proposal with an open heart and a willing spirit. For in your acceptance lies the promise of a future bright with the shine of my utter devotion to you.

With all the sincerity my soul can allow,

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Wow, a rich person wants to marry you?" Isabella clasped her hands together as she fixed her posture, becoming more interested by the second.

"This must be a joke– but if it has the official Dostoyevsky family crest, then it should be real."

"Will you accept?" Your sister asks.

"It'd be in my best interest, but I'll ask my mother and see what she thinks." You said as you stood up, "But until I can speak with her, you should go back to sleep. It's way too past your bedtime anyway."

"Aw man, but I wanna stay up with you!" Isabella complains.

"Fine, but don't come complaining to me when you're all crabby in the morning."

"Fineee…"

"Thank you, Isabella." You thank her and sit up from her bed.

"Mhm."

After tucking Isabella into bed, you walked to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. While you were making it, your mother walked into the house.

"How was your visit to uncle's?" You asked her. She was always at his house. Your uncle had always been better off than your mother. So she always hung around his home, probably because it made her feel richer.

"It was fine. Is Isabella doing any better?" She eyed the dusty bread on the table as you poured the tea.

"She's doing just as fine as yesterday."

"Ah, well, I'll be heading straight for bed. I've had a long day." Your mother yawned and stretched her arms,

"Wait! There's something I need to ask you."

"Yes?" Your mother asked, "What is it?"

"Read this letter I've received. I need your opinion."

You hand your mother the letter you have gotten. She scanned it, and when she finished, she set it down and sighed.

"You're going to marry him. It's the best choice." She said bluntly.

"But– I don't love him. I've only met him three times?"

"I doubt he cares much if you love him. Besides, think about Isabella. You can get her a proper doctor if you marry him. The Dostoyevsky family has lots of money, you know." Your mother explained.

“Yeah… I know…”

"So you'll marry him?" She asked.

"Yes, mother." You looked at the ground solemnly as you confirmed her question

"That's good. I'll get you paper and a quill. I want your response by tomorrow morning."

"Alright."

You're brought back to the present when one of the servants knocks on your door. "Ms. [Last Name], are you ready for the wedding?"

Oh shit, while you were busy having flashbacks and a mini-mental breakdown, you had completely forgotten about the thing that had caused you such stress!

"Uhm– I'll be out in a minute!"

You hurriedly put on the dress and fixed your makeup to the best of your (limited) ability. Then you opened the door and stepped out.

"You look beautiful. Are you ready?"

"I guess…"

You put on the heels and walk out of the room. You try to distract yourself by looking at the glass windows as you walk down the long hall toward what you consider to be an execution. The stained glass depicts different imagery on each piece.

Jesus, with his lamb,

Jesus, with his sacred heart,

Jesus, on the cross,

Yeah, there's definitely a pattern.

You open the wooden doors at the end of the hall and walk towards the carriage outside. Once inside, the carriage begins its way to the church.

Your mother is waiting in front of the doors leading into the venue. She's holding your veil and a little piece of paper containing the vows you wrote down at the last minute.

"Remember to smile and be polite," your mother says as she fits the veil onto your head.

"I will."

In the grand venue of the church, the air was thick with anticipation as guests dressed in their finest clothing gathered to watch firsthand the marriage between two mismatched souls. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, the eldest son of the respected Dostoyevsky family, stands at the altar, waiting for you to come down the aisle.

The grand piano filled the luxurious room as the ceremony started, drowning out the guests' gossip. The marriage between you and Fyodor was initially unknown; most guests only knew you were getting married once the invite was sent to them. Everyone knew how proud Fyodor was of his heritage, so why would he marry someone lower class?

As the vows were exchanged by the two of you, the weight of your future settled upon you like a suffocating cloud. Fyodor could feel your hands trembling as he slid the ring onto your finger.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he pledged his forever undying loyalty to you.

However, for you, this marriage was only an opportunity to secure a place amongst the elite despite your origins.

#fanfic writing #bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #hehe :3 #pls be nice #writing #fanfic writers #bsd fyodor #bsd x reader #fyodor x reader #ayesha.writes

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